Chapter 353: Poppy Ivoryhorn, Queen Of The Centaur Race
The moment Luca heard that sing-song voice—adding fuel to the fire he had just spent the past few minutes desperately trying to extinguish—his head snapped around like a hawk spotting prey.
His eyes narrowed as he scanned the crowd of Centaurs
Wherever his eyes landed, the knights flinched and looked away, their expressions screaming innocence.
’Not me.’
’Not me.’
’Definitely not me!’
His gaze swept across the assembled warriors, each one desperately avoiding eye contact, until finally, it landed on Sigrid.
Luca could have sworn the voice had come from her direction.
Sigrid, sensing his suspicion, suddenly looked flustered.
She shook her head vehemently, her ponytail whipping back and forth like a panicked horse’s tail.
She then glanced behind her, took a deliberate step to the side, and gestured with her hand as if to say,
’Look. Just look behind me.’
But the moment she moved, a small voice squeaked from behind her.
"No, Sigrid! Don’t go! Don’t leave me!"
But it was too late. Sigrid had already stepped away, and the person who had been hiding behind her was now completely exposed.
And Luca...
Luca found himself completely taken aback.
He had expected another centaur, perhaps a fiery lieutenant challenging his authority.
Instead, standing there was a human girl—or so she appeared at first glance.
She was absolutely tiny, barely reaching the upper legs of the towering Centaurs around her.
Her frame was slender and delicate, like a flower that might be crushed by the gentlest breeze.
Her hair was a long, flowing cascade of silvery-white that seemed to shimmer with its own inner light.
Her eyes were a striking shade of emerald green that sparkled with mischief.
She wore a simple white sundress that made her look even more innocent and fragile.
And yet, she was no ordinary human.
From the center of her forehead rose a long, elegant, spiraling horn.
It was pure white, with faint silver markings that seemed to shift and glow in the light. It was impossible to miss—and impossible to ignore.
Beside the towering Centaur warriors, she looked like a lost girl who had wandered into the wrong place at the wrong time.
A tiny, fragile thing that could be swept away by a strong gust of wind.
At that moment, however, her cheeks were burning crimson with embarrassment.
She shot an indignant glare at Sigrid, her expression a mixture of betrayal and outrage.
Her own knight had abandoned her! Exposed her to this strange human who was looking at her like she was some sort of exotic creature!
But then she noticed Luca staring at her.
He seemed frozen in place, his mouth slightly open, his eyes wide with what she assumed was appreciation.
’Of course.’ She thought, a smug smile spreading across her face. ’It makes sense. I’m absolutely beautiful, after all! He simply can’t tear his eyes away from my magnificence.’
Immediately, her shyness vanished. She stood up straighter and planted her hands on her hips with a proud, self-satisfied smile.
Her expression practically screamed,
’Look all you want. Take in every ounce of my beauty. I know I’m stunning.’
But then Luca snapped out of his daze.
His eyes narrowed, his brow furrowed, and he pointed directly at her with an expression of utter confusion.
"Who the hell is this little pipsqueak?" He demanded.
The same she heard this insult, the girl’s face went from smug satisfaction to utter devastation.
Her mouth dropped open, her eyes widened, and her cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of crimson—this time from pure rage.
"Pipsqueak?" She shrieked, balling her tiny fists at her sides. "You—you—how dare you call me a pipsqueak?! Do you have any idea who I am?! Do you have the faintest idea who you’re talking to?!"
"Judging by the height? A lost child." Luca answered.
"LOST CHILD?!" She shrieked.
"Don’t worry, we’ll find your parents."
"I DON’T NEED MY PARENTS!" She jumped which made her impressive mounds despite he petite figure bounce.
"Really? Because I think they’re probably looking everywhere for you."
"Ahhhhh—! You—! You insolent—! How dare you insult this queen!"
Luca smirked, clearly enjoying her reaction and add more fuel to the fire.
"Okay, if you’re not that, maybe you’re a gremlin who lost its way?"
"A dwarf searching for her hammer."
