Armored Cavalry, survive in a world full of mods

It was with this belief that he came all the way to where he is today, becoming a well-known warrior under the lord of his hometown. His confidence has never wavered, and he has never been afraid of any challenge.

But today, at this very moment, his resolve is facing an unprecedented challenge—a powerful challenge that threatens to crush his beliefs...

Basto screamed as he was thrown into the air. A gruesome gash was torn in his breastplate, and broken bones mixed with bits of armor fell to the ground. Even his screams were weak, as if they were being squeezed out of his lungs.

He stared in disbelief as his comrade was tossed into the air and then slammed down in front of him... The horrific wound had almost ripped his chest in half, and the armor plates were torn apart as if they were made of paper.

He almost thought that the monsters from before had suddenly come to life, otherwise his mind simply couldn't imagine what else could cause such terrible damage!

This scene, which was completely beyond his comprehension, also greatly shocked the soldiers around him. However, their opponents did not hesitate or show any mercy. They immediately swarmed forward, hacking and slashing them down one by one like chopping sugarcane.

And he, Kukert, was both fortunate and unfortunate to have encountered the very person who caused this terrible scene...

This was a tall, agile warrior, clad from head to toe in gold and silver armor, his helmet adorned with brass feathers and a gilded laurel wreath. He slowly approached, carrying a long axe stained with blood, his helmet slightly tilted, as if amused by his still-living existence.

Kukert silently threw away the scimitar in his hand... He bent down and picked up the iron staff from a fallen soldier beside him—the blade was useless against the opponent in front of him, and his main weapon was already unusable and had been thrown away somewhere.

His opponent continued to advance slowly, giving him a chance to flip over another shield. Then, summoning his remaining courage, he took the initiative to meet the opponent head-on.

The other party remained motionless... This doubt persisted until he rushed five steps in front of the other party—before he could react, the whistling blade had already dismembered the shield in his left hand and his entire forearm. Before the excruciating pain could even reach his head, the other party's hands had already reached out in a crisscross pattern, causing his vision to suddenly fly up.

Bang!!……

The helmeted head fell to the ground, and then the steel separated from the flesh and blood. The man's face, still bearing a look of confusion and ferocity, rolled out from inside, covered in mud and blood.

The boots with gold-plated edges didn't stop for a moment, stepping straight past his head and continuing to charge towards the next formation, followed by thousands upon thousands of iron boots...

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

The three shields shattered like biscuits, causing their owners behind them to suffer violent spasms and broken bones. In the blink of an eye, they were swiftly and decisively slaughtered by blades and hammers from other places, while the armored warriors took another step forward.

The spears, thrust out, failed to penetrate the three layers of heavy armor. Instead, they were caught by a powerful arm along with two others. With a sudden burst of force, the three were pulled out of formation and disappeared into the rolling blades and axes in the blink of an eye.

The heavy brass helmet twisted and deformed, crushing the bones beneath, tearing apart muscles and blood vessels, collapsing like a flattened pot, its ornate gemstones shattering and falling into the mud. In the blink of an eye, it was indistinguishable from pebbles.

The resisting guards were torn apart and crushed; the banners belonging to a nobleman were cut down and thrown into the mud and blood; the glorious and ornate patterns and seals on them were now as worthless as weeds.

A flame was burning in her heart, causing her long axe to tear through large chunks of flesh, smashing armor and bones together, and giving her limbs and body a continuous source of new strength, her steps never stopping for a moment.

As if by instinct, she gathered her strength and unleashed a horizontal slash, sending two heads flying into the air. The splattered blood accumulated on her silver-white armor, adding to the thick, dark crimson hue.

The resisters before them were consumed by fear; their steps were weak and aching, their bodies involuntarily retreating. The weapons in their hands were no longer steady, and the black poison had gripped their beating hearts.

Just like a performance, he cleaved an opponent in two from shoulder to waist, the axe blade retracting as it severed an arm, the brass weighted shoulder blade falling backward and smashing a helmet... Karila spread this fear with a cunning and ruthless wisdom, the long axe in his hand grazing the dead and hitting the wounded, constantly attacking the enemy's already weakened morale.

