For one fleeting instant, the spectators even found the horse girls' screams pleasant to hear. Faced with a chase this blood-stirring, who could possibly resist it?
What was that? Usually a great charge only came in the final stretch? Starting one in mid-race usually meant losing steam before the finish?
Those hot-blooded spectators, their minds completely hijacked by excitement, would only seize the arm of anyone trying to argue and point fiercely at the heroic figure on the course.
"Maybe that's true for others—but Xingyun Liuge is different! Open your eyes and watch properly! Look at the way she's sweeping through England, the way she'll sweep across the world!"
At that point, no one cared about etiquette anymore. They shouted Xingyun Liuge's name as though she were the horse girl defending Britain's honor.
In the rain, up in the stands, a still-young horse girl tugged lightly at the hem of the girl beside her and called softly, "Master."
She wore a white sailor cap. Her hair was somewhere between pink and orange, and near her left ear was tied a red bow.
Complex emotions swirled in her blue eyes.
She was more than happy to cheer for Xingyun Liuge, because she was French. And everyone knew that France and Britain were friendly neighbors with a "century-long friendship"—their horse girls had always upheld the noble principle of "competition first, friendship second" whenever they met on the track.
But at the same time, she could feel that what she was feeling now was not quite the same as that.
Watching that utterly fearless figure charging ahead, she felt as though her blood itself had begun to burn.
It thundered through her veins, giving voice to a silent cry:
This is what a horse girl ought to be.
The horse girl at her side—whom she addressed as master—had long golden hair and spoke flawless French. She was always patient with her junior.
"What is it, little Allez France?"
Looking into those blue eyes, so much like her own, Miesque quickly understood what the girl was feeling. She reached out and gently stroked the top of her head.
"Yes. I know. This is what a horse girl ought to be."
As it happened, Miesque herself was also well-suited to heavy going, and she loved what Xingyun Liuge was showing on the track now. If not for one thing—
"No," she said, utterly certain. "We'll settle this in the Prix de l'Arc de Triomphe."
She was completely confident in that. So what if Xingyun Liuge was slightly younger? The Arc was a grand stage where Classic-year horse girls and older runners clashed together.
Since Xingyun Liuge had already come to Britain to challenge for the Classic Triple Crown, there was no way she would give up on the Arc, was there?
In fact, Xingyun Liuge could even skip the St. Leger Stakes and run the Arc instead. True, that would mean no British Triple Crown—but surely back in Japan they would call it a European Triple Crown, wouldn't they? The Japanese adored the Arc.
Had not the Emperor once aimed for the Arc as well, only to have it fall through? Xingyun Liuge could hardly be the exception.
Which meant that if she only waited another year, she too could face Xingyun Liuge on that stage.
Miesque had never anticipated her own growth as eagerly as she did now.
Back on the course, the pressure finally became too much for Diminuendo, and she lost heart all at once.
"Diminuendo is fading! That means—no! Xingyun Liuge has caught the front-running Gibraltar! The two are side by side! They've come off the downhill section and started the climb, neither giving an inch—no!"
The commentator shouted again.
"Just as she did with Diminuendo, Xingyun Liuge has taken control in the blink of an eye! She has the lead! Xingyun Liuge is now in front! The gap has grown from a neck to half a length! Is Gibraltar reduced to placing her hopes in a fade that may or may not come?"
What serious horse girl would ever pin her hopes on something as vague and uncertain as that?
Clad in a jersey and spikes, Gibraltar's eyes darkened. In a flash of intent, a faint black aura wrapped itself around Xingyun Liuge's feet and crept upward from her ankles.
Terminal Delay (Dark): Upon entering the final phase, slightly reduces the target's stamina and slightly lowers her speed.
Then Gibraltar let out a fierce cry and bared her teeth as she ran.
She thought: Burn everything I've saved until now and finish this in one all-out sprint! You girl from the East—European horse girls, every last one of us—
"—!"
The air trembled.
Even the hammering rain seemed to pause.
Gibraltar's eyes widened as if she had just seen some monstrous beast that had survived from the age of myth into the modern world. Vast terror seized her heart.
Until this very instant, she had never imagined that anyone could refine a gate technique to such an absurd degree.
What was she seeing?
It was terror itself, made flesh.
A giant bear had risen up before her on the racecourse.
No—
it was far beyond anything as simple as a bear.
It was something vast as a mountain, something that should not exist in this world at all, some nightmare creature dragged out of a fever dream. Compared to it, she herself was not even as large as one of its claws.
And yet it was not that impossible size nor those explosive muscles that were most terrifying.
No.
It was the lightning coiling over its body, alive and conscious, that truly shattered the soul.
The currents ran through its white, needle-like fur, flashing and dimming, each spark looking as though it carried millions of volts—enough to reduce a person to ash by mere contact.
Every flicker split the dark sky open, revealing in merciless detail the weather-beaten claw marks that lined that colossal body.
The oxygen in the air became ozone, and the thick scent of it rose as an invisible domain from the titan's thunder-wreathed form, dispersing the clouds overhead with ease.
This was power itself given voice.
And every flash of lightning seemed to make the same silent proclamation:
I am the First Thunder,
Valhir,
the Destroyer of White Mountain,
the Carver of the Five Freljords.
Its majesty was as crushing as a primordial storm, so overwhelming that its mere existence could break any mortal courage.
At that moment, Gibraltar felt the oldest fear there was—the trembling reverence born of facing heaven's wrath itself.
"The clouds are torn apart, the rain and mist scattered! This is the finest possible hour for a duel! But—Gibraltar has faded! It's Xingyun Liuge's time now! No one can catch her anymore! Without question, Xingyun Liuge is the final victor! The Two Thousand Guineas is over!"
A glowing question mark practically appeared over Xingyun Liuge's head.
Wait. What?
She had been waiting to retaliate with Thundering Smash.
Why had this girl simply lost on her own?
It left her just a little at a loss.
Still, her tone remained light and cheerful.
"Well, whatever. Better to think about what song I should sing. Just kidding."
The small horse girl took the lead—
and held it all the way to the finish.
Raising her left arm high, Xingyun Liuge thrust up a single finger.
"The first step of the Triple Crown—TESTAMENT!"
She finished twenty-one lengths ahead.
A perfect victory.