"A garden gnome who decided to roam—"
"I am NOT a dwaef, gnome or a GREMLIN!"
She shouted, stamping her foot and finally announced with all her might,
"I am Poppy Ivoryhorn!
"The Queen of the entire Centaur race!"
"Every single one of these warriors is at my command! I am respected all throughout the continent as the Queen of Purity!"
She crossed her arms, a smug look returning to her face. She clearly expected him to be impressed, perhaps even intimidated.
Luca stared at her for a long moment.
Then he burst out laughing.
"Ha! You? The Queen?" He doubled over, slapping his knee. "Stop joking around! This is absolutely ridiculous even as a joke!"
"You look like you should be playing with dolls and eating sugar cubes, not ruling an entire race!"
Poppy’s face went from red to purple. "How dare you?! How can you dare to laugh at my face?!"
She turned to Sigrid, tugging at the knight’s armored arm with frantic desperation.
"Sigrid! Sigrid! Look!" She pointed at Luca accusingly. "He said it! Look at how he’s laughing at me! He’s treating me like a joke!"
Sigrid looked utterly uncomfortable, her gaze darting between her furious Queen and the thoroughly amused Hero.
She opened her mouth to say something—but Luca cut her off with a sneer.
"A queen? You? With that tiny horn and that baby face? I’ve seen more intimidating flowers! At least they can defend themselves with thorns!"
"What do you have? A sparkly horn and a bad attitude?"
Poppy sputtered, her face cycling through various shades of red. "That’s—that’s not—you can’t just—"
"And that dress!" Luca continued, gesturing at her sundress. "You’re supposed to be a ruler! Where’s the royal regalia? Where’s the crown? Where’s the, I don’t know, the majestic presence?"
Poppy looked down at her dress, then back at Luca, her indignation reaching a fever pitch.
"This is perfectly appropriate attire for a Queen! It’s comfortable! And it has pockets!"
"Pockets?!" Luca repeated, laughing even harder. "The Queen of the Centaurs is worried about pockets?"
Poppy spluttered, completely flustered. "I—you—I’m very powerful! I have the Purification Rite! I’m chosen by the gods!"
"Oh, I’m sure you are." Luca said, his tone dripping with mock sincerity. "I’m sure you’re very powerful. You just...don’t look it."
Poppy stomped her foot again, which was somehow even less impressive than the first time.
"That’s it! Sigrid! Arrest him! Throw him in the dungeon! Make him regret every word he’s ever said!"
Sigrid’s expression shifted to one of pained desperation. "My lady, I don’t think—"
"No thinking! Only arresting!" Poppy declared, pointing at Luca with a shaking finger.
Luca just grinned wider.
"See? This is exactly what I’m talking about. A real queen would have handled this with dignity."
"A real queen would have said something clever and put me in my place with words alone."
"But you? You’re just shouting and stomping like a child having a tantrum."
Poppy’s eye twitched. "I am NOT having a tantrum!"
"Oh, really? Because from where I’m standing, it looks an awful lot like a tantrum."
Poppy looked like she was about to explode. She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again, but no words came out.
She was so flustered, so thoroughly outraged, that she couldn’t form a coherent response.
The knights around them watched the exchange with a mixture of confusion and amusement, clearly unsure whether they should intervene.
Then Luca’s tone shifted slightly.
"Actually." He said slowly. "I heard about the previous queen. Matilda, right?"
Poppy froze.
Her entire body went still, all the fury draining from her face in an instant.
Luca, oblivious to her reaction, continued talking.
"I’ve heard a lot about her, actually. The exploits, the tales...everyone on the continent respected her. Even back in the elf village, they talked about her with such admiration."
"Leona, my wife she told me about how Matilda helped them. Apparently, the elf village owes her a massive favor."
He shook his head, a look of genuine respect on his face.
"She sounds like she was a proper queen. Someone who carried herself with dignity and grace. Someone you could look at and think, ’Yes, that’s a ruler.’"
