The Centaur Race:
Wild as the prairie storms, born to run—a destiny ingrained from birth. They are considered the supreme and strongest cavalry across all races. It was an accepted truth, supported by both common knowledge and scholarly consensus, that no human could match a centaur’s sprinting speed. Not even the swiftest humans or those who had reached the heights of Swordmaster could surpass a centaur’s full-speed dash.

“Do you really think you can win?” Javier asked, his voice laced with concern.

“Of course,” Lloyd nodded without hesitation, as if the question was barely worth asking. “I accepted the challenge because I intend to win, not just to participate.”

He glanced around subtly. They were on a spacious meadow within the territory of the Charcoal Wind tribe, surrounded by an enormous gathering of centaurs who had come to watch this impromptu race.

Lowering his voice so as not to be overheard, Lloyd asked, “You don’t really think I’m going to lose, do you?”

“Yes,” Javier replied bluntly.

Lloyd chuckled at the immediate response. “That’s the logical prediction, I suppose.”

“Because your opponent is a centaur, and not just any but the three-time champion of these plains.”

Javier’s reply was matter-of-fact, a simple statement of the obvious.

“Lloyd, I know your mana heart is at the high end of the intermediate expert level. You can run incredibly fast by human standards, and with three mana circles, few but a Swordmaster could hope to outpace you.”

“Go on.”

“So, I believe that the centaur champion will be faster than a Swordmaster.”

“So you think I’ll definitely lose?”

“Yes.”

“And you? Could you outrun him?”

“I would be faster than him.”

Lloyd laughed. “So, this ends up being self-praise, huh?”

“It seems so.”

“Right.”

Silence fell briefly before Lloyd prodded, “Well? What now?”

“You should withdraw from the race now.”

“That’s not happening.”

“Then you have a way to win?”

“Obviously. Did you listen to anything I said?”

Javier was curious but resigned. “Then let’s see it. Here he comes.”

Comanche, the centaur champion, was approaching. His muscles tensed in readiness, his eyes challenging as he called out, “Are you ready to run?”

“Yes, I’m ready.”

“And you’ve decided where you’ll be crying in defeat?”

“I know where I’ll be performing my victory ceremony.”

“And where will that be, the finish line?”

Comanche looked at Lloyd with even more provocation. He had disliked the human from the moment he arrived in the village.

“The red speeding badges he boasts weren’t even won by his own running!”

Comanche had heard from his cousin, the patrol captain, about Lloyd’s previous race, where he allegedly rode a giant hamster. The acceleration had been tremendous, and that had annoyed him.

“That’s not a fair race! A true race must be run on one’s own legs.”

No other method was acceptable, especially not the human way of claiming speed while riding something.

That’s why he had come to the lecture—not out of interest, but to challenge Lloyd to a race and prove his boasting was nothing but hot air.

“Name the finish line, then. It’s the right of the challenged to choose the course of the race.”

“Hmm, can I pick any place?”

“Of course. That’s our tradition.”

Comanche held his chin high, confident. He had issued the challenge, so the choice of the race course was Lloyd’s.

But he was unbothered. “No matter where the finish line is, I’ll reach it first!”

After a brief pause, Lloyd announced, “We’ll run to the courtyard in front of the Northern Border Defense Chief’s residence, beyond the southern boundary of the Magentano Kingdom.”

“What?”

“To the Northern Border Defense Chief’s residence of the Magentano Kingdom, just past the southern boundary of the plains.”

“Did you not hear me?”

“No, I heard you… But that’s at least 600 kilometers from here!”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“And you want to run there?”

“Yes.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“Yes.”

“Is there a problem?”

Of course, there was a problem—a huge, monumental one!

Comanche almost shouted in frustration. He had simply wanted a running contest, not a cross-country expedition. The unfairness of it felt overwhelming.

“Why do I feel like you’re upset?” Lloyd asked, his smile sly.

Comanche was speechless. Lloyd had preemptively countered any objection he might have by adhering strictly to the traditions Comanche himself had emphasized.

“Don’t be too upset. You told me to pick the finish line, right?”

“Yes, but…”

“I’ve followed your beautiful and noble traditions very closely, haven’t I?”

Comanche was at a loss for words. Lloyd’s reply was infuriatingly smug, and yet he couldn’t fault the logic. It was all correct.

“He really did stick to our traditions…”

The rules of Centaur racing dictated that the challenged could set the course and finish line, and the challenger had to accept without complaint. That was the unspoken tradition, the absolute rule.

Comanche remembered his cousin, the patrol captain, telling him about his own race against Lloyd, how Lloyd had proposed racing to a specific rock and then graciously accepted defeat.

“I’ve been duped… What kind of man is this?”

Staring at Lloyd, who still smiled broadly, Comanche realized, “This man must have a thousand tricks up his sleeve!”

Despite being the one filled with tricks, he seemed utterly straightforward—annoyingly so.

“Fine. I accept your proposal.”

“Good. Let’s run to the courtyard of the Northern Border Defense Chief’s residence beyond the southern boundary of the plains.”

Comanche suppressed his anger and frustration as he took his place at the starting line, his eyes blazing with resolve.

“Before reaching the finish line, you may not use any vehicle or rest. We are a racing species, we do not stop until we cross the finish line. Remember to follow our rules.”

“Yes, of course.”

“This race will be watched by all the tribes of the plains. So remember, no cheating. Hundreds, thousands of centaurs will be watching us from every corner!”

“Ah, yes. I am aware.”

“Then, let’s begin the race.”

“By all means.”

Lloyd casually took his position at the starting line, nonchalantly waiting for the start signal.

Soon, it came.

“Go!”

With a thunderous start, Comanche launched forward, creating a shockwave that vibrated the ground. His massive musculature propelled him forward with explosive force.

In stark contrast, Lloyd started normally, or rather, leisurely. There was no explosive power, no whirlwind dash, no ground-shaking speed. His start was so lacking in intensity it was more like a casual jog than a sprint.

The watching centaurs frowned in disbelief.

“What kind of pathetic start is that?”

“Is that even running?”

“Is he really the one with the red speeding badge?”

“Even a newborn foal would be faster!”

Disappointment was palpable.

His running was so leisurely it seemed a mockery of his red speeding badge.

The centaurs’ eyes filled with disdain.

“It seems the race is over already.”

“How will he ever reach the finish line at that pace?”

“Poor Comanche, having to race such an unworthy opponent all the way to the human territory of the southern border. What an utter waste.”

“He’s not even worth racing against. Pathetic.”

They shook their heads, pitying Lloyd as one might a pitiful beggar or a worthless pebble.

Javier, however, saw something else.

“Fake Lloyd, is this how far you’re willing to go to win?”

He ran slowly, maintaining a steady distance behind the swiftly moving Lloyd, as if accompanying him on a supportive journey.

“This race… Lloyd might actually win.”

The centaurs laughing at the fake Lloyd would soon be in shock, he thought.

“From the way he’s running, you’d never expect it.”

But Javier felt it, a strong intuition.

He silently followed behind Lloyd, while most of the centaurs at the starting line turned away, convinced the race was already decided.

“That human stands no chance.”

They didn’t bother to follow the race.

“It’s obvious what the outcome will be.”

They’d rather hear about Comanche’s victory later.

They laughed at themselves for having once respected a man like Lloyd.

Most just clicked their tongues in dismay.

And so, no one noticed.

Four days into the race, an unprecedented event began to unfold, leaving Comanche and all the centaurs of the plains in utter astonishment, slapping their foreheads in disbelief.