Chapter 511: Chapter-511
Their faces turned a violently mottled shade of purple. They felt a collective rush of blood to their heads. ’How dare she?!’ A woman, riding astride like a common mercenary, parading herself in the middle of a men’s martial ground!
They instantly abandoned their exercises, practically foaming at the mouth as they gathered in angry clusters. Heena could practically see the gears turning in their heads, eagerly drafting the scathing impeachment scrolls they were going to present to the Emperor at morning court.
’’Perfect,’’ Heena thought, slowing her horse to a majestic, prancing trot in the center of the field. ’’Go complain to the Emperor. Tie up the entire royal court in pointless gossip for the next three days. Keep your eyes on me, while Grandma disappears.’’
As Heena casually trotted through the center of the field, completely ignoring the scandalized whispers, a group of younger aristocratic men on horseback broke away from the crowd and rode toward her.
They were the spoiled, arrogant sons of the capital’s elite, men who believed their birthright made them inherently superior to any woman, even one with a terrifying reputation.
The leader of the pack, a man wearing excessively flashy riding clothes, guided his horse directly into Heena’s path, forcing her to halt. He looked her up and down, a nasty, condescending smirk plastered across his face.
"My Lady," the nobleman drawled, his voice loud enough to carry across the quieted field. "This is a martial training ground. Horse riding is not a woman’s play. It requires strength and stamina. How about you dismount and take a rest before you hurt yourself?"
Heena lazily rested her hands on the pommel of her saddle. She looked at him, letting out a sharp, audible scoff. "Uh-huh. Is My Lord officially challenging me to a race?"
The man laughed out loud, a harsh, mocking sound, and his companions immediately joined in.
"Of course not," he sneered, looking at her with blatant disrespect. "We would not stoop to challenging a fragile lady. I simply do not think it is pretty or proper for a woman to ride such a dangerous beast. After all, if you lose your grip and fall down, I am afraid a waist as slim as yours would simply snap in half."
Several men in the surrounding crowd gasped at the brazen insult. Some sneered in agreement, while others smirked, eagerly waiting to see how the terrifying Madam would react to being publicly humiliated.
Heena didn’t yell. She didn’t draw a weapon.
She simply turned her horse to face him directly, her sharp, fox-like eyes locking onto his face with cold, calculating precision. She scanned her memory banks, instantly pulling up the political dossiers she had forced herself to memorize.
"Uh-huh," Heena mused, her voice carrying a dangerously calm, silken tone. "Aren’t you the Marquis of Westlake’s nephew? The second son of the outer branch, if I am not wrong?"
The man puffed out his chest, looking highly arrogant. "Yes, I am. Is there anything wrong with that?"
Heena slowly shook her head, a terrifyingly bright, mocking smile spreading across her face.
"Ah, no, no," Heena said, raising her voice just enough so the entire gathered crowd of nobles could hear every single word. "I just remembered a very interesting story. I heard that you used to ride horses just like the delicate ladies do, didn’t you? In fact, the rumor in the high society salons says that when you were fifteen years old, you tried to mount a simple, gentle riding pony... and you immediately fell off. And because you panicked, your foot got caught in the stirrup, and the pony dragged you crying and screaming through the mud for quite a while."
The arrogant smirk on the nobleman’s face vanished instantly, completely replaced by a sickly, horrified pale color.
"It must just be a silly joke, right?" Heena continued relentlessly, her eyes practically glowing with cruel amusement. "After all, since you seem to know ’so much’ about my physical health and the fragility of my waist, it must mean you are an absolute, unrivaled expert in equestrian arts! Surely, a master rider like you wouldn’t have been dragged through the dirt by a child’s pony, right?"
The silence on the sporting grounds held for one agonizing second.
And then, the entire crowd erupted.
The young scholars burst into uncontrollable laughter. Even the conservative older ministers, who had just been furious at Heena, began to sneer and chuckle at the sheer, public humiliation of the Marquis’s nephew. The man’s companions immediately backed their horses away from him, thoroughly embarrassed to be associated with him.
The nobleman sat entirely frozen on his horse, his face burning an angry, humiliated red, completely unable to utter a single word of defense against the brutal, weaponized gossip.
The laughter echoing across the grand sporting grounds was absolute poison to the young nobleman’s ego.
For a man raised in a society where face and reputation were worth more than gold, being publicly mocked by a woman—and having the older, respected ministers actually laugh at it—was a fate worse than death. The sickly pale color of his face rapidly boiled over into a violent, mottled crimson. The veins in his neck and forehead bulged against his skin.
He gripped the leather reins of his horse so tightly his knuckles turned stark white.
"Silence!" the man roared, his voice cracking slightly with unhinged fury.
The laughter of the young scholars died down, though a few older ministers simply raised their eyebrows, highly amused by the young man’s absolute lack of composure.
The nobleman kicked his horse, violently closing the distance until he was only a few feet away from Heena’s massive black warhorse. He pointed his silver-tipped riding crop directly at her face, his chest heaving with rage.
"You possess a very sharp, venomous tongue for a woman who hides behind her grandfather’s military title!" he spat, completely abandoning any remaining pretense of aristocratic politeness. "You think you can ride into a men’s martial ground, spout baseless, insulting rumors, and parade yourself like some untouchable warrior? You are nothing but a sickly girl playing dress-up!"
Heena didn’t even blink at the riding crop pointed at her face. She merely tilted her head, her fox-like eyes glinting with dark, calculated amusement.
"Is that so?" Heena asked softly.
"Yes!" The man practically shouted, his pride completely blinding his common sense. "If you are so confident in your supposed equestrian mastery, Madam Marcuset, then prove it! I formally challenge you to a race!"
A collective, excited gasp rippled through the gathered crowd. A formal challenge on the prime sporting grounds could not be legally or socially ignored without the declining party losing immense face.
The nobleman gestured wildly with his crop toward the far end of the field. "The heavy cavalry hurdle track! It is a mile-long sprint over five-foot wooden barricades and trench jumps. It is designed to test the Vanguard’s own elite riders. If you are truly a Goddess of War, you will race me right now. But when you inevitably fall and break that fragile waist of yours, do not expect anyone here to pity you!"
Heena looked at the heavy obstacle track in the distance. It was a brutal course. The barricades were high, the ditches were wide, and one wrong step from the horse would send the rider flying into the dirt at a bone-breaking speed.
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