Two thousand meters was short—a trifling distance compared to the Kikuka-shō or the Tennō Shō Spring that Dream Weaver had once contested.
Two thousand meters was long—a near-insurmountable chasm for Dream Weaver, whose stamina had been drastically reduced.
Logically, even without the Challenger's Badge, even B+ level stamina should have been more than enough for two thousand meters.
Heck, back before Dream Weaver had even begun serious training, she could've easily run that far relying solely on her natural physique as an Uma Musume.
But the two thousand meters on the racetrack was different from the two thousand meters in training.
On the track, your rivals are chasing victory too—for that glory, they'll push their speed to the absolute limit.
To keep up with them, you have to raise your own pace to match theirs.
The higher the level of the race, the more stamina it demands—because Uma Musume aren't just running; they're contending with rivals on all sides.
This was a battlefield. Under the radiant promise of glory, no Uma Musume would willingly allow herself to fall behind.
And the Tennō Shō Autumn was precisely that kind of high-stakes race.
As one of the Eight Major Races, every competitor on Tokyo Racecourse today was a standout of their generation.
Even Matikanetannhauser had carved her way here through fierce competition—the fact she could compete so frequently in G1-level races was proof enough of her strength.
Amid the fierce contention among such powerful Uma Musume, the two-thousand-meter course had transformed into a blood-soaked battleground.
To keep up with them, Dream Weaver would inevitably have to expend far more stamina.
That's why she chose the chasing running style—the big charge from behind. If her base stats could still overwhelm the field like before, what would a final five-hundred-meter straight be? Just a matter of unsheathing her cursed blade a few more times.
But now things were different. With her stamina diminished and her speed lowered, she no longer had the fine control to wield that cursed blade at will.
In fact, without the Challenger's Badge boost, even catching up to this group of Uma Musume would have been a struggle for Dream Weaver.
She had only one strike left.
On this fiercely contested track, the rhythmic thud of hooves on turf was like a series of explosive booms. Even the mud flicking past the corners of her eyes felt sharp as blades.
The scorching breaths of the Uma Musume collectively formed a blazing furnace.
Every one of them threw their entire being into the fire as fuel.
Each swing of an arm, each driving step was another strike of the hammer—only by forging themselves into perfect blades could they earn the right to taste the victory reserved for the winner on this battlefield.
Amid this hellish contest, breathing in the almost tangible aura of combat, Dream Weaver slowly brought her hand to rest on that cursed sword.
She didn't rush to draw it. Instead, with a ritual-like slowness, she caressed the hilt, allowing its soul-piercing cold gleam to inch free.
The terrifying ring of the blade was drawn out into an unbearable, high-pitched shriek.
Even before it was fully drawn, its presence made every Uma Musume on the track feel a dreadful chill crawling up their spines.
That eerie sharpness swept over them like an autumn wind, a subtle, biting cold more suffocating than any physical edge.
Every Uma Musume held her breath, waiting for the fatal strike that could fall at any moment.
But Dream Weaver's cursed blade paused mid-draw. She continued pulling it out millimeter by millimeter, yet never fully unsheathed it.
This wasn't like the Kikuka-shō, where she'd used the cursed blade's aura merely to disrupt the minds of those behind her.
This time, as she drew the blade, Dream Weaver poured all her remaining strength into it.
When her already weakened stamina burned out, Dream Weaver immediately forced her way past the curse's restraints, ignoring her body's screams.
Relying on the endurance from her skill, Pilgrimage of Pain, she held her trembling muscles right at the brink of collapse.
Every fiber of her muscle was screaming, every nerve crying out in agony. Pain that would break an ordinary person became a scorching flame, threatening to consume Dream Weaver entirely.
Yet her gaze remained as sharp as ever. In those night-deep eyes, not a trace of suffering could be seen.
If Dream Weaver had already become a scarred cursed blade under the erosion of the curse, cracks spreading across the steel like a spider's web…
Then now, she was using her own searing pain as a furnace, forcibly melting and reforging those shattered fragments. As the agony intensified, liquid gold-like patterns gradually emerged along the cracks, flowing across the cursed blade as though it were being reborn.
With mounting pain, the power concentrated in the cursed blade grew ever more explosive. Still, Dream Weaver did not draw it completely.
She was waiting—waiting for that one ultimate moment. Only then could she unleash this ultimate strike.
Right now, the cursed blade was still far from capable of cutting down Narita Brian in a single stroke.
Even so, the gathering power in Dream Weaver's grip was terrifying enough. The heat haze radiating from her, infused with her agony, swept like a gale across the entire racecourse.
More alarming than their draining stamina was the growing sense of imminent danger from behind. If it had felt like pinpricks earlier, now it was a true blade's edge.
And this transformation was still ongoing—Dream Weaver's presence was still intensifying. The one who felt it most keenly was Sakura Chitose O, who, like Dream Weaver, was positioned toward the rear and employing a chasing running style.
Every breath Dream Weaver took was like a blade scraping down Sakura Chitose O's spine, making her heart shudder uncontrollably. Instinctively, she gasped for air, but all she drew in was a chill so sharp it felt solid.
Any strategies she had been turning over in her mind were severed by the cursed blade's overflowing menace. Now, Sakura Chitose O couldn't even recall what plans for victory she'd been devising moments before.
Her body was screaming warnings, a primal fear engraved in her soul urging her to flee—to yield the path ahead, to slow down, anything to escape the cursed blade's gaze.
Yet, even though every instinct had surrendered, Sakura Chitose O didn't retreat a single step.
She still wanted to win. She still wanted to seize her first G1 victory.
Under the pressure of Dream Weaver's cursed blade, torn between terror and competitiveness, Sakura Chitose O—honed by years on the track, already one step away from her own Zone—finally crossed that line.
She bit her lip.
The taste of iron spread as a bright streak of red trailed down her chin.
But what shone brighter than the blood was the look in her eyes.
Eyes blooming like cherry blossoms.
--+--
T/N: While I am an inexperienced Translator, I have a Patreon! Webnovel will get 3 Chapters Every Day, and advanced chapters will be uploaded on Patreon.
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