Each hurdle was taller than the last. By the time he reached the final one, it was nearly two meters high, almost chst -level for a full-grown centaur.
The centaur didn’t slow down. Muscles tensed, he launched himself at the guardrail with everything he had. His front legs cleared it cleanly, and for a moment, it looked like he’d make a perfect landing.
But just as his back legs came over, one hoof caught the edge of the guardrail. It was just the tiniest miscalculation, but enough to throw off the perfect run.
Bang!
Ronan, the centaur, lost his balance after getting caught on the edge of the guardrail. His front hooves failed to land properly, and he tumbled straight into the mud, face-first.
His head plunged into the soft earth, while the weight of his horse-half kept moving forward, causing his entire body to fold into a very awkward ‘V’ shape. His hind legs stuck up in the air, showing off an indecent angle that made the whole scene downright humiliating.
"Pfft, hahahaha!" Fang clutched his stomach and burst out laughing the moment he saw it. “Ronan! You finally got your turn! Remember when you laughed at me for not making it past the last hurdle? Look at you now, fell even worse than I did! Hurts your pride a bit, doesn’t it?”
Without waiting for a reply, Fang ran straight over, grinning ear to ear as he circled Ronan like a predator who just found prey.
“What happened, huh? Took a bit of a tumble? Still think you're untouchable? Want me to spread the tale across camp, how the mighty Ronan took a nosedive and showed the world his backside?”
Fang couldn’t stop laughing, practically rolling on the ground in hysterics as he teased Ronan mercilessly. It was as if he’d waited ages for this moment of revenge and wasn’t going to waste a single second of it.
Meanwhile, Ronan groaned as he pushed himself up, his face caked in dirt. He brushed himself off, scowling at Fang, who was still snickering uncontrollably. A flush of embarrassment crept up his cheeks. “What are you even doing here?” he muttered, clearly trying to salvage some dignity.
After following Alex around for a while, Fang had become a regular in the Forbidden Forest. Not being human himself helped him blend in, and over time, he got quite familiar with the centaur clans.
Most of the younger centaurs had once suffered at the hands of the werewolf wizard Griffin, so they shared a common bond with Fang. They often hunted together, chatted, joked, and trained side by side, forming an easy friendship.
When the training grounds were built, Fang had tested the obstacle course himself. He was fit, but that final hurdle was brutal, even he had taken a nasty spill back then. Ronan hadn’t let him live it down since, so today's accident was poetic justice.
“What, worried someone saw you screw up? Don’t worry, I’ll make sure everyone hears about it,” Fang grinned, then bolted toward the centaur camp at full speed.
“HEY EVERYONE! RONAN ATE DIRT TODAY! FELL FLAT ON HIS FACE, HIS BUTT WAS IN THE AIR!” he yelled as he ran, his voice echoing through the trees.
“GET BACK HERE!” Ronan roared, face red with rage.
He grabbed the shaft of his longbow and galloped after Fang at full speed, looking ready to beat him senseless. But while Ronan was definitely faster, Fang was far more agile.
Thanks to the physical training Alex had put him through, Fang could twist, turn, and dodge like a cat. A few sharp turns later, and he was already out of Ronan’s line of sight.
Their shouting and stomping stirred the entire camp. Laughter erupted everywhere.
Elder Brand, who had been watching the whole scene with calm amusement, couldn’t help but chuckle. The younger centaurs nearby were barely able to hold back their laughter, covering their mouths as they snickered.
“Alex, you’ve arrived,” Brand said, turning toward him once Ronan and Fang’s chaos had faded into the distance.
“Yeah.” Alex nodded, trying to wipe the grin off his face. “Sorry to trouble you again. Let me know when you’re free.”
“Trouble? Don’t be silly,” Brand said with a hearty laugh. “Anything you need is camp business, too. Let’s go now.”
He turned to the others and added, “That’s enough for today. Training’s over. You’re free to go. Firenze, Bane, come with me.”
After dismissing the other centaurs from training, Brand led Alex, Firenze, and Bane out of the camp. The group made their way toward a nearby hill, walking in calm silence until they reached the top.
The hilltop was surprisingly flat, and nestled on one side of the clearing stood a large yurt. Its door was wide open, revealing the interior setup, a space arranged like a medieval blacksmith’s forge.
Inside stood a massive furnace, roaring at the center, with an equally enormous bellows resting beside it. In front of the furnace sat a heavy anvil, standing over a meter tall.
A short distance away, a large quenching barrel waited, its surface still.
Around the forge were sturdy tables, each holding various metal hammers of different sizes. Scattered among them were partially completed tools and weapons, hunting knives, spearheads, daggers, even iron pots. This place had clearly been built specifically for forging weapons and equipment used by the centaur warriors.
Given their massive size, the tools and gear made for the centaurs were far larger than those used by humans. Just standing in the forge, surrounded by the heavy steel and hulking equipment, gave off an overwhelming sense of power and strength.
Alex had come here today for precisely that reason, to forge a new piece of equipment with the help of the centaurs. Their raw strength, combined with their deep knowledge of blacksmithing, made their craftsmanship second to none. The weapons they forged weren’t just powerful, they were built to last.
Brand stepped inside the yurt first, then turned to the two younger centaurs. “Bane, get that fire going. We need the forge hot as soon as possible. Firenze, you’ll be on tongs duty, keep your focus.”
“Yes, Elder!” the two centaurs replied in unison.
Bane immediately got to work, loading fuel into the furnace and working the bellows with strong, steady strokes. It didn’t take long before the temperature inside the yurt started to climb. The air turned heavy and hot, thick with the sharp scent of burning fuel and warm iron.
“Alright, Alex,” Brand said, guiding him over to the central workbench and placing a wide stone scoop in front of him. “Let’s see the materials you’re working with.”