Finally, after another fierce assault, a thousand-man squad in front of them was wiped out. The fleeing soldiers continued to spread this fear to others, shaking other formations and igniting a stronger desire for escape in more people.

The Aselian lines were retreating, their formation being compressed, as if being mercilessly crushed by an iron hammer, leaving behind bloody corpses and shattered armor as they retreated further and further until they had nowhere left to go, their screams and howls swirling as they were caught in the flying blades and axes.

The imperial forces that launched the attack, however, were not troubled by fatigue. They seemed to have inexhaustible energy, launching brutal and bloody assaults time and time again, hacking and tearing flesh apart.

One formation after another was broken and disintegrated, one soldier after another was beheaded and torn apart. In just the time it takes to eat lunch, the Asel people were plunged into an unimaginable bitter battle, while the iron cavalry had only just arrived at their designated positions.

………………

What exactly is glory? This is probably a question that is quite difficult to answer precisely, and it varies slightly from person to person... But for the old man, he believed that if he retreated even slightly at this moment, he would undoubtedly lose his glory and become a laughing stock.

The once neatly trimmed mustache and goatee were now disheveled, the wax applied had been completely washed away by sweat, and two-thirds of them were covered in blood. Its owner, however, was no longer concerned with grooming his beard and was just nervously rubbing his chin.

This is a typical action—to relieve stress and clear a chaotic mind, he always does this, and over the decades, it has made his jawline appear sparse.

The situation was worse than ever before, so bad that his heart was bleeding... Thinking of the heavy losses, he almost wanted to grind his teeth to pieces.

Watching the elites his family had nurtured being thrown into such a meat grinder was an incredibly difficult choice. Normally, he wouldn't even consider it, and anyone who suggested it to him would face the most severe attacks and rebukes, even if it meant falling out with other lords.

This is the first thing any lord would do... Even in the midst of war, their primary duty is to protect their own power and authority, which is the very foundation upon which they truly live. They don't care how many soldiers others lose or are wounded. They might even gloat, but they cannot tolerate their own elite forces suffering too much loss.

But he knew he had no choice, and so did many other lords... They had no choice either. This was no longer a war with a way out, but a decision that had to be made to survive, to win, and to escape. If they failed, everything would be over. It wasn't just their commander who would suffer; everyone was tied to the same boat, which is why a reconciliation could be reached so easily.

But now, facing that crumbling front, he has heard the suggestion to retreat countless times... In the beginning, he beheaded two nobles to shut the others up, but now, all he can do is weakly and palely rebuke them, a rebuke that even he himself finds pale.

His experience made him realize the situation was rapidly deteriorating, but it was all in vain. His repeated requests for backup were met with rejection after rejection. He could only continue to try to hold on with his meager forces, throwing one elite unit after another into the meat grinder, but he could only watch as the lines were torn apart and the soldiers lost their last bit of confidence in fear, scattering and fleeing.

How much longer can they hold out? He didn't know... The only thing he knew was that everyone here had no other choice.

------

A large ship sailing on the ocean may appear as a massive and sturdy creation, but only those who have actually traveled on such a vessel know that no matter how large and robust a ship may be, it is merely a tiny speck of dust in the ocean, still at the mercy of wind and rain.

If the current is even slightly strong, people living on the boat can feel a noticeable rocking and imbalance. Those who are not used to it may vomit violently and get sick, so it is never a good place to stay.

Even sailors who spend most of their time on the ship don't like this damp, cramped, and oppressive place. Whenever they have the chance, they will go to brothels and taverns to splurge, and then return to the ship as sailors after spending all their money.

After enduring about a month of torment, the mercenaries finally disembarked from the large ship, staggering and disoriented, some even forgetting their money bags on board, which were then given to later passengers... This was almost unimaginable for mercenaries who lived on the edge of death; under normal circumstances, none of them would forget the money they risked their lives for...

The final meeting point was a flat grassland. At this moment, green shoots of grass had sprouted from under the withered yellow leaves, only to be trampled into the mud by boots. Many people had already eagerly set up their tents, using fences to demarcate their own mercenary group's area, preparing to rest well for the night on the solid ground.

