Armored Cavalry, survive in a world full of mods

Alva pursed her lips. In that instant, she had so much to say—she wanted to ask who had betrayed them, what their purpose was, what was the situation of her father and the army… and even, for a moment, she wanted to question them about the deception they had given her.

But in the end, a restrained expression appeared on her face, as if she had suddenly put on a mask. She slowly stood up and performed a greeting befitting a southern nobleman to Tersolius:

"I have long admired your illustrious name, Your Majesty, the Imperial Commander. Your bravery is known to all, from the ice and snow of the far north to the yellow sands of the south."

Tersolius remained silent for a while, as if waiting for something, and after a long while, a regretful expression suddenly appeared on his face:

"Please sit down. You are a respectable person. I will order my men to treat you as a guest. You can ask them for anything you need... Of course, this is the military after all, and conditions are limited."

Alva didn't know what the man's regret was about, or whether it was some kind of ulterior motive. She could only do her best to cope, her mind racing as she tried to think of a way to get out of her current predicament.

“I’ve given you the opportunity to ask the questions you want to ask, so why are you hesitating? Girl, at least for now, I’m happy to answer.”

The man before her appeared generous and open-minded, but she wouldn't be easily fooled.

"Please forgive my bluntness, sir, but there is malice hidden in your words. You now hold my life in your hands, and I dare not believe your answer. Such trust is dangerous to me, as dangerous as flowing yellow sand."

"Haha! You're absolutely right. If I were in your position, I wouldn't be willing to believe you so easily either. After all, given your position, it would be very tempting to influence the situation by manipulating you with words... But the problem is, you have no choice but to listen to my answer."

Something hazy was ruthlessly torn away, and the bloody reality was exposed before our eyes, just like the blood spurting out immediately after a head is severed by a sharp blade—it was so real and cruel.

The eyes of the empire's commander, the man who led his legions to ravage the south and conquer kingdoms, were now like deep, ancient wells, containing something dangerous, vast, and unknown, revealing an obvious truth to her:

"I have no intention of letting you leave for the time being. You will be a guest for a long time to come. Of course, I have no intention of cutting off your head either. You can rest assured that. That would be too wasteful for me."

Alva was silent for a moment, then finally let out a long sigh:

"It seems I don't need to say any more ridiculous empty words. When will you let me leave? I don't think your goal is a large ransom... Of course, if that's what you mean, I believe my father and family will pay enough gold for me."

A smile returned to Thesolius's lips, the same unsettling smile that carried a dangerous undertone.

“You underestimate yourself too much, girl. Your value here is far greater than gold. As for when to let you leave? ... Of course, it will be when I think it is appropriate. Don’t worry, none of your servants have been executed. You will even be able to return to the south intact under their protection.”

"If you wish, you can meet with them. Of course, your freedom will be limited and narrow. You will no longer be able to order them to do anything for you. If you need, I will arrange two servants to take care of your daily life. After all, this is one of your privileges as a nobleman."

The silence lasted for quite some time. Alva's eyes, bright as crystal, gleamed with thoughtful reflection. Finally, she slowly raised her head:

"No need. I am not a weak or incompetent person. I can take care of myself. I only hope that you, sir, will allow me to send a letter to my father. I believe he is very worried."

“I cannot allow it.”

Tesorius shook his head slightly:

“I think I’ve already said this—your freedom here is very limited and scarce, and it doesn’t include freedom of communication at all. We will naturally convey your situation to Mr. Samir, so there’s no need to worry about that.”

"Finally, I hope you can get used to the Imperial cuisine. After all, it's hard for us to find chefs in Asel, and you'll be staying here for quite some time. Even if it doesn't suit your taste, you'll just have to make do. But I think there shouldn't be much difference between roast meat and stew."

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

The thin layer of ice and snow on the ground had completely melted, and the sun was shining brightly, warm enough to provide warmth without the need for a fire. However, not everyone felt the warmth; some people were experiencing cold hands and feet and were filled with worry…

317 Deterioration (1)

Hatred is a sharp and harsh seed that must be watered with the blood of an enemy to blossom into a flower of relief; otherwise, it will only continue to tear at the heart, bringing constant torment and suffering.

