Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters-Chapter 983 - 46 Another Hunt (Part 3)_3
Chapter 983 -46 Another Hunt (Part 3)_3
A group of young Castilian nobles listened with their eyes wide and mouths agape, vaguely understanding why a third-rate playwright would be assessed as “dangerous.”
The Castilian nobles present all felt it wasn’t good to keep listening, yet they couldn’t help but continue to eavesdrop.
Marvey, caught up in his enthusiasm, took a wine cup from the hand of a noble next to him and gulped it down in a few swigs.
After moistening his throat, Marvey continued, cryptically saying: “Do you know? Maybe, just maybe, the Empire is about to have a royal wedding soon!”
“Who? Prince Richard?”
Marvey waved his finger: “Nope.”
A Castilian noble thought for a long time: “Other than the prince, the only royal children of suitable age are…”
“Exactly, the eldest princess.”
“With whom?”
Marvey revealed a smile: “Guess?”
The surrounding Castilian nobles, following Marvey’s line of thought, all couldn’t help but widen their eyes: “With Sir Little Hernan?”
Marvey neither confirmed nor denied, simply looking meaningfully at the knight on the silver warhorse in the center of the hunting grounds.
The group of Castilian nobles buzzed with speculation, with someone displeased asking: “How do you know these royal secrets?”
“Me?” Marvey crossed his arms, answering with an air of righteousness: “I guessed!”
The surrounding nobles were dumbstruck, and an impatient young noble directly stepped forward, grabbing Marvey by the collar, ready to give this brazen troublemaker a taste of Castile Peninsula’s customs on the spot.
“Stop!” An earl intervened to prevent the imminent action scene.
After all, this was the Royal Hunting Ground, and the Emperor was watching not far off; any trouble would only shame the people of Castile.
“Mr. Marvey.” The earl stepped out of the crowd and asked with a stern face: “May I know what brings you to the Castile Peninsula?”
Marvey shyly smiled: “Gathering material.”
The earl looked around at the others: “How did he enter the hunting grounds?”
The group of Castilian nobles looked at each other, none aware.
“This is the Royal Hunting Ground, commoners don’t have the privilege to spectate.” The earl stared intently at Marvey: “Please tell, how did you sneak in here?”
“Me?” Marvey waved innocently: “I didn’t sneak in.”
“Then how did you get here?”
“A friend brought me in.”
“Who? Who is your friend?”
Marvey pointed towards the other side of the hunting field, his face beaming with a joyous smile: “That golden dog over there.”
…
[The other side of the hunting field]
The golden dog was blissfully unaware that he had just been mentioned.
He was intently watching Little Hernan in the hunting ground, experiencing a complex mix of emotions: frustration, admiration, and… jealousy.
If Siegfried’s recent display was a perfect combination of strength and skill, then what Little Hernan was performing now was absolute skill.
Peak-level skill!
The closing performance needed a worthy opponent.
The ferocious beast prepared by the Castilians was undoubtedly deserving of the finale’s honor.
A bull.
A male Castilian wild bull weighing over seven hundred kilograms.
The moment this monster appeared, it demonstrated a fearsome power and aggression.
It charged towards the spectators around the hunting circle, heaving fixed barricade posts half a man’s height out of the ground, causing a panic-stricken flee.
As if the wild bull’s temperament wasn’t fierce enough, the Castilians had driven a javelin tip into its back in advance.
The severe pain made the already enraged bull even more ferocious; it didn’t need any provocation from Little Hernan.
The bull, with bloodshot eyes, failed to break the barricade and immediately turned to charge at the knight on the silver warhorse.
Little Hernan sped up the warhorse, showing no haste to take the life of the wild ox, instead allowing it to chase after him.
The horns of the wild ox were not sharp, but when combined with the tremendous strength of the beast, they could easily pierce through a chest and rip out the innards.
Yet at this moment, this monster among monsters, no matter how it ran, could not touch Little Hernan at all.
The wild ox charged back and forth within the hunting ground, but its horns and the silver steed remained forever just a small distance apart.
Even as the tip of the wild ox’s nose touched the very end of the horse’s tail, it still could not catch up to that very last bit of distance.
The perilous scene evoked bursts of alarmed cries from the ladies on the spectator stand, while the noblemen similarly had their faces tensed, their hearts in their throats.
Yet Little Hernan remained composed, still maintaining his gracious equestrian posture. The steps of the horse were in no disarray, as if performing a dance.
Siegfried couldn’t help but want to applaud and commend: on the surface, it was the wild ox chasing Little Hernan, but in reality, it was Little Hernan leading the wild ox in the chase.
Little Hernan’s control over the warhorse was precise, as if using his own fingers.
The rider and the warhorse were one, making it unclear whether it was the rider commanding the warhorse, or if the warhorse had acquired the intelligence of the rider.
Just by watching the horsemanship displayed by Little Hernan, Siegfried felt his journey was worthwhile.
But Siegfried did not show any emotion, simply watching in silence.
His sincere side made him want to praise his opponent, but his competitive side could not allow such a thing to happen.
He turned his gaze towards the royal spectator stands—where Princess Elizabeth was.
…
[Royal Stand]
Elizabeth felt somewhat dizzy.
She wasn’t squeamish about blood; she had gone hunting with a rifle—taught by her father himself.
The Emperor educated Elizabeth just as he would a prince, teaching her philosophy, arithmetic, and even horsemanship. The Empress disapproved but dared not publicly object.
So Elizabeth had killed prey and had seen blood.
But the performance in the hunting ground at this moment made her somewhat uncomfortable.
Sir Little Hernan, following the Castilian way, was slowly killing the wild ox step by step: teasing it, stabbing it in the back with a short javelin to aggravate it, continuing to tease, continuing to stab with the javelin…
In the meantime, Little Hernan changed warhorses several times, each one displaying a different gait, all unique.
The wild ox, on the other hand, became increasingly tired, its steps slower, its desire to chase weaker,
and its back was already a mess of blood, a blurry red from a distance.
Seeing that the wild ox had exhausted its last strength, Little Hernan finally used a lance to finish it off, declaring an end to this bloody performance.
Cheers and applause erupted deafeningly from the hunting ground, the noblemen doffing their hats in respect, while the ladies waved their handkerchiefs frantically.
Princess Elizabeth felt out of place; she sneakily glanced at her father.
The Emperor sat on the throne, expressionless, showing no discernible emotion.
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The Emperor calmly called out, “Ella.”
Elizabeth unconsciously shivered: “Daddy.”
“Stand up,” commanded the Emperor, leaving no room for doubt: “Acknowledge Sir Little Hernan.”
Elizabeth obediently left her seat, took the handkerchief, and mimicked the others by gently waving towards the arena.
Beneath the spectator stand, Siegfried, seeing the girl waving her handkerchief towards the knight, felt as if there was a hollow in his chest.
Sir Little Hernan cut off the ox’s ear and tail and walked to the front of the royal spectator stand to pay respects.
The musicians played a celebratory anthem as attendants entered the hunting ground to start dragging away the carcass of the wild ox.
The nobles who had come to watch the hunt were already preparing to leave; they had to return to their camps, change into gala attire, and attend the upcoming feast.
Things should have ended this way.
A rider leaped into the hunting ground on horseback, heading straight for the spectator stand, with his light-colored blond hair incredibly noticeable.
The royal guards wanted to step forward to stop him, but hesitated upon recognizing who the rider was.
Siegfried dismounted, kneeling on one knee in front of the royal spectator stand.
“Your Majesty,” the voice of the Empire’s youngest general resounded through the hunting ground: “Please grant me the honor—to hunt beasts on foot.”