To be fair, this wasn't a good place to camp—the terrain was too open and unprotected, scouts could see them from miles away, making them extremely vulnerable to attack and difficult to organize an effective defense. But many of them were too exhausted to care about that, and besides, they didn't think they would be subjected to any large-scale attack in the interior of a kingdom, on their employer's land.

Before nightfall, they had already set up their stoves and arranged all sorts of things. Colorful tents were also lined up on the land, and the surrounding withered branches and leaves were all looted. This once peaceful grassland suddenly became lively.

Only then, accompanied by the distant rumble of hooves, did the mercenaries' reinforcements finally arrive...

Behind the simple chevaux-de-frise, the mercenaries stopped them—a force of hundreds of cavalrymen, their emblem a majestic white rooster, their robes and shields a bright blue with red trim, most of them wearing simple short chainmail and domed helmets, their movements accompanied by the faint clanging of metal.

Their equipment was no better than that of the mercenaries, but they still had a more imposing presence due to their uniform color and style. An old man with a pale mustache was their leader, with three or four layers of wrinkles accumulated on his forehead and around his eyes.

His armor had additional chainmail shoulder guards that protected his elbows, unlike that of his soldiers. His helmet was adorned with pale blue feathers. His eyes were bright, and his movements were powerful. If it weren't for his aged appearance, he wouldn't look like an old man at all…

343 The West (2)

“I am a servant of Lord Randolph Bloom. You are the mercenaries from the western city, aren’t you?”

The old man stroked his beard, calmed his restless warhorse, and spoke through the fence to the mercenaries behind him, who were wearing a combination of leather and chainmail armor. The soldiers behind him had already dismounted due to exhaustion and were preparing to set up camp and rest.

They had clearly traveled a long way; both the horses and the men were covered in damp mud, and their shoes and hooves were coated with a layer of filthy mud, adding weight to their ankles and making them feel unpleasant to the touch.

Under normal circumstances, soldiers would take care of themselves after their daily rest, unless they had traveled too far and exhausted themselves, leaving them no time for such activities.

Behind the fence was a short, stocky man with a thick, reddish-brown beard and at least half of his hair was bald, revealing a shiny, oily top... Overall, he gave the impression of being very experienced at first glance.

"Oh, of course we are, esteemed sir. We have already received the first part of our payment, so we will fight for you for the next year. Just point out our goals, and please trust in our ability to make a living."

The bald man stroked his beard, pulled out two lice from the hider, and crushed them under his fingernails. With a smile, he answered amidst the subtle cracking sounds, his right hand never leaving the hilt of his sword.

This is a very distinctive sword—the variations at the base and tip of the blade are extremely exaggerated, making it look like an elongated, sharp triangle. It also has a guard made of thin iron sheet bent into shape and a disc-shaped copper tip. The tip has been specially reinforced and can easily pierce chainmail.

Just like the man's overall attire, the sword also possesses the same characteristics as its owner—simple, reliable, and sturdy.

The old man at the head nodded slightly... Regardless of this guy's actual abilities, at least he certainly had a reassuring appearance, unlike those greenhorns who might have their throats slit the moment they stepped outside.

"That would be best, sir. After all, the goods you are selling are your own military force, and you had better be able to prove that you are getting more than your fair share. Otherwise, my master has the right to terminate the subsequent contract at any time."

"Of course, of course, this is how we make a living, so we can't be careless... Well, it seems you all have had a long journey. Would you like to stop at the campsite to rest? We've just made some hot soup."

Before the old man could even finish speaking, the soldiers behind him began to stir... They had had enough of the cold mud seeping into their toes and the dry bread so hard it could break their teeth. Almost every one of them was hoping to get a good night's rest, or at least some hot soup to warm themselves up.

The old man raised his eyebrows, glanced back, hesitated for a moment, and then nodded.

"Then I shall respectfully comply. It just so happens that there are some things I need to clarify with your leader. You still have a long way to go."

The old mercenary's face was all smiles:

"Of course, of course! What are you idiots standing there for? Move the fence away!"

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

A cold rain arrived unexpectedly, each drop carrying away the residual heat from anything it touched. In the northern chill, everything instantly turned into a crystal-clear ice shell, bone-chillingly cold and damply stuffy, almost suffocating.