A burning desire for revenge raged within him, yet he forced himself to suppress this impulse with a will as cold and hard as steel. He did not, like a man of courage from Assele, draw his scimitar to behead his enemy and use the blood gushing from his neck to soothe his grief and rage.

He was clad in magnificent armor, wielded immense power, and possessed a noble status... Not one of his enemies regretted being his adversary, and most of them had already shed their blood on the yellow sands, further solidifying his formidable reputation.

But now, these past glories offer him no solace whatsoever; they only intensify his sorrow and pain—he has to allow a traitor to continue living, to allow someone who framed his daughter and caused her to fall into the hands of the Empire to continue living.

That coward may think he can escape responsibility... but his so-called cover-up was weak and laughable. Even though he wasn't good at it, he still managed to uncover the truth with a little effort—which is why his anger burned so fiercely, almost scorching his heart.

He so desperately wanted to cut off that weak, ridiculous head with his own hands, so desperately that he did it even during his rare moments of sleep… But he couldn’t do it, not even if he was grinding his teeth in hatred—because of the responsibility he bore, because behind him lay the kingdom’s most important eastern plains, because the invading empire had launched its offensive, because the defenses were already on the verge of collapse…

He could not betray his duty and mission, which was the foundation of his family's existence in Assele, and was far more terrifying to him than death... so he could tolerate it for the time being, tolerate it for the time being...

Just as a man carrying a boulder cannot drive away a venomous snake biting his ankle, he cannot break with the Abatheris family at this time, but he also cannot let others think he is weak.

Therefore, some appropriate reprimands were quite necessary for him, for the entire army, and even for the Abatheris family—only by paying a price would they temporarily lower their guard and believe that he would not retaliate fiercely against them at this critical juncture.

Therefore, the transfer of a portion of Abatheris's army to the more dangerous southwest was met with no objection or resistance. Everyone saw it as revenge, a way for him to vent his resentment, and it was indeed necessary.

But what happened next was completely unexpected, as was everyone else's—the imperial cavalry, appearing out of nowhere, ravaged the army into mangled remains in just one afternoon! Of the more than 3000 men, only four or five hundred stragglers could be found, and they were all half-mad with fear. Some couldn't even speak clearly, only letting out incoherent screams. The horrific scene left everyone who witnessed it with lingering fear, and even his most warlike generals became more conservative.

Almost everyone was astonished by the ferocity and cruelty of his revenge, as fierce as a lion tearing open the throat of its enemy! They were also terrified by his deep cunning—he was able to use the Imperials to eliminate his own enemy, whereas before, everyone thought he would let the matter go for the time being.

Suddenly, some of the lords and generals under his command became more submissive, and rarely voiced their vehement opposition when discussing military matters, making it easier for him to command their armies.

Meanwhile, the Abatheris family, a powerful family that had amassed enormous wealth through maritime trade and possessed vast and rich territories, had completely broken ties with him! They were no longer willing to feign concern and openly expressed their hostility towards him, leading some of their families to oppose him at every turn.

After all, in the other party's eyes, even if his daughter was captured by the Empire, she could be exchanged for ransom and at least her life would be safe. They were willing to pay some price for this. But he took such a ruthless revenge. He was the one who tore off the mask first!

The divisions and schisms within the army were growing increasingly severe, with every lord marveling at his wisdom and his vengeful nature... but only Samir himself knew that he genuinely wanted to let the matter rest for the time being!

Upon receiving the news, realizing the consequences, he even considered going to the head of the Abatheris family to explain... but after yet another unit belonging to an ally of the Abatheris family was destroyed by the Imperial cavalry, any further explanation seemed pale and powerless...

The situation has now reached an extremely bad point.

Their original tactic—to stretch the Imperial supply lines and wear down their manpower—had become a pipe dream; without the cooperation of the Abathris family and their allies, they simply couldn't do it.

A significant portion of his troops no longer obeyed his orders, or at least outwardly complied but inwardly defied them... Even the best commanders would feel uneasy in such a situation, especially when they were facing a powerful and aggressive enemy.

No matter how brave and skilled a warrior is, it is impossible to fight a powerful enemy when one of his legs is unresponsive. He can only temporarily shrink the army's defenses and is troubled by this terrible situation.

He summoned his trusted subordinates more and more frequently, lighting braziers and oil lamps every night to illuminate his tent, studying maps until late into the night, racking his brains to figure out possible attack routes by the Empire and discussing how to solve these thorny problems.

