By Zephyria 
Wednesday morning’s beginner Swordsmanship class was uneventful, focusing as usual on refining form and discipline.
The August sun was still hot, and it was pitiful to see some children, including Shayden, looking listless, though there was nothing I could do.
The Imperial Genealogy Class also passed without any particular incident.
Professor Calypse Agrigent’s voice was hoarse again today. Was he feeling unwell because of the heat…?
Feeling so sorry for him, I mentioned wanting to buy him a voice amplifier, like the one used by Professor Jurgen Kaiser, the Artifact professor. Shayden earnestly implored me not to do anything of the sort.
“Why not? Is there a rule against giving gifts to professors?”
“No, that’s not it, but a voice amplifier is a no. Absolutely not.”
“Why?”
“Because the Professor’s voice is… gone.”
“Gone?”
“…If I say no, it’s no. Would I ask you to do something bad?”
“Alright.”
There must be a reason why the child held me back and pleaded so earnestly. I just nodded and erased the thought from my mind.
During the lecture on praising fine horses, we laid out various types of saddles and bridles and learned how to distinguish their condition.
From the lowest to the highest grade, there were two of each type of saddle and bridle: one worn from long use, and one brand new, just out of its packaging.
Biban Otif explained the shape, structure, and purpose of each part of the saddle, which I diligently took notes on. I hadn’t brought writing tools, thinking I wouldn’t need them for the practical work, but a fellow student lent me theirs. They seemed genuinely happy to share, which made me feel grateful.
Sierran saddles and bridles looked different from those of the Central Plains.
Even if I hadn’t known about the others, as I rarely rode horses, the existence of saddles with backrests for young children, for instance, was still very unfamiliar to me.
Some had slightly thicker cushions to make riding less painful, and there were separate types for men and women.
I gasped in surprise upon hearing that some of the highest-grade saddles were hollowed out in the middle for patients with hemorrhoids. Why would someone suffering from such an ailment ride a horse…?
I let out a disbelieving chuckle, but Professor Biban Otif pointedly admonished me.
“You shouldn’t laugh. The Sierran Empire is so vast that people often have to travel by horse, so there are many people with such ailments. Therefore, even if you are perfectly healthy, it’s important to take regular breaks while riding. And if you notice even the slightest symptom, see a doctor immediately. Otherwise, you’ll suffer for the rest of your life.”
“Is that from personal experience?”
“I’ve seen many such people. Indirect experience, kid.”
After chuckling mischievously at the teasing question, Biban Otif then asked us to come forward one by one and try fitting the saddles ourselves.
We approached the saddled horse slowly, first showing the saddle to the horse before placing it on its back.
Biban Otif, holding the reins, watched from the side and calmly explained, so even the children fitting a saddle for the first time could do it calmly.
After repeating the process of putting on and taking off the saddle about five times, Biban Otif led the horse back to the stable and brought out another one. Puzzled, I asked why, and received a straightforward answer.
“Well, it’s probably not a pleasant experience for the horses to have saddles put on and taken off by clumsy hands, is it? They’re just being good and tolerating it.”
“…Hmm.”
“It’s annoying for horses, just like it is for people, to have to do something they dislike alone. After five times, we praise them, give them carrots, and put them in their stalls to rest.”
I was quite surprised to see Biban Otif’s very gentle expression. He stroked the new horse’s cheek and continued,
“Always remember that these creatures are living beings, animals that can think and feel. Then, horses won’t betray you.”
“Yes.”
Among my friends who responded politely, I alone remained silent.
I knew Sierrans treated people with kindness, but I hadn’t realized they extended that to animals.
There was no need to be deliberately rough, but it seemed remarkable that they poured such care into even these small things.
In the Central Plains, animals were livestock.
Fine horses of good lineage ate good hay and wore jeweled bridles and saddles, but they were still just animals. In times of war, it was common to cut the throats of horses and cattle to prevent them from escaping.
Horses and cattle not of good birth worked until they died, and when they grew old, they were made into meat.
It was a time when food was scarce. The jerky made from such old horses was not just tough, but hard as stone. The bitter and salty taste of the jerky, which we softened with saliva and tore apart, seemed to linger in my mouth.
Indeed, it was the same for people. When I first learned swordsmanship at the age of five, I had to swing the sword I first held a thousand times before I could eat. The idea of being praised as ‘good job’ for simply standing and putting on or taking off a saddle was hard to grasp.
