Return of Black Lotus system:Taming Cheating Male Leads

Chapter 513: Chapter -513

When the race officially started, every single eye on the grand sporting grounds was locked onto the two riders.

An old, bearded minister who had merely been passing by for his morning walk found himself swept up in the excitement and volunteered to officiate. He raised his walking stick high in the air.

"One... two... three... start!" the old minister shouted, dropping the stick.

The arrogant nobleman immediately whipped his horse, surging forward in a desperate, muddy sprint to secure an early lead.

Heena didn’t move an inch.

She just sat in the saddle, calmly leaning forward to pat the thick, muscular neck of her massive black warhorse. "Let’s race, baby," she whispered.

The crowd erupted into confused, mocking murmurs. People were already loudly placing bets against her, thoroughly convinced that she had frozen in terror or that she had completely lost her mind. She hadn’t even crossed the starting line yet, and her opponent was already a dozen lengths ahead.

Then, Heena sharply snapped the reins.

The warhorse didn’t just run; it exploded forward with the terrifying, earth-shaking force of a cannonball.

It took exactly seven seconds.

In precisely seven seconds, the deafening thunder of heavy hooves swallowed the distance. Heena blew past the struggling nobleman with such insane, raw speed that the wind of her passing nearly knocked him out of his saddle.

Heena couldn’t help but scoff internally. ’Did this pampered idiot really think it would be this easy? Trying to run a normal, delicate riding horse against a purebred, military-trained warhorse? Are you crazy?’

The massive beast beneath her felt completely alive. For months, it had been cooped up in the tight, restrictive stone stables of the estate, practically dying of boredom. Now that it had finally been given the freedom to stretch its legs on an open field, it tapped into a fierce, predatory competitive spirit that perfectly matched its rider’s.

As the freezing wind whipped through her hair, a genuine, wildly radiant smile broke across Heena’s face. There were no political masks, no calculated sneers, just the pure, unadulterated thrill of the ride.

Standing by the edge of the track, the Prime Minister watched her.

When he saw that uninhibited, breathtaking smile, the famously untouchable, serene man actually felt his heartbeat stutter in his chest. In that singular moment, anyone looking at Heena would have been utterly mesmerized. She didn’t look anything like the standard noblewomen of the capital, who were aggressively trained to heavily paint their faces, speak softly, and always keep their eyes submissively lowered to the floor.

She was fierce, wild, and entirely unrestrained. She looked like a sudden, rushing breath of fresh air in a city suffocating on its own toxic etiquette.

Behind her, the humiliated nobleman was panicking. Desperate to save his pride, he began viciously hitting his horse with his riding crop, trying to force the exhausted animal to match her impossible pace. The poor riding horse tried its absolute best, pushing itself to its breaking point.

But there is a fundamental, biological difference between a leisurely estate pony and a beast bred for the blood and mud of a battlefield.

As if sensing the pathetic struggle behind it, Heena’s black warhorse actually tilted its massive head slightly to the side, looked back at the nobleman’s horse, and let out a loud, highly insulting ’snort’.

Then, in one swift, fluid motion, the warhorse shifted gears, effortlessly doubling its speed.

It was a complete blowout. The arrogant nobleman pushed his overtaxed mount too far. His horse stumbled over the very first wooden barricade, its front legs buckling under the forced strain.

The man didn’t even get to see the tail of Heena’s horse crossing the finish line before he was violently launched over his saddle, crashing face-first into the muddy trench with a pathetic, echoing thud.

The dust settled heavily around the finish line. Heena easily pulled back on the reins, bringing her massive black warhorse to a graceful, completely controlled halt.

From the corner of her vision, a translucent blue interface flickered to life. The System materialized, hovering right beside her shoulder. It looked absolutely exasperated, its digital form practically grabbing its holographic head in pure disbelief over what she had just done.

’’[Host, do you not have any shame at all?]’’ the System scolded, its mechanical voice dripping with deadpan judgment.

Heena frowned, genuinely confused by the reprimand. She looked down at her dark leather riding gear, brushing a bit of dust off her sleeve to make sure nothing had torn during the high-speed sprint.

"Why would I feel ashamed?" Heena muttered under her breath, keeping her voice low so the stunned crowd of nobles wouldn’t catch her talking to thin air. "I am wearing perfectly proper clothes. Nothing is exposed."

The System stared at her. If a digital entity could blink slowly in profound disappointment, it was doing it right now.

’’[I am not talking about your clothes, Host!]’’ the System hissed in her mind. ’’[You literally just raced a military-grade, bred-for-slaughter Vanguard warhorse against a normal, pampered estate pony! At least have a little bit of shame for the absolute mismatch!]’’

Heena looked at the hovering blue hologram as if it were the dumbest entity in existence.

"Are you kidding me?" she scoffed softly, leaning back comfortably in her saddle. "It is not like I was hiding my horse under an invisibility cloak. This is a massive, heavily muscled warhorse standing in broad daylight! They all have eyes. They can clearly see the beast I am sitting on."

She glanced back down the track toward the muddy trench. The arrogant nobleman was currently groaning, completely covered in thick brown filth while his mortified friends desperately tried to fish him out of the ditch.

"It is entirely their fault if they do not even know the basic differences in horse breeds," Heena continued ruthlessly, perfectly justifying her own bullying. "They are the crazy ones, not me. Why do I need to hold their hands and explain everything to them? Need I remind you, he was the one shouting, throwing a tantrum, and actively mocking me in front of the entire capital!"

The System let out a long, static-filled digital sigh, completely unable to argue with her twisted, battlefield logic.

"And anyway," Heena added, gently stroking the black warhorse’s mane with a highly satisfied smirk, "in any fight, if you win because you brought better equipment, it is not your fault. It is their fault for being stupid enough to pick a fight without understanding the difference between a delicate little pony and a weapon of war."

Heena gently guided her black warhorse around in a smooth, elegant arc and trotted leisurely back toward the starting line.

The crowd of nobles, scholars, and ministers practically held their breath as she approached. The old minister who had officiated the race was leaning heavily on his walking stick, his shoulders shaking with barely contained, wheezing laughter.

Down in the ditch, the arrogant nephew of the Marquis was finally dragged out by his mortified companions. He looked absolutely pathetic. His flashy riding clothes were completely ruined, soaked in foul-smelling brown mud, and his perfectly styled hair was plastered flat against his forehead. He coughed, spitting out a mouthful of dirty water.

Heena stopped her horse right at the edge of the trench. She looked down at him, her expression the perfect picture of aristocratic boredom.

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