Many people can offer him advice based on their wisdom, but ultimately it is he, as the commander, who has the final say on the decision-making process. This is his duty and obligation, even though every decision seems so difficult.

He could no longer reconcile with the Abatheris family... Both sides were well aware of this. Things had come to this point, and bloodshed was the only way to resolve the situation, for neither him nor the other.

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

An imperial cavalryman in gleaming silver armor and crimson uniform is nothing unusual in itself, as they are a common sight throughout the Kingdom of Hols these days. However, if a dozen or so of these cavalrymen were to appear outside the camp of the Asel army, it would be enough to attract the attention of thousands upon thousands of eyes.

These cavalrymen arrived surrounded by a large horde of Assele cavalry, looking like captured prisoners... except that no prisoners in the world would retain their weapons like this, or even strut in with such an arrogant attitude.

In the very center of them stood an official in an imperial robe, calmly riding his steed. They entered the camp in this manner, remaining unperturbed by the hostile gazes of the surrounding Asel soldiers. He parked his horse in an open area with the same orderliness as if inspecting his slaves, and then waited quietly.

The pride of these imperial people was so glaring, with no intention of concealing it, that it almost instantly aroused the dissatisfaction of everyone around, causing many soldiers and officers to shout loudly... Of course, it was easily suppressed by the Alphas.

This commotion caused a hint of disdain to reappear in the expressions of these imperial people... Fortunately, before things really got out of hand, the commander here had already agreed to receive the imperial envoy.

The official among them, dressed in a long robe, straightened his clothes and then walked through the passage formed by the Apharis towards the most dazzling and luxurious golden tent.

--------

"Please sit down, envoy of the empire. Welcome to your long journey."

"Honorable and glorious Commander Asel, I have come to you on the orders of our esteemed Commander Thesolius, to deliver a message concerning your daughter Alva."

The exchange of pleasantries was extremely brief, but the poems they exchanged revealed a decisiveness unique to soldiers, which confirmed to Samir that the other party was not some bureaucrat who wrote ceremonies. He raised his hand to signal the other party to continue.

The imperial envoy was a middle-aged man with a resolute face, light tanned skin, a broad jaw, thick, straight eyebrows, and short hair. His robes were impeccably clean, with hardly any dust on them. He stood up, took a scroll from his pocket, and handed it to a servant beside him, who then gave it to Samir.

"Miss Alva recently ran into our patrol force. As you know, we are currently at war, so we had to invite her back as a guest. But you don't need to worry about her safety. The glorious Imperial Army disdains to use despicable means. She will safely spend the war with us, ensuring she enjoys the dignity and respect of an Imperial noble."

Samir stared blankly at the letter before him... Just as he had expected, it was nothing but empty rhetoric, devoid of any substantial information or promises, and it was not written by his daughter.

This wasn't even written by Thesolius; it's likely that some scholar was just randomly chosen to do the work. It's just a finely crafted piece of paper with no real value.

"Please give my regards to Lord Tersolius. At the same time, I also want to know when my daughter will be able to return to my side? I believe the Empire has no intention of detaining her indefinitely. What can I offer in exchange for my daughter's freedom?"

“I’m very sorry, sir, the Empire will not release Miss Alva for the time being. After all, the current situation is very complicated, and I believe you can understand that. We have no intention of asking for ransom or anything else. I have come here only to convey the news that your daughter is safe and sound.”

"Of course, according to our commander's will, if you are willing to lead the army out of the land of the Kingdom of Hols, then the situation will be much simpler and clearer, and we will naturally send Miss Alva back... but I believe you do not have such intentions."

Samir remained silent for a long time, a strange light flickering in his eyes, then his thick beard twitched slightly.

"...Of course, that's not something I can decide. In that case, let my daughter stay at your place for now. I believe she won't be too impatient."

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

The wind and snow raged day and night, the biting cold was intense, and even through thick walls it was enough to make one feel the chill. Especially for those who were lightly dressed, without a house to keep out the cold wind and a burning fire, it would be incredibly difficult to get through such a night.

The cold can silently steal a person's life. Before you know it, your limbs stiffen, your blood slows, until there is no enough warmth in your chest and abdomen, until even the surging blood becomes icy cold, and finally you become a frozen corpse.

