Armored Cavalry, survive in a world full of mods

Tarina carefully examined the bloodshot, swollen tip of the nose, then groped around on the ground for a while, found a dry stick, and used the short knife she pulled from her pocket to cut it to a suitable length, smoothing the ends.

"Just stick this stick into your nostril and pry it slightly in the right direction. I've seen some soldiers do that."

………………

Exhausted and pained, Alva struggled to move his fingers, but this usually simple action was now incredibly difficult, as if he were putting his hand into molten iron, where even a struggle was blocked by the hot and heavy metal.

My thoughts were sometimes clear, sometimes blurry, as chaotic as a muddy swamp stirred up by a wild boar, making it difficult to maintain a clear mind.

Until a pair of strong, bony hands grabbed her chin, and then a hard wooden stick was thrust straight into her left nostril. The intense intrusion and pain jolted her awake, but before she could open her eyes or do anything, the pain suddenly intensified—

click!

With a soft crack, the overwhelming pain nearly destroyed her reason, causing her to break through her previous resistance in an instant. She reached out and covered her nose, tears welling up in her eyes from the unbearable stimulation.

She heard a sound coming from her own throat—a weak, mournful wail that she almost mistook for an illusion, like the cry of a girl whose pretty clothes had been stolen, both helpless and cowardly.

She couldn't believe that such a sound could come from herself! So weak, so ridiculous… she was only a step away from crying. She should have despised this cowardice, mocked this incompetence! …But now, she…

Sadness, helplessness, and confusion welled up inside her, carrying a strange feeling that made her heart pound, yet also a terrifying aggressiveness, repeatedly assaulting her defenses, trying to tear apart her reason and take over her emotions.

The tears seemed to loosen the blood around her eyes, making her vision clearer. She could clearly see a stick stained with blood and snot thrown in front of her, with a pair of intricately carved iron boots standing next to it.

"You're right, doctor, it's really easy. And this medicine, can't we just have her drink it all at once?"

"That's right, just drink it. It's one of my commonly used medicines, and it has a certain relieving effect on various injuries."

The voices rang out above her head, and the pair of iron boots took a small step forward. Then a small bottle was handed to her, the pale green liquid inside shimmering strangely in the moonlight.

"Drink it if you don't want your nose to grow crooked."

She took a deep breath and then suddenly reached out to smash the bottle to the ground, but the other party seemed to be prepared and nimbly dodged her fingers by stepping back.

The other person seemed to be getting impatient and had no intention of arguing with her anymore. He reached out and grabbed her chin, forcing her to open her mouth.

In the moonlit military camp, a tall man bit open the cork of the medicine bottle in his hand, then shoved the bottle directly into Alva's mouth, emptying it completely in an instant.

"If you vomit in this position, it will only flow into your nose. Think it through. At this point, is it still worth it?"

The bitter medicine contained a strange coolness. Seeing the other person's throat move, Tersolius finally released his grip with satisfaction... and then quickly blocked the other person's kick that was aimed at his groin.

The sounds of swords being drawn were as dense as a torrential downpour. The guards who had surrounded him were watching this guy who dared to attack their commander with predatory eyes. They held their gleaming blades to his long neck, the bright steel light enough to calm down any hot-headed person.

"It seems you still haven't grasped your situation... Alka, settle our distinguished guest in a suitable barracks, keep a close watch on her, and make sure she doesn't encounter any problems."

………………

The magnificent black warhorse excitedly stamped its hooves, leaping restlessly in the stable with its long, powerful limbs. Its heavy body knocked the wooden fence beside it so hard it seemed about to collapse at any moment. Every now and then it would snort and exhale two long puffs of white breath, looking quite excited.

Will this situation last for a long time?

Thesolius looked up as his horse used its immense strength to dismantle the stables. The grooms beside him dared not approach the excited beast and could only wait for it to calm down on its own.

"Logically, it shouldn't... Strange, all the other warhorses are normal, why is only Moss so excited?... It's clearly larger, this dosage should have less of an effect on it..."

Talina stood outside the manger, watching the excited behemoth with puzzlement, while Tersolius, looking at his old companion, already had a bold guess:

"I don't think it has anything to do with your medicine, doctor. This guy is just causing trouble on his own..."