He looked at Poppy, his expression turning dismissive.
"But you? You’re nothing like her. It’s like comparing a lion to a housecat. The difference is night and day."
Luca expected her to explode again. He expected shouting, stomping, more indignant demands for his arrest.
It was honestly a bit amusing, watching her flail around trying to maintain her dignity.
She was so transparent—every emotion written plain on her face, unable to hide anything.
But this time, something was different.
Poppy didn’t explode.
She didn’t shout or demand his head on a platter.
Instead, her face crumpled. Her eyes grew wide and wet, and her lower lip began to tremble.
She opened her mouth to say something, but no words came out.
Sigrid was at her side in an instant, her armored hand resting gently on the Queen’s shoulder.
"My lady." She said softly. "You don’t have to listen to this. You don’t have to—"
But Poppy shook her head, her gaze fixed on Luca.
There were tears in her eyes now, glistening like tiny diamonds.
"My mother." She whispered, her voice cracking. "My mother...she...she..."
She looked away, struggling to compose herself.
When she looked back, her eyes were red-rimmed, her expression heartbreakingly vulnerable.
"Do you...Do you really think I look nothing like my mother at all?"
She asked Luca, her voice barely above a whisper.
"What you said...is it true?"
Luca himself was too baffled by her reaction to answer her question.
Seeing this, Poppy turned to Sigrid, her eyes pleading.
"Sigrid, is that true? Do I...Do I really look nothing like my mother?"
Sigrid looked utterly stricken. She crouched down to the Queen’s level, her voice soft and soothing.
"No, my lady, that’s not true at all. You resemble her in so many ways—"
She shot a glare at Luca, a glare that promised retribution if he said another word.
But Poppy wasn’t listening.
"M-Mother...Mother...I...I....Wahhhh!"
She broke down completely, tears streaming down her face as she cried openly in front of everyone.
Sigrid immediately wrapped her arms around the young Queen, murmuring soft reassurances.
"Please don’t cry, my lady, please! I beg of you! You really do look like your mother. Everything the Hero said was wrong—please don’t listen to him."
But Poppy continued crying, her small body wracked with sobs.
The other Centaurs watched the scene with expressions of deep sympathy, their own eyes growing misty.
And Luca stood there, completely baffled.
’What just happened?’ He thought frantically. ’I just complimented her mother! I said she sounded like a proper queen! Why is she crying like this?’
But then, slowly, understanding began to dawn on him.
He remembered what Nyx had told him about the Centaur Queen’s succession.
When one queen passed away, she scattered into ash, and from those ashes, the next queen was born.
Poppy would have emerged from Matilda’s remains—a fully formed foal, with no memory of her mother, no experience of maternal love, no connection to the woman who had given her life.
Even children whose mothers died at birth could sometimes feel that connection—the warmth of a mother’s touch, the rhythm of a heartbeat. But
Poppy had never had any of that.
She had simply appeared, alone and without context, her only inheritance a legacy of ashes and expectations.
She had never known her mother. She had never felt her warmth.
She had never heard her voice or seen her smile.
And Luca, in his thoughtless teasing, had just rubbed salt into that wound.
He felt a stab of guilt.
He had been so focused on defending himself, on mocking the ridiculous situation, that he hadn’t considered the weight of his words.
He had been cruel without meaning to be, and now the Queen was crying because of him.
And now, because of what he had done, he expected the Centaurs to turn on him.
He expected swords to be drawn, accusations to be hurled. He had insulted their beloved Queen—surely they would demand his head for this.
But to his surprise, none of them glared at him.
They just looked at him with strange, almost pitying expressions like they didn’t quite know what to do with him.
Something was wrong. Something didn’t add up.
These same Centaurs had challenged him to a duel the moment he arrived—drawing their swords and surrounding him like he was their mortal enemy.
They had been so quick to anger, so ready to fight.
But now, when he had actually hurt their Queen—when he had made her cry—they were just...standing there.
Being gentle.
Being understanding.
Seriously, what the hell is going on?!
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