They wouldn’t betray you if you remembered they had feelings. Musing on Biban Otif’s words, I slowly raised my large eyes. The horse that met my gaze let out a soft whinny, as if smiling.
Thus, several horses were brought out before the children and returned to the stable, repeating the cycle.
Shayden and I also successfully completed our assigned tasks. Benjamin was the last in line. His steps were deeper and heavier than usual, betraying his nervousness.
“Neigh.”
“Whoa, whoa. It’s okay, it’s okay. Why are you acting like this when you’ve been so patient?”
Biban Otif tried to calm the horse by stroking its neck, but the horse became noticeably agitated from the moment Benjamin took three steps closer.
The other children also grew scared as the horse showed fear, and they watched Benjamin intently.
The horse backed away and snorted. As a result, Biban’s tightly held reins were pulled taut. Biban, looking into the horse’s large, bloodshot eyes, commanded in a low voice,
“…Young Master Claudian, could you please step back two paces without coming any closer for now?”
“…Yes.”
Benjamin stepped back. The horse snorted a couple more times, then became as calm as if by magic.
However, even to our untrained eyes, it was clear the horse was watching us warily.
Biban Otif didn’t hesitate and returned that horse to the stable. Instead, he brought out a larger, more robust horse.
“You said Young Master Claudian is in the Swordsmanship Department? What realm have you reached?”
“I am now at the advanced level of Sword Expert.”
“Is that so?”
Biban and Benjamin exchanged a conversation that neither of them seemed to fully understand. I couldn’t fathom what the realm of swordsmanship had to do with handling horses.
I was simply puzzled, wondering if it meant he could withstand being kicked by a horse. Biban skillfully fitted and removed the saddle on the new horse himself, allowing it to thoroughly sniff the saddle’s scent and examine its shape, before handing the saddle to Benjamin.
“Come slowly. Carefully, yes. Hold the saddle gently too. Walk towards the front, not the rear or side of the horse.”
Benjamin Claudian held his breath and did as he was told.
The new horse also showed signs of tension as Benjamin approached. It took a breath and tapped the ground a couple of times with its front hoof.
Still, it seemed to tolerate the situation better than the mare that had been returned to the stable earlier.
When Benjamin stood two steps ahead of the horse’s head, half a step behind Biban Otif, Biban praised him.
“Good, well done. Now, lift the saddle and show it to me, just like I did.”
“…Yes.”
Benjamin did as instructed again. The horse glanced at the saddle Benjamin held out, then looked up at Benjamin’s face.
Biban Otif loosened his grip on the reins slightly. This was to give the horse room to back away if it wanted to escape.
After watching Benjamin for a long moment, the horse nudged the saddle with its nose, snorting and sniffing, then tilted its head away. Biban said with a voice full of delight,
“You can go to its side now. It has given you permission. Don’t rush, walk slowly.”
Benjamin, tense, couldn’t even respond.
He walked slowly and stood beside the horse. It was smoother from then on. Benjamin placed the saddle on the horse’s back and tied the knots, just like the other students had. The horse occasionally nudged Biban Otif’s shoulder with its head or let out a weak snort, showing signs of unease, but it remained still.
He pulled on a part of the saddle to check if it was secure, counted to ten, and then reversed the process to remove the saddle. He succeeded in all of it.
As Benjamin held the removed saddle in his hands again, the joy on his face was palpable.
“Perfect. Well done. Now, Young Master Claudian, shall we return to your seat? I’ll give you some praise first.”
“Yes.”
“Oh, good job, you’re so pretty. How brave! Huh? Absolutely amazing~.”
Biban soothed the horse, commending it for enduring its anxiety so well.
I watched this with fascination.
Biban stroked the horse’s muzzle, patted its strong neck, and gave it three carrots before the horse seemed to have calmed down.
The horse crunched loudly on the carrots, then let out a short snort. Biban praised the horse loudly once more before returning it to the stable.
Do I have to handle horses like that too? I pondered for a moment, but it didn’t resonate with me.
Biban Otif returned alone after putting the horse away, clapping his hands loudly and laughing.
“I see. Now I know why Young Master Benjamin Claudian couldn’t handle horses.”
“And what is that reason?”
Benjamin asked, his face lighting up. Biban chuckled heartily and replied,
“Young Master Claudian, you don’t have any younger siblings, do you?”
Benjamin Claudian was the third son of the Claudian Marquessate.
I wondered what that had to do with anything. Looking around, it was clear that others also had no idea what he was talking about.
Benjamin himself blinked in confusion, stammering, “Uh…”