Amidst the terrified cries of the groom beside him, Thesolius stepped forward, grabbed the horse's ear that it was trying to raise high, and pulled it down forcefully, causing the excited beast to obediently lower its head and rub against him, panting heavily.

"Xu..."

Finally, a few gentle pats on its thick neck easily calmed the beast that had just been wreaking havoc. After a few more light stomps of its hooves, it stopped moving, lowered its head, and obediently began to nibble on the concentrated feed in the manger.

"This fellow has been out of action for a long time... I haven't ridden it into battle myself in a long time either. Passatria horses are noble, docile, and warlike creatures, so that's probably why it's so happy."

After tidying his warhorse's mane one last time, Thesolius turned and left the dilapidated stable—it would certainly need repairs, at least to restore its function as a shelter from the wind and rain.

"Today has been quite fruitful, Doctor. Quickly gather everyone together. We need to think carefully about how to handle this great gain... Perhaps the plan should be adjusted. After all, the key to changing the situation is now in our hands."

Tarina also packed her notebook into her small bag and caught up with him in small steps:

"I suspect the Assele army has already made a move. Whoever they are, they certainly won't remain indifferent, and there should be significant changes to come."

"Plans really do never keep up with changes; who could have imagined things would turn out this way..."

"Yes, who could have imagined this..."

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The still of the night is a time for people to rest. Even a destitute beggar knows to search for something to keep warm, huddle together to get through the night, and regain some strength so as not to freeze to death.

But sometimes, for something more important, people will always give up this time of rest, use firelight to dispel the darkness and illuminate their way forward, and refuse to stop for even a moment.

Several beggars huddled in the stove of a pie shop—it wasn't spacious, but one could still duck and squeeze in to escape the cold wind outside. Sometimes, if they were lucky, the ashes inside still carried the warmth of the day, making it even more comfortable. It was often a coveted spot that required fighting and brawling to claim.

The beggars who have survived to this day are all experienced old people. They know very well that on this winter night, even if they fight tooth and nail for a rotten apple during the day, they must obediently huddle together and curl up in a ball to avoid becoming food for wild dogs the next day.

The night was cold and long. After enduring a period of torment, the beggars gradually fell asleep. Although this sleep was unreliable and intermittent, it was enough to restore some of their energy. No one was willing to move their spot, fearing that if they moved even a little, someone else would take their place.

"squeak!"

The shriek of a rat scurrying through the street startled a drowsy beggar. The alert creature gave them a warning, followed by the heavy clatter of hooves, initially muffled and indistinct, but growing louder and louder as time went on, as deafening as thunder.

Everyone realized something was wrong. The beggars scrambled out of the furnace, which was so small they could barely move. Three or four of them, as if their pants were on fire, hurriedly scrambled into the dark alley next to it. They then skillfully shoved aside a pile of broken boxes and garbage and buried themselves inside, leaving only their eyes sticking out as they intently watched the street where a large cavalry force was about to pass.

Just a few breaths later, the thunderous sound of hooves rolled across the street ahead. In the firelight, the constantly intertwining horse legs resembled a swaying jungle under the dark moonlight. The rubbing of armor plates was as dense as a rainstorm. The burning torches illuminated the gleaming iron helmets and the turbans wrapped around them.

After an unknown amount of time, the cavalry finally passed through the street, and a beggar hiding in a pile of garbage asked in bewilderment:

"What happened? Why is there such a commotion?..."

313 Disagreement (2)

"The 3,000th squad, by the legion commander's orders, must reach the town of Toricas before sunset today!"

The messenger, carrying a command flag, rode swiftly to the scene and then hurried away. Before the dust kicked up by his hooves had even settled, he had already disappeared around the corner of the road. It was already late afternoon, and they didn't have much time left. So, with a command from the centurion, the officers immediately reprimanded the soldiers who had become somewhat lax, urging them to straighten their formation again and speed up their march.

Baria wiped the mud off his face, watching his comrades quicken their pace and pass by. The dense screech of their armor plates rubbing against each other was like a torrential downpour in his ears. Looking at the solid path they were treading on, the young man couldn't help but smile, feeling proud of his and his men's efforts.

His thousand-man unit was still responsible for maintaining roads and building bridges to ensure that the main force's marching speed would not be affected by potholes and bad roads before their arrival. This was crucial for the entire army, especially since the terrible road conditions in the south of Hols always made them curse and work hard. The huge stone wheels used to level the land even required three different horses to pull the carts.