This is definitely not a good place to camp... This is not only because the terrain is extremely open and unobstructed, practically undefended, but also because of the cold sea breeze and damp, icy air that blows freely into everyone's face.

This was the worst weather imaginable; the cold, damp air practically seeped into the gaps between clothes and bones, and eyebrows and beards would soon be covered in a layer of transparent ice crystals, driving everyone to huddle around the fire, unwilling to leave for even a moment.

The fallen, dry tree trunks in the nearby forest were dragged out and chopped into large pieces of firewood to make a fire for warmth. Round-bottomed iron pots were placed on the fire, and people surrounded the pots, greedily absorbing the heat radiating from the flames to warm their shivering bodies.

The stew in the pot wasn't anything special either; it was just a murky broth made from dried vegetables and salted meat. The inferior salt in it only brought out a bitter and astringent salty taste, which was far from delicious.

But for the soldiers at this moment, a bowl of hot soup is what they crave most. If they wanted something even more luxurious, they would like to have their own sturdy tent so they wouldn't have to endure the wind and rain anymore.

One after another, simple triangular tents were erected in the camp, while the only relatively proper domed tent in the camp stood out—it was adorned with colorful stripes and decorated with blue, green and red stripes.

Inside this tent, the leaders of the thousands of mercenaries finally met the people sent by their employer.

The old man quickly demonstrated his rich and unique experience—he had clearly dealt with mercenaries extensively and knew exactly how to deal with the scourge of war.

Just like someone preparing to tame a vicious dog, the old man skillfully used threats and inducements to quickly dispel everyone's doubts and tests, and smoothly took over the command of the army... Of course, this so-called command was just the right to tell these mercenaries what to do.

"So, according to the adults' arrangements, you must set off immediately tomorrow, heading east along this route to Tussarburg, where the others will meet you. Only then will my master announce your next objective."

"And remember, don't try to dawdle. If you don't arrive by the deadline, it will be considered a breach of contract. Not only will you not get the money later, but you will also have to return what you have already received. If anyone dares to default, we have plenty of ways to deal with them."

"Of course, as long as you do a good job, my master will not treat you unfairly. This generous commission should be enough to prove his sincerity... After all, no lord has ever been so generous as to pay you in advance."

The old man paused, gesturing for the others to ask their questions, and finally, a man with a full head of unruly blond hair couldn't resist any longer and stepped forward to ask his question:

"What about our supplies? If no one keeps supplying us along the way, how can we possibly get that far? We'd all starve to death halfway there, and the survivors would be torn apart by wolves!"

Once the plan was set in motion, the whispers of the others immediately ceased. The time allotted had at least doubled, and everyone was curious about the answer to the question.

After all, this was a large army, and wherever the army went, it left a trail of destruction.

"Ah, supplies, is that it..."

The old man's expression suddenly became somewhat subtle; his lips moved twice before he spoke:

“My master grants you the right to collect grain in his territory. As long as you do not cross the border, you may collect grain in any village or town, but the amount shall not exceed the amount collected in the autumn.”

The mercenaries exchanged glances, quickly understanding the meaning behind those words…

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Most tent frames are made of wood. To ensure they are sturdy and durable, they need to be air-dried, repaired, painted, and sanded one to two years in advance. This prevents them from being easily contaminated or corroded by moisture and mold, and also makes it easier for them to be fixed together to withstand strong winds and rain.

But the only problem for them was that the space on the ship was really limited, and everyone was exhausted, so a lot of unnecessary things were thrown off... It was more cost-effective to bring a piece of coarse cloth that was soaked in oil, which could be used by cutting a few pieces of wood for support when needed.

A young pine tree grew straight and thick, and soon became Dijour's target. He wiped his axe to make sure the dew didn't stay on it for too long, then took two steps at a time to get to it, and swung his axe to chop at the base.

The fresh wood contained enough moisture to be soft enough to pose little obstacle to the sharp axe. So, before long, the trunk, which was about the thickness of a teacup, was completely cut off. The thin, weak top was separated, leaving only the thick, round trunk.

