Chapter 30: The Horse-Taming Man (Part Two)

*Neigh—whinny!*

The thunderous, shrill cry was almost unbearable to the eardrums, yet Aaron looked all around and could not even spot a trace of the wild horse.

It couldn't be a Pegasus flying down from the heavens, could it? Like the steed of Perseus.

"It is coming—the most tyrannical monarch of the Chogoris wild horses, the very beast for whom our tribe is named."

"White Scar—"

Jaghatai tensed his body, gently patting his own mount to soothe it.

Aaron watched as, in an instant, the once-calm child transformed into a streak of lightning. He did not remain seated on his mount but leapt up, pivoting to the side and bracing his legs against one flank of the horse. With only one hand gripping the reins, he secured himself firmly to the side of the animal. His body seemed to possess a natural, extraordinary flexibility—or perhaps it was a divine gift—allowing him to twist and tuck himself away so completely that, from another angle, he was entirely invisible.

To Aaron, it looked like the maneuvers of a circus performer. Jaghatai’s body adapted perfectly to the horse's speed, whereas performers usually had to worry about falling and crushing their skulls. A few years ago in Thebes, such shows were common, but with the rise of chariot culture, chariot racing had become the trend. After all, a chariot could hold more people, allowing them to shoot arrows and throw spears during the race.

"This speed is much faster than Malum at full gallop. The wind is so strong, yet he doesn't even blink," Aaron mused. Only when the thunderous sound of hooves finally enveloped his entire sense of hearing did he see the wild beast—a creature even larger than the one Jaghatai was currently riding.

If Father were here, he would only say, "It’s a horse, just a bit ugly." That old man was only interested in the donkey back home.

But to Aaron, this wild horse was the embodiment of the wind. When it ran, it was impossible to capture its form, leaving behind only the sound of rolling thunder. Fortunately, the horse did not charge toward him; otherwise, Aaron reckoned that being hit would surely wake him from this dream and send him back to reality.

Gradually, Jaghatai managed to maneuver his horse closer to the White Scar. His own mount was running at its absolute limit; with every muscle in its neck straining forward, it gasped for air, its tongue lolling out. Yet, the silhouette of the White Scar remained blurred, impossible to judge when it might tire.

Jaghatai calculated the distance. In three breaths, his horse would be at its closest to the White Scar. Once that moment passed, he would never have another chance to catch it. He could, of course, settle for taming any other wild horse to pass the rite of passage.

But how could Jaghatai give up? This was the fastest wild horse in existence! This was the only mount worthy of him!

*Three—two—*

Jaghatai suddenly leapt, landing on his horse's saddle. Before he was even steady, he swung the lasso from his waist. By the time the loop hooked around the neck of the White Scar, Aaron hadn't even clearly seen how his younger brother had vaulted onto the horse's back. It took less time than counting to one.

His brothers were truly of demi-god descent. Why was he, the older brother, so incapable? His eyes were dizzy, and his physical reactions could not keep up at all.

This did not stop Aaron from cheering loudly, praising Jaghatai's movements. "Well done, Jaghatai! I think you could even conquer the mightiest centaur warriors! Centaurs are world-renowned masters of combat, and they have raised many heroes."

Jaghatai’s ears caught Aaron’s words, and he found it curious. Was this ghost from an ancient era, or from some other legendary world? He had never heard of the names or stories mentioned. But he could not afford to be distracted; he had no time to ponder what a centaur was.

*Bang!*

His tribe’s horse finally ran out of strength, leaping with one last surge of energy that propelled Jaghatai upward. Then, its pace slowed until it finally collapsed to the ground, panting, its beautiful coat beginning to seep with blood.

"You've worked hard. I will tame the White Scar," Jaghatai said silently to himself. His body moved in the air, seemingly defying the laws of physics, as he pulled on the rope to launch himself directly above the White Scar, before crashing down onto its back with heavy force.

This display left Aaron stunned. Could a human body really exert such force while in mid-air? These brothers of his were all truly gifted! If only such a muscular, athletic body would agree to help him beat Father up, things would be much simpler. In any case, Aaron didn't think he could ever bring himself to abandon a newborn son in some distant land.

Judging by the fact that Jaghatai was only four years old, a demi-god hero was born with the ability to survive on his own. No wonder Father always felt that raising a son meant just leaving him somewhere to grow up on his own. Was he the only one with a problem?

Aaron hurriedly shook his head, hardening his resolve. It must be that unreliable father; what did that have to do with him?

Looking ahead, Jaghatai and the White Scar were drawing closer. His brother had locked his powerful arms around the horse's neck, which was as thick as a pillar meant for battering down city gates. Their bodies were pressed tightly together; no matter how the White Scar twisted and turned, it could not shake Jaghatai off.

Gradually, the White Scar slowed from its blur of high-speed movement, revealing its true form. The white steed looked more like a savage beast than a divine mount. Its structure was identical to the Chogoris wild horses, but its coat was entirely ash-white. Its appearance was fierce, its expression filled with an anger that held contempt for all things.

Due to the requirements of its quadrupedal anatomy, the muscles extending from its shoulders were remarkably prominent, with the friction and strain of the shifting muscle blocks visible to the naked eye. Only such powerful muscles could support the White Scar's speed, which at its peak, turned the creature into a gale. If he were to roast such meat, Aaron feared he would break his teeth trying to chew it.

Before Aaron could observe further, his brother pulled his arms tight, dragging the White Scar's head back, slowing it down even more. This gave Aaron a clearer view. Running from the right side of the neck to the right shoulder blade was a completely bleached scar, devoid of fur. According to the knowledge his mother had taught him, that flesh was rotted and needed to be cut away. Priests who couldn't control the heat often created "fire-bulls"—half-raw but scorching—during sacrifices to Zeus. The charred, rotten flesh after the fire went out looked exactly like that.

Sighing, he recalled being four years old, held in his mother’s arms, listening to her talk about the bizarre things she encountered in her life as a priestess.

Wait, why was this horse getting closer to him?

When Aaron regained his focus, he saw Jaghatai—wearing a face that was far too cute and innocent for the intensity of his struggle, his body rippling with powerful muscles—and the savage horse, its breath coming out in clouds of steam, right in front of him.

Neither the man nor the horse, locked in their struggle, had the slightest mind to notice the young, bald man standing in their path. The hooves of the White Scar thundered past, trampling Aaron and rushing into the distance. Jaghatai didn't even have time to look back at what had happened; he was busy gripping the White Scar with all his might, taming the beast.

"You beast, submit to me!"

"I am the future Great Khan of all the Chogoris tribes, the master of the world!"

"The fastest rider on the entire steppe!"

It seemed that in Jaghatai’s subconscious, the title of "fastest rider" was even more important than being the Great Khan.