When building small roads, they could do it themselves, but for roads like this that could accommodate large armies, they had to bring along the laborers from the engineering corps. More precisely, their main task was to protect the safety of the construction workers. They rarely got to do the work themselves and spent most of their time on guard to prevent enemy scouts or skirmishers from ambushing their workers.

After a week of continuous work, the road assigned to their fifty-man team had been repaired and was now passable by the main army. They were also given a rare moment of rest, able to stand by the roadside in the gentle afternoon sun and watch the scene at their leisure.

I'm such a lucky guy...

Baria could hardly contain his excitement—he was already a corps commander, and in two months, he was a strong contender for the promotion to centurion. His string of achievements had made his promotions exceptionally rapid within the entire legion. Many higher-ranking officers and important figures had even taken notice of his performance, and he could now be considered to have a very promising future.

His friend Caledo performed even better than him. Although the two no longer had as much time to talk after becoming officers, he had already learned that Caledo had been promoted to centurion based on his victories and merits. Several fellow countrymen even gathered together on the holiday to celebrate, enjoying a delicious meal of fragrant Southern goat meat roasted to a sizzling perfection with their newly issued military pay.

Aside from the victory banquets held by the legion, he had never eaten meat so recklessly as he had that day. His nose and mouth were filled with the pungent smell of mutton, and he could feel the oil rising from his stomach with every burp. However, due to military discipline, no one dared to get drunk, but everyone ate until they could barely walk.

Of the several fellow villagers who joined the elite legion together, only the two of them were able to become officers; the others were still just ordinary soldiers. During gatherings, their conversations were often filled with envious banter and complaints, but everyone still sincerely wished the two of them well, as well as their friends who had come all this way.

Now, even a conservative and taciturn man like him couldn't help but have more visions for the future and more ambitions. He wanted to continue climbing the ranks and join this glorious war with greater power... He was genuinely excited and thrilled about that future, and that's why he, like other imperial soldiers, sincerely longed for the war that was about to begin.

The Assele people are overestimating themselves by sending their legions to provoke the empire's authority; they will suffer under the iron hooves of the empire.

The Hols were on their death throes; their legions had been crushed and torn apart, and they no longer had the strength to challenge the Empire beyond their laughable walls, led by the invincible Tersolius!

Now that things have come to this, what else is there for him to worry about? His only concern is that there are too many talented people in the legion, and he won't be able to obtain that precious honor.

Now, the Imperial Legion is pushing its front lines forward, and towns that were previously in the buffer zone are falling one after another. It is said that two major cities in the east have already been ravaged by the Legion's iron hooves. Although there has been no real clash with the enemy's army yet, he believes that day is not far off.

........................

He felt his breathing slow down, and the difficulty felt like being bitten on the neck by a wild beast with its sharp teeth—he would be torn apart, his blood vessels chewed off, and his bones broken in an instant.

In fact, everyone in the tent shared his feeling, suppressed by the man sitting in the chair, as strong and fierce as a lion. They dared not breathe too loudly, nor move their fingers even slightly, their whole bodies stiff as mice terrified by a venomous snake. They watched as the man stroked a saddle in front of him with his strong, bony hands—a saddle decorated with crocodile and cheetah skin.

Aside from being somewhat elaborate and ornate, the saddle wasn't particularly outstanding; it was just a standard military design, with brass and gilding decorations on the sides and a desert lion pattern carved on the seat... But now, right below the saddle seat, a pattern carved with a sharp blade on a piece of light brown, thick cowhide was as glaring as ink spots on white paper.

It was a male goat with its head tucked in, large ears that drooped to its shoulders, short hair, and a thick neck—a common breed in the Assele region and the emblem of the Abatheris family. Although the depiction was rough, certain key features were accurately captured, making it instantly recognizable.

There wasn't a single fool sitting here; everyone understood what this meant. They had all heard about the major event that had occurred long ago—the commander's daughter, General Alva, had gone hunting yesterday and hadn't returned. Of the dozens of attendants who went with her, only this one horse had managed to return. A large number of cavalrymen had been sent out to search, and in the end, they only found traces of battle outside the city controlled by the Abatheris family.