This beam can serve as the main beam of the tent. Once buried in the soil, it will not easily collapse. Then, you can use it as a foundation to build a frame and cover it with oiled coarse cloth to protect it from the wind and rain.

The weather was cold and damp, so uncomfortable that one wondered if bugs had crawled into their bones. The burning campfire was enough to dispel the chill, but it couldn't stop the bone-chilling cold from the trampled ground, causing every flag to fall listlessly.

Although his hands didn't slow down, an irresistible emotion still grew in Diyul's heart and rapidly expanded, carving out a territory within him.

A sense of foreboding constantly plagued him, even when he was busy, and it grew stronger and harder to ignore as the camp continued to be repaired.

He originally thought that he and his men would be facing just an ordinary war, just like those that had happened before—choosing more cost-effective mercenaries to fight for him and force the enemy to submit due to various disputes over water sources, fields, mines, etc.

He was familiar with that kind of war; in fact, he had spent most of his life participating in it. The Western countries consisted of eleven kingdoms and principalities intertwined, with many borders blurred and no one possessing an overwhelming defensive advantage, leading to constant conflict and mutual resentment.

Until he disembarked from the ship and began gathering intelligence, he assumed that what was happening here was a dispute between two kingdoms—the Kingdom of Salanod and the Duchy of Guxa had often clashed in the past, and their armies had to face pressure from the Empire, so hiring an army to fight for them was often a more cost-effective option.

He was a seasoned veteran who had lived for many years, which meant he understood the importance of many things—such as intelligence, which was a matter of life and death. He never trusted to completely follow other people's orders, and he would always put effort into investigating wherever he went, even if it meant spending more money.

That's why he noticed the strangeness and abnormality of the situation... If the Kingdom of Salanod were to go to war with other surrounding countries, no matter how well they concealed it, some information should have leaked out, and they would have to have arranged a reason for starting the war beforehand...

However, the men he sent out found absolutely no information in this regard. There were none of the signs that would appear in previous wars. Although it was far from calm, there was none of the information he was hoping for.

The two old men beside them had already gathered enough firewood, which they tied together with a loose, flexible branch, and began preparing to drag it back with packhorses. Faced with the biting cold wind and rain, no one wanted to stay in the wilderness any longer.

When they finally returned to camp, the others had already started drinking soup, toasting their dry bread around the fire until it was soft and crisp, or simply soaking it in the soup.

Diyul also made himself a bowl and sat in the corner as usual, continuing his thoughts. No one else would disturb their leader at this time, because they knew that what he was thinking about concerned everyone's fate, determining whether they would make a fortune or die far from home.

In this situation, all tasks would be handled by others, ensuring that Dijour could use his mind on the most important and necessary things, which was already an unspoken understanding within the mercenary group.

What the others didn't know was that this time, their team leader had even begun to consider whether to abandon the commission...

Those few who succeed in the mercenary business all possess one key advantage: extreme caution. This might cause them to miss out on many things, but it also allows them to avoid many traps and disasters, survive longer than their peers, accumulate more wealth, and time will naturally bring them riches.

Many newcomers are fascinated by stories of people who seize opportunities and rise to the top, but they overlook the fact that such cases are extremely rare. They fail to see those who have perished due to greed and folly, and they wishfully believe that they will be the next exception, thus turning a blind eye to potential threats.

This commission was truly bizarre. Although the client paid generously, they were completely kept in the dark about who they were fighting and how to gather any information about the situation. It was a war in which they had no idea who the enemy was...

In this hesitation, the soup in his bowl began to cool, the bread hardened again, and a light drizzle began to fall, pattering against the tent they had just erected...

344 The West (3)

Muddy, wet roads are never welcome; walking on them is a form of torture. The sticky mud always grips every boot like tentacles, preventing anyone from walking smoothly and making their steps increasingly heavy.

Worse still, this climate is a deadly and prolonged plague for armor... Once covered in damp mud, even the finest armor will easily rust, and the sharpest weapons will become dull, forcing soldiers to use more precious oils for maintenance.

After such a march, a commander would usually only be met with a barrage of complaints and dissatisfaction... which also means that the discontent accumulated in the hearts of the soldiers should not be underestimated.