Chapter 374: My Time Has Come!
Sigrid’s body was screaming at her. Every muscle ached with a deep, bone-weary fatigue that made each movement feel like wading through honey.
Her eyes kept trying to blur, the world swimming in and out of focus.
Her hands were trembling uncontrollably, the fingers that had gripped a blade since childhood now struggling to maintain their hold.
And yet she continued to fight.
"Ahhhhh!"
CLANG! TING! TONG! CLANG!
Blow after blow, strike after strike, she pressed her assault against Luca with a desperate attention.
Her eyes darted across his form, searching for any weakness, any gap, any momentary lapse that she could exploit.
She had already fought him more times than she could count—far more than any other centaur present and she had learned from every single defeat.
She was adapting. Evolving. Trying desperately to find some combination of angle and timing and force that would finally break through his impenetrable defense.
The watching centaurs observed their commander with expressions of profound admiration.
"She’s fought him the most." One murmured, her voice hoarse with exhaustion. "Twenty-four exchanges already—maybe more."
"I lost count after twenty. Each one might be short, but there have been so many..."
"How is she still standing? How is she still finding the strength to lift her sword?"
"Sigrid is a monster in her own right. Just like the Hero. If anyone among us could match him, even for a moment—it would be her."
One of the veterans nodded slowly, her expression softening with something that looked almost like maternal pride.
"That girl, she’s always been stubborn. Even as a foal, she refused to give in—refused to admit defeat, refused to accept limitations."
"I remember finding her in the training yard at midnight, practicing the same basic strike over and over because her instructor had told her it wasn’t good enough."
She let out a quiet, fond laugh. "That girl would rather break than bend."
But then her expression grew solemn.
"But right now, she’s not fighting to reclaim her own honor anymore, you know. She’s not even fighting to escape the bet."
The veteran’s voice dropped. "She’s fighting to protect our honor. The honor of every centaur who threw away their dignity trying to defeat him."
It was true.
Sigrid had watched her proud knights throw away everything they believed in and stoop to tactics that would have horrified them under any other circumstances.
And despite that sacrifice, they had still failed.
The morale of her brigade lay shattered in the grass alongside their exhausted bodies.
And so, even though her body was shaking so badly she could barely stand, even though her vision swam and her lungs burned and her hands felt like they were wrapped around broken glass—she continued to fight.
Not for victory. Not for escape.
For them!
But Luca, despite his own fatigue, continued his relentless taunting.
"What’s this now? Your strikes are getting slower, Commander! I can see them coming from a mile away!"
CLANG!
"I’ll even help you out. See? I’m leaving my left side completely open. All you have to do is swing there. It’s practically an invitation."
CLANG!
"Actually, let me make it even easier. I’ll tell you my next parry."
"Watch—I’m going to move my blade to the left. That means you should strike from the right. Simple, isn’t it? Even a child could follow those instructions."
CLANG!
"Can you please just defeat me already? I haven’t eaten lunch, and I’m genuinely quite hungry. My stomach is starting to make sounds that would embarrass us both."
Sigrid couldn’t respond. Speaking would require energy—energy she didn’t have to spare.
She conserved everything, hoarding her remaining strength like a miser guarding his last coins.
The other centaurs tried to encourage her—
"Let’s go, Commander...you can do this..."
"Just a little more...finish the Hero off..."
"Don’t give up...we believe in you..."
—but even their voices had grown thin and reedy with exhaustion.
The shouts that had once thundered across the field were now barely more than hoarse whispers.
But Poppy’s voice cut through the exhausted murmurs like a trumpet blast.
"You can do it, Sigrid! You can do it! Don’t lose to that human!"
The queen bounced on Thea’s back with undiminished energy, her small fists pumping the air.
"Remember—the only person who’s allowed to ride you is me! That’s always been the rule! I won’t let some smug hero steal my spot!"
But despite the confidence, worry laced through her bright tone.
She had been certain the battle was won before. She had been so confident, so sure.
But Luca had risen again and again, untouched from beginning to end, and now that confidence had curdled into genuine fear.
—
The battle dragged on.
Every gaze remained fixed on the clash of blades—three blades, rather, with Luca’s two sword-arms moving in fluid coordination
Some tried to shout tactical advice, their voices cracking with urgency.
"His left side, Commander—he favors his right!"
"No, wait—when he parries high, his lower guard drops for a fraction of a second! I saw it!"
"Watch his eyes! He looks where he’s about to strike—I’m certain of it!"
But life, as they were learning, was not always kind to hope.
Slowly, they watched Sigrid begin to falter.
Her strikes, which had once been so powerful that they could shatter stone, now appeared sluggish and labored.
Her movements, usually flowing with the liquid grace of a master swordswoman, had become heavy and inefficient.
The keenest observers among them noticed her hands trembling even when she was simply holding her sword in guard position
Hit by hit. Deflection by deflection. Luca was breaking her down.
Until finally—
PANG!
With a sharp, decisive strike, he sent her sword spinning from her grasp. It flew through the air in a glittering arc, end over end, before driving itself deep into the earth twenty feet away.
"Let’s call it here, shall we?" He chuckled while scratching his brow with his blade.
But Sigrid just let out a shuddering breath, her chest heaving.
"Just...Just give me a moment, Hero."
She turned and began making her way toward her embedded sword.
Her body swayed with every step—left, right, left, right—like a ship tossed by storm-tossed waves. She looked drunk with exhaustion.
And she had every right to be exhausted.
She had fought Luca more times than any other centaur present—at least five times as many exchanges as the next most persistent challenger.
While the others had taken their turns and retreated to recover, Sigrid had been at the front lines almost continuously.