Up until this point, Samir had only spent a worried night pacing around his tent after receiving the news. What truly ignited his emotions and made the atmosphere so somber and heavy was what happened next...

There were obvious signs of fighting outside the city, but when the soldiers sent out to find people and scouts questioned the garrison on the city walls, they couldn't get any clues at all. They either stammered, delayed, covered up, or even changed the subject. In the end, all they got was that they had defeated the Imperial army here today... but when asked how many kills and prisoners they had taken, they couldn't find anything. Not to mention the captured flags and armor, they couldn't even find a single piece of red cloth.

The searchers dared not slacken their efforts, following the trail left outside the city. They even engaged in several small-scale battles with the suddenly active Imperial scouts, suffering considerable losses. Finally, following the dense hoofprints, they found what was likely Alva's last hunting ground, along with a leopard whose fur had been stripped.

These signs all indicated that a large contingent of Imperial cavalry was lurking in the vicinity, and certainly not for trivial reasons… because the sheer number of them, and the unusually heavy and enormous hoofprints, made the scouts uneasy—it seemed to point to the Empire’s renowned armored cavalry. What kind of scenario would require these war machines to be deployed? This made them begin to suspect General Alva’s disappearance.

What truly complicated and made things most dangerous was the horse that slowly walked back to the camp at noon today, relying on its memory—Alva's thoroughbred, Aselturis… This was the only clue they had obtained after sending out a large number of cavalry to scout, and the scouts had all flocked north, so the horse had gone unnoticed and slowly walked back.

Subsequently, the pattern found on the saddle immediately drew suspicion to the eldest son of the Abatheris family, who had gone hunting with Alva. After all, the man was still hiding in the city and had refused all requests to meet, which seemed extremely suspicious. Alva was the only one who would carve this pattern on the saddle. The message he wanted to convey by carving such a thing at a critical moment was self-evident.

These men were all trusted confidants of the Samir family, which was why the man, after obtaining the saddle, first kept the news secret and then summoned them to discuss the matter… After learning the full story, each of them felt a chill run down their spine. A terrible trouble had appeared before them, and they had to face and resolve it; any misstep would surely lead to horrific consequences.

"The eldest son of the Abatheris family is a coward."

After remaining silent for a long time, Samir suddenly uttered a universally acknowledged truism, causing the others to exchange bewildered glances. However, they dared not say anything more and continued to wait.

"What do you think this coward would do if he were pursued by the Imperial army? What would he do?"

"No need for further questioning, my lord! I can't think of any other possibility besides this coward's betrayal. Alva is a brave general, not a weakling who can't even kill a chicken! How could she be captured by the Empire so easily, and not even a messenger could escape?! What we should be doing now is not sighing here, but going to that coward's door, dragging him out, holding a knife to his throat, and making him tell the truth!"

A burly general, who had clearly been holding back for a long time, erupted his emotions like a volcano. Anger and shame filled every part of his face. If this were not the commander's tent, he might have already started smashing things to vent his emotions.

"Don't talk nonsense here, Samor! Don't you understand our current situation?"

A man of about 30 years old sat to Samir's left, his face resolute and dark. His beard was unkempt and messy, but not dirty, and free of lice or food scraps. He wore a brass helmet edged with chainmail, and a pale blue silk turban was wrapped around the center of the helmet, topped with a blue gem the size of a pigeon's egg, making it look luxurious and expensive.

"The news of Alva's capture by the Empire has spread; it can't be kept secret any longer. Now all the other lords in the army are watching us..." He turned and stared at the other man expressionlessly. "Guess what they're waiting for? The Empire's army is advancing. Whatever their plans, our first priority is to respond! Not to start a war with another family based on a few signs. That would only cause our army to collapse and become something that can be trampled on at will in front of the Empire."

“If we were to start a private feud at this critical juncture, we would no longer be considered a qualified commander in the eyes of other generals and families, and they would lose their confidence and respect for us… I don’t need to tell you the consequences of that.”

"So you mean to just ignore it? Let that coward from the Abbasris family get away with harming our people and continue to go unpunished?! I don't remember us being such cowards as to swallow such a disgrace!"

Although the burly-faced general still appeared to be in opposition, he had obediently returned to his chair... He understood this principle well, but he could not bear this humiliation, so he could only vent his frustration in this powerless manner.