The stench of cattle and sheep inside the tent was so strong it was almost suffocating. But the boy showed no intention of opening the felt window; instead, he squeezed his entire body into the pile of cattle and sheep, seeking warmth and shelter from the cold alongside them.

A haggard, aged woman huddled with him. Their tattered woolen robes barely kept them warm on such a night. The warmth of the surrounding livestock and the tent held up against the cold wind gave them the confidence to get through the winter.

The most exquisite thing in the tent was the small stove in the middle—cast from pig iron, sturdy and durable. As long as a continuous supply of fuel was added, the tent could always be kept warm, and food could be cooked amidst wisps of black smoke.

He traded deerskin for the stove, which was damaged during transport and missing the handles on both sides. This gave him a bargain. After some persistent haggling, he successfully got his hands on it, and it quickly came in handy, making life a little easier for him and his mother.

Amid the howling wind and snow, his mother was fast asleep from the day's toil, but the boy kept his eyes wide open, as if the heavy physical labor of chopping and carrying timber during the day had not yet exhausted him, giving him extra leisure to squander at this moment.

After a long while, his hand unconsciously reached to a spot next to him, and from beside the broken stool, he found a fine and powerful horn bow, which he pulled into his arms and gently stroked.

It was a fine bow, so fine that Turia tried to snatch it, but before he could actually do so, Turia cut off one of his ears and nearly slit his throat.

He kept thinking about what happened that day, about what that man had told him... to become a soldier, a soldier who would never go hungry...

318 Deterioration (2)

The cold night finally passed, and the chilly wind of the second day still made people reluctant to leave the tent, but they had no choice. After settling his mother in, the boy picked up the axe from the tent and went outside—he needed to chop firewood again today, and even more.

About two gallons east of the tribe, there is a dry grove of low trees, which is where they obtain fuel. This grove was originally much closer, but after several years of logging, it has retreated to a place far from human habitation.

He led away the only cow in the tent, ate some leftover dried milk, chewed a few mouthfuls of wild vegetables that had been dried and stored since autumn, and then hurriedly set off without any delay, walking through the thick snow and heading into the distance, leaving only a long trail of footprints.

The dark clouds in the sky had not yet dissipated, and he had to hurry up. The warmth that his tattered sheepskin robe could retain was limited, and he had to bring back the firewood before the warmth dissipated. This process would last for about half a month each year, allowing him to accumulate enough fuel in his tent.

The tall leather boots could prevent snow from getting in, but they were too worn to keep out the cold. They were the only pair of shoes in their tent, and only those who went out could wear them. They were a precious possession to him.

After walking for an unknown amount of time, just as his legs began to stiffen, he finally saw a grove of low trees—a type of tree called a cow scaffold, which grows extremely fast, reaching a maximum height of only two people, and its branches are always crooked. Its wood is brittle and suitable for use as fuel, but it has no other use. It is an important resource throughout the north.

The wood was easy to chop with an axe, but his bones were already frozen stiff, so it took him quite a while to load the firewood onto the ox's back, then he piled it high and tied it up for himself. He started his return journey again at a much slower pace than he had come, the huge pile of firewood on his back looking like it would almost crush him to death.

Wrapped his greasy, dirty robe around his legs and waded through the snow, he moved forward step by step like an ant carrying food for himself, tucking his hands into his clothes to warm them, while stroking the smooth, exquisite thing tucked under his arm—the horn bow that haunted his dreams and kept him awake at night for so long.

He should have become a warrior. Yes, that's the best thing a man from the North can do in his life. He should have lived a better life, plundering and fighting, acquiring wealth like a wolf hunting its prey.

But he still had his mother to take care of. His mother had aged herself into an old woman to raise him, and her legs were not very flexible. Without her son to support her, she would freeze to death in the tent the next day... If he really had to abandon his mother, he would rather live a miserable life like this for the rest of his life.

So this longing can only be a longing, this idea can only be an idea... Just like every boy's dream, he can't become an eagle, he can't become a warrior. It's more practical and worthwhile to use this bow to hunt birds and beasts rather than to kill enemies. At least that can bring in money and meat so that they can live a better life.

He lifted the heavy load on his back, allowing his aching shoulders a moment to catch his breath, then lowered his head again and walked silently forward, urging the slow-moving old ox beside him, as the fine snowflakes gradually fell from the sky, and he walked further and further away.