Her body had absorbed punishment that would have broken lesser warriors hours ago. The fact that she was still standing at all was a testament to her sheer, stubborn, unyielding will.
Everyone watching felt their admiration for her swell to almost painful heights.
But admiration, as they were about to learn, could only carry a person so far.
Sigrid reached her sword. She wrapped her fingers around the familiar grip and pulled.
But...the sword didn’t move.
A frown creased her brow. She adjusted her stance, planted her hooves more firmly, and gripped the hilt with both hands.
"Mmmmm!"
Her biceps tensed. Her shoulders strained. A low growl of effort escaped her throat.
The sword quivered, shifted slightly. But it did not come free.
"What’s going on?" One of the younger centaurs asked, her voice tinged with confusion. "Why is Commander Sigrid struggling? Is the sword stuck on something?"
"Maybe it’s embedded in a rock beneath the soil." Another suggested. "That would explain why she can’t pull it out."
But one of the veterans, slowly shook her head. Her expression was heavy with sorrow.
"It’s not stuck. The sword isn’t caught on anything at all."
She paused, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper.
"She’s simply too exhausted to lift it."
A grim realization settled over the crowd. The sword hadn’t grown heavier; Sigrid’s body was simply spent. The weapon she had wielded for years now felt like a block of solid iron.
"Just...hold on a second, Hero!" Sigrid gasped, her eyes desperately fixed on Luca.
"I’ll be right there...just give me...just give me—Ahh!"
Her legs gave out!
She flopped sideways onto the grass, staring at her weapon with a look of helpless, agonized frustration.
Seeing their commander falter, the centaurs moved without hesitation.
"Let me go, Commander! I’ll take your place—face the Hero while you rest!"
One of the younger knights tried to rise, her voice fierce despite her obvious exhaustion.
But when she attempted to stand, her legs refused to cooperate.
They buckled immediately, sending her crashing back to the ground with a grunt of frustration.
"Come on!" She muttered, slapping her own thigh as though she could force her body into obedience through sheer will. "Get up! Get up! We’re not done yet. We can’t be done yet!"
Her legs didn’t respond.
"I’ll do it." Another centaur stepped forward sharply, her voice brooking no argument.
But she, too, only managed two steps before her body betrayed her. She stumbled, caught herself on one knee, and remained there, breathing hard.
Soon everyone was attempting to rise—a wave of determined warriors trying desperately to drag themselves back into the fight.
But their bodies had reached their limits.
Even the ones who managed to stand and stagger forward did so with such obvious weakness that their comrades pulled them back before they could reach Luca.
"Don’t. It’s useless." One of the them said, her voice hollow. "He’ll send you flying with a single strike in your current state. You’ll only embarrass yourself further."
The terrible truth settled over them like a funeral shroud.
They were not like their commander—that absolute beast who possessed such an enormous reservoir of stamina that she could fight for hours without faltering.
They were normal centaurs with normal limits. And right now, after facing the Hero again and again, those limits had been reached and surpassed.
Luca on the other hand surveyed the scene with disappointment.
"Come on, come on!" He clapped his blade-hands together, producing a sharp metallic ring.
"Don’t give up already! You can do this! There’s still plenty of fight left in all of you! I can see it in your eyes!"
"And...you don’t want your Commander to be ridden by me, do you?" His grin like a villain. "I might even fart on her back by accident. You know how it is—sometimes these things just slip out."
"You’d better not let me get on top of her."
The taunt was shameless. Absolutely shameless.
And yet, despite the fury it kindled in their hearts, the centaurs could do nothing.
Their bodies simply refused to respond.
Seeing this, Luca sighed dramatically, deeply disappointed by their lack of response.
"Fine, fine. I’ll make it even easier!"
He folded one blade-arm behind his back, leaving only a single sword extended toward them.
"There. Now I’m fighting with one hand. Surely now you have some level of chance?"
But even if they desperately wanted to accept those terms, they couldn’t. Their bodies had shut down completely.
If an enemy force chose this moment to raid them, they would be as helpless as newborn foals.
The only person still standing was Thea herself.
But that was only because she carried Poppy on her back, and her primary duty was to protect the queen at all costs.
Even as she had watched her comrades throw themselves at Luca again and again, she had held herself back.
And now she was the only one left.
She let out a deep, resigned sigh. "It seems we’ve lost, my lady. I don’t see any way forward from here. Nothing is going to work out."
Silence.
Thea frowned. "My lady?"
More silence.
A chill ran down her spine. She twisted around to look at her back—at the spot where Poppy should have been sitting,
The spot was empty!
"Lady Poppy?" Thea’s voice pitched higher with alarm. "Where is Lady Poppy?!"
The words cut through the exhausted haze like a blade. Every centaur snapped to attention, their fatigue momentarily forgotten.
"What?! What do you mean, where’s Lady Poppy?!"
"Did she fall off your back?! Did something happen to her?!"
"She couldn’t have gone far—we would have noticed! Unless—"
Panic rippled through the brigade. Even Sigrid, despite her utterly depleted state, forced herself upright at the thought of her Queen missing.
But just as chaos threatened to consume them entirely, a voice rang out across the field—bright, boisterous, and utterly unafraid.
"Ha! It seems my time has finally come!"
Every head whipped toward the sound.
Poppy strode forward with the confidence of a conquering general, dragging behind her a sword she had clearly stolen from one of her fallen knights.
The blade scraped against the ground, far too heavy for her small arms to properly lift, producing a terrible screeching sound with every step.
"My brigade cannot fulfill their duty!" She declared, her voice ringing with theatrical gravity.
"And so it falls to me—to Queen Poppy herself—to show off my true skills and shine!"