The SBR Race was a competition promoted by the President to collect the saint's corpse, but when the race first began, no one knew this.
People all thought it was an unprecedented horse race, an unprecedented great competition, and everyone was excited about it. Even in small villages deep in the mountains, people knew about this race.
The incredibly high prize money for this race made everyone who learned about it ecstatic.
At the same time, this world-renowned competition didn't just represent wealth; it also represented fame and victory.
If someone from one's own country could win this race, the impact would be no less than the victory of a war!
Therefore, perhaps for wealth, perhaps for fame, for glory, equestrian talents from all over the world gathered here.
Abdul, who rode a camel, Dio, the equestrian from England, a certain lucky Black man, the executioner who wielded iron balls, a certain lame man with a broken leg, and a super cowboy with unique methods.
They gathered in San Diego, waiting for the race to begin.
"Bang!"
The loud bang of the starting gun echoed along the San Diego coast, like the ringing of a new era's bell.
However, in the race, there were two figures on the field that attracted the most attention: a Native American who wasn't riding a horse, making people wonder what he was doing there.
Everyone knew this was an equestrian competition, so what were you doing here if you weren't riding a horse?
Did you think your legs could outrun a horse?
The other figure was even stranger: a peculiar man almost completely naked, wearing only a pair of shorts.
He was an East Asian man, probably Japanese, but from every angle, he seemed like a madman, constantly exercising. If anyone dared to speak to him casually, he would make sure they disappeared the next day.
Although they had no proof, they all believed those people were killed by him and their money stolen, because the entry fee he paid was stained with blood... He didn't even bother to disguise it; he didn't wipe the blood off the gold coins, and at this moment, he was standing there running. Before, he was doing jumping jacks, warming up for the upcoming sprint.
Yes, in his eyes, the first stage of this race was just a sprint; he didn't even consider it exercise, just a daily walk... That's right, he was Hashimoto Yoma, who had arrived in this world. Although he didn't know why, Hermes told him to collect the remains of Jesus, saying that Jesus was on this continent.
Although Hashimoto Yoma didn't understand why a Christian saint would be in America and had been there for who knows how long, he heard that this thing could build muscle and make him stronger.
So he came. As for the competition or the prize money, he didn't care at all.
If he wanted something, he would just snatch it. The most important thing was exercise; everything served exercise.
He didn't even listen to what Steel was saying; he only slowly looked up after seeing the horses around him start to move.
He wasn't interested in anyone else, only a little in Sand Man, because this Native American, like him, also planned to complete the race by running.
"What an interesting fellow. Does he also believe in muscles like me? Never mind, I'll just ask him."
Before their eyes, horse hooves trampled the beach, kicking up dust everywhere, and the shouts of riders, the neighing of horses, and the fervent cheers of the audience intertwined into a boiling ocean.
The SBR Race, this crazy event destined to go down in history, officially kicked off. The ice was already on its way, and the horses were already galloping.
Most riders shot out like arrows from a bow, vying for the initial advantageous positions.
Dio Brando was in the lead, his golden hair flying in the wind, a confident, arrogant smile on his face, his eyes constantly watching other horses, observing their habits.
Abdul, riding a camel, was unhurried, displaying the unique rhythm of a desert people. With the camel's great weight, he might have some advantages later.
Gyro Zeppeli, with iron balls hanging from his waist, scanned ahead with sharp eyes. For the child's life, he absolutely could not lose; he had to take first place. Beside him, Johnny Joestar was trying his best to keep up.
Johnny Joestar, sitting on his horse, didn't think too much. All he wanted was to be able to stand up, so he had to get the power of Gyro's iron ball. He had to keep up with Gyro to prove his strength.
However, in this frenzied starting surge, two figures seemed out of place.
One was Sand Man, the mysterious Native American.
He didn't ride a horse; he simply darted out like a nimble leopard. His speed was astonishing, and the frequency and stride of his legs far exceeded ordinary people. He ran desperately in a strange posture, a running motion that made Hashimoto Yoma also look sideways.
With those peculiar steps, he managed to catch up with the middle of the horse team in a short time. His steps were steady, his breathing long, as if running was his innate instinct, and the earth was his ally.
The other, of course, was Hashimoto Yoma.
He didn't even bother to assume a starting posture. After seeing Sand Man move, he finally seemed to have received the starting signal, revealing a wild smile. He didn't need such precise movements.
Because he was strong enough; brute force was all he needed.
"Warm-up over... walk begins!"
Hashimoto Yoma stretched his limbs, rubbed his shoulders and legs, muttered to himself, and then he moved.
He didn't care at all about the group of horses that had already run far ahead, because he would catch up to them instantly.
There was no sound of hooves, only a dull thud from the sandy ground beneath his feet. Hashimoto Yoma's terrifying strength directly made him fly away.
A small pit exploded where he had stood, and he himself had already transformed into a blurred afterimage, rushing out with a speed generated purely by physical explosive force. In his eyes, those horses were almost indistinguishable from being still.
"Wh-...? !"
"What kind of monster is that?!"
Nearby riders only felt a gust of fierce wind sweep past them, not even able to clearly see what it was. They only saw an almost naked, bronze-skinned figure vanish into the distance at an incredible speed, kicking up dust that covered their faces.
Several unlucky riders and their horses were even run over directly as if they were speed bumps. They were instantly flattened, blood, shattered bones, and flesh splattering everywhere, causing normal riders to scream.
Although they knew there might be conflicts, it should have been after entering the desert... It should have been hidden, private conflicts in the dark.
And not, at the very beginning of the race, in broad daylight, even in front of the referees, directly starting to kill...