"Who said we should let them off easily? ... It's just that the Empire came in a fierce attack—once the Empire retreats, we'll settle accounts however we want, in our Aselite way, making those damned people bleed filthy blood from their throats, and hanging their corpses on flagpoles."

The situation was already quite clear to them. These experienced generals and nobles quickly figured out what had happened. At this moment, some were gritting their teeth, while others were thinking calmly and gloomily. But without a doubt, each of them was filled with malice. As Samor said, no one could tolerate such despicable and shameful acts. They had only put it aside temporarily because of the enemy's overwhelming force. Once the situation eased even slightly, they would not hesitate to retaliate.

This was the way of life for the Assele people, as important as oases and water sources in the desert.

"...Summon all the generals from all the families. We should prepare to deal with the Imperials."

Samir, who had been silent all along, finally stood up, ending the malicious discussion among his confidants. His lips twitched slightly, like a lion about to roar.

"...Summon the generals of the Abatheris family, and that young lad too, and tell him to get over here."

My usual day off.

As is the author's custom, a day off is taken to organize thoughts and refine the outline.

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314 Urge (1)

The gleaming spears, as cold as the sigh of death, swept across the formation like a dense iron brush in the blink of an eye! Instantly, they sent flying blood and flesh, and torn limbs flying everywhere. Broken armor plates and scales scattered in the air like snowflakes, shimmering with white light.

The army formation, subjected to such devastation, immediately began to falter. The once relatively orderly lines became crooked and vulnerable, unable to withstand the onslaught of iron hooves that followed.

While the dead were still convulsing and the wounded were still wailing, the heavily armored warhorses, carrying their elite knights, charged into the formation once more. After a thunderous roar, a series of hoofprints mixed with blood, flesh, mud, and entrails were left behind. Flesh and blood seeped from the gaps in the torn chainmail. The helmets, dented by the iron staffs, clung tightly to the shattered skulls. The severed limbs were still twitching.

Wherever the iron hooves passed, only a scene of carnage remained. As this cruel sight and terrifying sound spread in all directions, the morale of the army was instantly depleted, like blood gushing out when one's neck is slashed. At this moment, reason was a precious and pitifully rare thing.

Even as the officers and veterans among them continued to shout and hack at the escapees, more and more people lost their courage, dropped their spears and swords, smashed off their helmets, and turned to run. Some even shouted discouraging words to give themselves more justification and courage, urging those around them to run with them.

Even the bravest and most determined began to waver. First the soldiers, then the sergeants, and finally even the officers and generals turned and fled, with the surging tide of steel behind them.

The screams of horses trampling human bodies and the muffled thuds of swords severing limbs sounded like the mocking laughter of demons, urging them to quicken their pace and escape the nightmare behind them, until they were trampled into a bloody pulp by iron hooves, at which point they would finally squeeze out their pitiful howls from their throats.

In an instant, as if mercury had dispersed the yellow sand, the Asel army, clad in yellow robes, collapsed in disarray, with no chance of recovery. Imperial cavalry followed behind, ruthlessly trampling and ravaging the land, creating countless corpses every second.

This is a paradise of death and wailing, but also a stage for victory and glory...

The flag, soaked in blood, was picked up by a large hand clad in steel armor. Its magnificent gold embroidery and decorations, now filthy from being soaked in blood, fat, and entrails, were now the most glorious and noble trophy, symbolizing the collapse and demise of yet another army under their iron hooves.

The only pity is that it's just a family flag, and it won't hold any important place in my collection.

Tersolius swung his sword and cut off the lower half of the flagpole, then threw his spoil to Arca beside him. The standard-bearer placed it in a leather pouch next to his saddle along with the other flags.

Imperial cavalry have begun to pursue and wipe out the remaining enemy forces. The rampaging light cavalry are the best candidates for this task. Their speed is as fast as the wind, and they can always inflict the greatest damage on the enemy before they can escape the battlefield. They are like a greedy wolf that will not stop until it has devoured all the flesh and blood.

This was an undisputed victory. The army of more than 3000 Asselmens was completely crushed here, while their opponents, a force of 1500 men composed entirely of cavalry led by Tersolius, achieved their first victory in a direct confrontation with a swift and deadly raid.