………………

The old woman's curse was sharp and piercing, with the ferocity and determination of a she-wolf. In the raging flames, the led-away cattle and sheep and the stolen goods were covered with a thin layer of snow. Finally, the rotten and broken remnants were ignited by a fire. The long-term smoke and baking had made them very dry, and they would catch fire at the slightest touch.

The curses and swears, which had been quite loud just moments before, abruptly stopped. This caused the young man at the head, who was missing an ear, to turn around in confusion... Logically, he shouldn't have been burned to death so quickly.

The old woman with gray hair and one eye gouged out by a wolf was looking at him with a strange gaze, not at all like someone about to die... and it even carried a strange familiarity... until a snowflake landed on his forehead, and he was startled—it was clearly the look of someone looking at a dead person!

"You can laugh now, you can cheer, Turia, you can laugh happily... but I think you should cry. Of course you can take my cattle and sheep and even my life from an old woman like me who can barely walk, but I'm curious, will you be able to sleep soundly after that?"

The elderly woman asked the question naturally in a sharp, hoarse voice, while the flames had already reached within two steps of her and were about to completely engulf her.

"Ha, what nonsense are you talking about? Why would I have trouble sleeping? When your good-for-nothing son comes back later, I'll throw him into the fire to join you. Your fattened cattle and sheep will give us a few good days. After we've eaten and drunk our fill, how could we possibly have trouble sleeping?"

The young man called Turia frowned. Although his words were arrogant and domineering, he subconsciously reached for the hilt of his sword at his waist... as if the kid might suddenly appear from there and slash him. He unconsciously exposed his weakness and cowardice.

"Hehehe!...You're a complete idiot! Do you think my son will be cowardly and weak because of what you've done? Do you think he'll run away like a scared sheep?"

The elderly woman propped herself up, picked up an awl made of ram's horn from the ground beside her, and slid it down her left forehead to her right cheek, carving a deep, bloody gash. The gushing blood made her look like a monstrous demon.

“My son is a hungry wolf! My son is an eagle! I am the rope that tethers him, this useless old man is the thing that binds him. Killing me will only make him more reckless! He will cut off every one of your heads, he will drain every drop of your blood, he will set your tents on fire, steal your cattle and sheep, kill your children, and sleep with your women!!”

“From now on, every one of you will live in fear. You will never sleep soundly in your tent! You will be afraid that a knife will cut your throats at any moment... How can such a future not be worth crying about? Although I cannot see it now, I know that day will surely come, so how can I not laugh out loud?!”

Turia's face twitched, and in a fit of rage, he pulled his bow from his saddlebag, intending to shoot the woman dead with an arrow... But before he could even move, the old, withered woman had already plunged the awl in her hand into her chest without the slightest hesitation, even with a hint of relief and a fierce malice as she stared at them, until she was engulfed by the raging flames...

The men, who had initially returned laden with their loot, now exchanged bewildered glances. A gloomy unease, like worms, gnawed at their hearts, as if the old woman's final curse had driven into their minds like nails.

The flames grew larger and larger, carrying the stench of burning human flesh, and stood out like a torch across the vast snowfield. The rising black smoke drifted into the sky, but it did nothing to disturb the thick, dark clouds.

The snow fell heavier and heavier, and amidst this vast expanse of white, one of them suddenly pointed in surprise into the distance:

"Turia, look there!"

Everyone turned to look, and then they saw a small, dark figure appear on the undulating hill in the distance. It was as inconspicuous as a speck of charcoal in a pile of white paper, yet it stood there motionless, exuding a chilling loneliness.

Turia's body suddenly swayed, and a strong sense of palpitation suddenly struck him, as if a strong man had punched him hard in the ribs. For a moment, he could hardly breathe, and he could not take his eyes off the black dot in the distance. Even the severed ear on his head seemed to ache faintly.

He seemed to see that boy's fierce eyes again, those eyes that were reckless and reckless, only wanting to harm his enemies... He almost tore off one of his ears.

"Grab him!"

No sooner had he finished speaking than he spurred his warhorse toward the dark figure. The others hesitated briefly, then immediately followed, leaving only two to guard their cattle and sheep, and with a ruthless resolve, they surged forward.

………………