Chapter 452: Centaur Racing Ring

The training grounds had been utterly transformed.

The open field where new recruits drilled their sword forms? Gone.

In its place stood a full horse racing track, complete with a neatly groomed dirt oval, white-painted fences, starting posts, and even little pennant flags snapping in the breeze.

It looked professional, like something that belonged in a human city’s grand sporting arena, not a centuar village.

And in the stands or rather, on the grass surrounding the track at least forty centaurs had gathered.

Old and young, mothers and warriors, all clutching small slips of paper, all shouting at the top of their lungs.

"Go, Riley, GO!"

"You can do it, Sona! Don’t let me down!"

"Hannah! Hannah! I put everything on you!"

In the center of the track, seven centaurs were lined up at the starting posts. Sigrid recognized Riley immediately—her red hair was unmistakable.

And standing on a raised platform at the finish line, holding a clapper in her hand, was—

"Mavis?!"

Her sister. Her tiny, pony-like sister looking absolutely thrilled with herself.

"Alright, alright!" Mavis called out, her voice carrying over the crowd. "This is the twenty-third race of the day! Racers, on your marks!"

The centaurs at the line tensed, muscles coiling.

"Get set!"

They lowered their stances, eyes blazing with fierce determination.

CLAP!

And they were off. Seven centaurs thundered down the track, hooves pounding the earth. The crowd erupted.

"Go—go on—GO!"

"Riley! Riley, you beautiful creature, don’t you dare lose, I put everything on you—"

"No no no no—Dorothy, you have to win, if you don’t win I’m finished—"

"Please." One woman was muttering with her eyes closed. "Please, whichever god’s listening. I’ll do anything. Let me win. Please let me win."

Sigrid watched, her mouth hanging slightly open, as the race unfolded.

It was close—impossibly close. First one centuar pulled ahead, then another. They swapped positions constantly, jockeying for the lead with fierce determination.

Riley was in the middle of the pack for most of the race, keeping a steady pace, biding her time.

And then, on the final quarter, she exploded!

It was as if someone had lit a fire under her. She shot forward with a burst of speed that left the others in her dust, her legs pumping, her hair streaming behind her like a banner.

The crowd’s noise reached a fever pitch—half of them screaming her name in triumph, the other half wailing in despair.

That is until—

Riley crossed the finish line first, skidding to a dusty halt with her chest heaving and a massive grin on her face.

"YES!" Someone shrieked. "RILEY, YOU BEAUTIFUL, GLORIOUS—I’M RICH! I’M FILTHY RICH!"

"NO!" Someone else wailed. "My coins! My beautiful coins! That was my savings!"

"I told you." A third voice grumbled. "I told you Tilia was on her period, but did you listen? Nooo. ’She looked good in warm-ups,’ you said."

"Don’t you dare blame me for this—"

"It can’t be. It can’t be. I wanted that sword so badly..."

The winners, practically vibrating with joy, swarmed toward the raised platform where Mavis sat.

Next to her was a large wooden board covered in numbers, ratios, and names—the betting odds. The eager centaurs thrust their tickets at Mavis, jostling each other.

"Pay up, pay up, pay up!"

"I want my winnings!"

"Me first, Mavis, me first!"

"Silence!" Mavis snapped, and they all quieted immediately. "One at a time, or I swear I’ll deduct a ’being annoying’ fee from every single one of you."

They formed a line with remarkable speed. Mavis examined each ticket, counted out golden horseshoe coins from the massive chest beside her, and handed them over with the efficiency of a professional bookie.

The winners clutched their earnings to their chests and scampered off toward some other part of the training grounds, looking like children who’d been given free rein in a sweets shop.

Meanwhile, the losers drifted toward Mavis with desperate expressions.

"Come on, Mavis, just lend me a little—"

"I’ll win it back, I swear!"

"One more race, I just need enough for one more—"

Mavis cut them all off with a wave of her hand.

"If you want coins, go do the small tasks on the board. Don’t come begging to me. Now—"

She raised her voice. "Next race starts in ten minutes! Who’s placing their bets?!"

The crowd surged toward her, waving their coins, and Sigrid decided she had seen enough.

She needed answers, and there was only one person who could give them to her.

—

She found him, predictably, at the center of yet another kind of chaos.

Luca had set up a row of grills near the edge of the training grounds, and was flipping sausages, stacking burgers, and squirting condiments with the practiced ease of a street vendor. A line of centaurs stretched before him.

"Two hot dogs and three burgers, extra mayo—here you go."

"Two hamburgers, no pickles—coming right up."

"Who ordered six hot dogs and two lemonades?"

"Me! Me, that’s mine!"

The centaurs who had claimed their food were settled nearby on mattresses and cushions, devouring their meals with expressions of pure, unadulterated bliss.

"This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted." One of them moaned. "I’m spending all my winnings right here."

"Forget racing." Another agreed. "I just want more burgers."

Sigrid’s stomach growled traitorously at the smell—that perfect combination of grilled meat, toasted bread, and some mysterious sauce that Luca called "secret recipe." She forcibly ignored it and marched up to the grill station.

