Before the Contest Began, Dorian waited for Hans in a small improvised corral, where the necessary equipment for the race rested. The tension in the air was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife. With a firm voice, Dorian broke the silence:

  —Hans, listen carefully: tonight, there is no alternative. You either win, or you win. If you fail, the consequences will be inevitable, and I will personally see to it that order is restored.

  Hans, his gaze filled with nervousness, responded:

  —Dorian, I understand. I have no choice… My own clumsiness has led me here, hasn’t it?

  Dorian offered an enigmatic smile as he nodded:

  —Exactly, big guy. Take this equipment and get ready. Also, I will go find Viktor so he can join the evening and enjoy watching you face this challenge. This is your one chance to prove your worth. Now, head to the participants’ area and make yourself known.

  With those words sealing the fate of the clumsy rider, Dorian walked away, leaving behind an air thick with expectation.

  As dusk settled over the kingdom, the illegal race had been called to take place in a secluded area, where the roads intertwined with the legend of The Uncertain Path. The starting point was set in a clearing on the outskirts of the city. From there, the route wound through dusty trails and treacherous bends, culminating at an ancient well—an ominous relic of the past that seemed to emanate a power so unsettling that even the beasts could sense its influence. The rule was clear: participants had to reach the well and then return to the starting point.

  The night air vibrated with tension, and the distant sound of drums echoed in the distance. Torches lined the path, their flickering light barely illuminating the shadows of the expectant crowd. At the judge’s signal, the thunder of hooves marked the beginning of the race. Barely had it started when one of the riders, overconfident in his speed, stumbled on a treacherous turn and fell to the ground, triggering nervous laughter and scattered boos. The incident served as a warning—the path spared no one, not even the most skilled.

  Hans, astride a sturdy, fierce-eyed steed, rode forward with his heart pounding. After the first stretch, the route unfolded with obstacles: cracked earth, sudden curves, and potholes that threatened to unseat even the most seasoned rider. In a critical moment, Hans’ horse nearly lost control, forcing him to grip the saddle tightly to avoid sharing the fate of another fallen competitor. On one of the most dangerous curves, the steed neighed furiously, claiming its space on the track.

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  Shortly after, as they reached the area surrounding the ancient well—that ominous relic whose eerie aura even the beasts could sense—another rider lost his balance and fell, his frightened horse veering off the path, creating a stir among the spectators. The route narrowed even more, forcing the competitors to slow down momentarily as they navigated the rough terrain and the unsettling presence of the well.

  The path reopened for the return leg to the starting point. Though the horizon showed faint hints of dawn, the night remained dark, wrapping the contest in a shroud of uncertainty. The final stretch turned into a direct confrontation—hooves pounded the earth, the roar of the crowd merged with the competitors' relentless struggle in a battle with no quarter given. Only a few riders remained, and among them, Hans and Ignacio stood out at the front, urging their steeds forward in a relentless duel where neither seemed willing to yield.

  Just meters from the finish line, when a clear winner seemed imminent, a hidden pothole near the finish caused a chaotic scuffle between horses and riders. Both competitors struggled fiercely, and due to the unstable ground, they both fell, left at the mercy of the disorder. Meanwhile, they watched as Hans' horse galloped across the finish line, in stark contrast to Ignacio’s horse, which veered wildly into the fray. The crowd erupted in cheers and applause, though the final outcome remained subject to deliberation. In that moment, a remarkable feat had unfolded—Hans had turned his misfortune into an opportunity, facing every curve and obstacle head-on.

  The uproar of the crowd filled the arena. Some cheered for Hans, while others protested, demanding the victory be annulled. Confusion reigned among the bettors and spectators. Then, the chief judge, Cassius Aurelius, rose with authority, striking his staff against the ground to command silence.

  —Order! Silence on the track! —he declared firmly.

  Beside him, judges Titus Valerius and Publius Flavius observed the scene with stern expressions. Titus spoke with gravity:

  —However, given the extraordinary nature of this race, we should consider the possibility of a deliberation.

  The crowd murmured with anticipation as the judges debated briefly, unable to reach a consensus. Finally, Cassius Aurelius asserted his authority and proclaimed:

  —The result will be subject to the competitors’ approval. If Ignacio accepts, Hans will be declared the winner; otherwise, we will proceed with an extraordinary decision.

  Ignacio, still on the ground, dust covering his face, stood up with effort. After a brief silence, he approached the judge. With a firm tone, he declared:

  —I accept the result. It was a chaotic race, but fair in its own way.

  The crowd exploded into cheers, and Cassius Aurelius struck his staff as a sign of the verdict:

  —Hans is the victor of the contest!