Luca spotted her immediately, and his face broke into that bright grin.

"Sigrid! Good morning, sleepyhead. How are your—" His eyes dropped meaningfully to her chest. "—feeling? Still sore?"

She flused furiously, her hands instinctively rising to cover her breasts.

"They’re fine, Sir Luca" She hissed, glancing around to make sure no one had heard. "Thank you. For...For cleaning me up. I appreciate it."

"Of course!" He flipped a burger. "You took care of me all night. It was the least I could do."

The warmth in his voice made her heart flutter despite herself. But she pushed the feeling aside.

"Sir Luca." She said, gesturing at the chaos surrounding them. "What is all of this? I woke up late, and suddenly the entire village has gone insane. There’s racing, there’s people crying and laughing and—"

She pointed at the burgers.

"—what are those? What are golden horseshoes? What is happening?"

Luca’s grin widened. He pulled off his apron and called out.

"Elya, take over the grill for a few minutes, will you?"

"Of course, Luca!" A young centuar chirped, hurrying over to take his place.

Luca stepped out from behind the grill station and walked toward Sigrid. And Sigrid, completely without thinking about it, knelt down.

Her centuar body folded gracefully to the ground, and Luca swung himself onto her back with the easy familiarity of someone who had done it a hundred times.

She only realized what she’d done when she heard the snickers from the nearby mothers.

"Look at that." One called out, her voice teasing. "So obedient. Like a little wife."

"Sigrid and the Hero, sitting in a tree—" Another one started.

"Enough!" Sigrid snapped, her face burning. She stood quickly and trotted away from the eating area as fast as dignity would allow.

When they were safely away from the crowd, Sigrid slowed to a walk and twisted her head to look at him.

"Explan. Now. Everything."

Luca sighed contentedly and wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder.

"Alright. So. Yesterday, I realized something important."

"Which was?"

"That you centaurs are way, way too stubborn for your own good."

Sigrid’s lips twitched. "Excuse me? What do you mean—"

But Luca had already started his rant.

"All of you have to do everything on time. Whether it’s late at night or early in the morning, you can’t skip your duties. You cling to your obligations like they’re the only things keeping you alive. You’re so traditional, so rigid, so..."

He paused, searching for the right word.

"...stuck up."

Sigrid’s jaw dropped. "Stuck up?!"

"Like this sword." Luca pulled a blade from a portal and tapped it. "Look at it. Hard. Stiff. No matter how much you stab or pull or try to bend it—" He demonstrated, trying to flex the blade. "—it won’t bend. It just stays stiff."

His expression became determined.

"And I’ve decided to change that. I’m going to make the stiffest of you all bend over and act a bit more loose."

Right before her eyes, he bent the sword with his impossible strength, curving it into a full U-shape.

"Sigrid’s eyes bulged. "You want to make us...loose?"

"Yes, loose or relaxed." He sighed, tossing the ruined sword aside. "Carefree. Maybe a little less obsessed with the rules. Something like that."

She frowned. "But isn’t our discipline something to be commended? I’ve never heard of anyone complaining about it."

"It is." He agreed. "I’ve never seen such a dignified group. You keep your word no matter what. It’s genuinely admirable."

Then his expression turned more serious.

"But not to the level you take it. There are times in life and battle where you’ll have to make decisions that go against tradition. Decisions that will help you survive. If you’re too stiff, too rigid, you’ll break."

He leaned forward, gently cupping her face.

"What I’m trying to do is take this impossibly hard mind of yours and make it a little softer. A little more flexible. Like everyone else’s right now."

He grinned, gesturing at the racetrack. "And my method...is this."

Another race had started. The crowd was roaring. Sigrid watched the centaurs thunder down the track, and she felt her confusion only deepen.

"You want to make us more relaxed...through racing? I suppose that makes sense. It’s a recreational activity. It calms us down, lets us have fun—"

"Oh, no, no, no." Luca hugged her waist, pulling her closer still, his chest pressing against her back. "This isn’t just a simple horse race, Sigrid. This is a race with stakes on the line..."

He dropped his voice as he added,

"...where you gamble your savings away."

Sigrid’s blood ran cold. "Luca...did you just say gamble?"

"Yep."

"Gamble as in...the evil practice where you put money on the line for a game? Something that only humans do? An act that can bring entire families to ruin?!"

"That’s the one!"

She stared at him, horrified. He just grinned, gesturing at the racetrack like a proud father showing off his child.

"Let me explain how it works. First—" He pointed at the track. "—each race has five to seven volunteer racers. They earn a set amount of golden horseshoes just for participating. Second—"

He pointed at the large board beside Mavis’s platform, where numbers and names had been scrawled.

"—the winning ratios. You see those? If you bet on a certain racer and they win, you get that many times your bet in return."

Sigrid’s mind was reeling. Gambling. Actual gambling in her village and on her training grounds.

She wanted to say so many different things about the poison he was introducing into the village, but she forced herself to calm down and reason with him.