Armored Cavalry, survive in a world full of mods

The first bird call in the jungle was crisp and melodious. The blood flowing down the sword was bright red, and the finely forged steel, after a short journey, struck the rubble on the ground with a piercing sound, causing everyone to scramble to their feet in panic.

No matter how exhausted they were, they would never forget the sounds of swords clashing in war.

Julius's lips twitched, his eyes filled with astonishment as he stared at the sword resting on his neck—this was not his sword. In fact, this sword had just saved his life, knocking his precious sword away with a merciless, powerful swing, so that the determined cut had only pierced his flesh, not truly severed the flesh beneath.

However, after knocking his sword away, the sword showed no intention of being removed from his neck. It remained firmly pressed against his neck, completely replacing the function of the previous sword, and looked as if it could slit his throat at any moment.

"Barcelona Toallodos, what do you mean?"

He asked the question calmly, his hair, damp and disheveled with sweat, resembling the mane of a wild wolf.

The one holding the sword was one of Camus's men, the second son of the nobleman who had brought them here. His face was covered in mud and sweat, and he was exhausted, but his expression was quite subtle. It was an expression full of relief and relief, but mixed with a strange sense of pride.

"Your Majesty, I was trying to stop your reckless behavior. You shouldn't give up on yourself like this. We risked our lives to save you from that hell of flesh and blood!"

"And what are you doing now, Toynados? Are you threatening your king?"

Julius continued calmly, his ears already ringing with the sound of hurried footsteps outside, which immediately brought a mocking smile to his lips.

"Didn't you already make plans? My loyal child, didn't you already have a plan all along?"

The footsteps grew closer and more frequent, until, just as the others were exchanging bewildered glances, the surrounding bushes were suddenly flung aside. Fully armed soldiers in chainmail surrounded them, completely encircling the area and trapping the last few dozen survivors inside the rocks.

The sword on the ground was still bleeding, but Julius leaned against the cold rock with a sigh of relief, ignoring the sounds of swords being drawn and shouts coming from around him, watching the man who had finally removed the sword from his neck:

"I should have guessed what you were thinking, but today I was too weak and incompetent, so immersed in self-pity that I didn't notice your hidden ambition."

"Yes, this is truly a wonderful place. There isn't even a road leading here... yet it retains the ashes of yesterday's fire, and a pile of stones where one has nowhere to hide or escape once they're stuck at a joint. What could be more suitable as a cage for trapping beasts?"

"When exactly did you come up with this idea? Or was your family already preparing before this war? Were you already plotting to capture your king?"

"Of course, you had already planned this all along, and you were very deliberate in your planning, Your Majesty."

A slightly weathered voice came from outside, and then a short, stocky Hols man passed through the soldiers' protection and came into his line of sight.

“Ah, Count Barça… I never expected that you would be the one to step forward at the end.”

"Please forgive my offense, Your Majesty, but it's all over... You are a loser and no longer deserve to be our king... So Julius, please accept this reality."

"Hahahaha... Of course I recognized you, otherwise I wouldn't have put the sword to my neck just now. I recognized you better than all of you. But I'm still not surprised. I'm surprised that I can still see a fool like you at this time."

The commotion continued, the sharp, piercing sound of blades scraping against each other filled the air, and gleaming spears were poised to pierce flesh and organs. The king's last guards maintained their crumbling morale, but their swords began to tremble.

A shootout could break out here at any moment, perhaps even a massacre... but the latter is far more likely than the former, since they have already heard the sound of crossbow bolts being pulled back.

"What do you want? That stone slab, is it? Your ambition is absurd and laughable, actually thinking that you can become the best in the world just by getting that slab... Maybe you even think you can get more from the Imperial Commander with my head."

Julius had completely shaken off the weakness and cowardice of not long ago. He was so composed now, as if he were sitting on his throne, surrounded by his guards, rebuking a disobedient nobleman.

"You don't care about the destruction of the Kingdom of Hols. You think you can gain more benefits from it, and you might even feel smug and self-satisfied, right?"

Count Barça remained expressionless, his face as if sculpted from marble, inexplicably revealing a stiffness. At this moment, he simply uttered a few words, cold and hard:

"Please take His Majesty back."

Soldiers surrounded them, and Camus and his men finally lost their will to fight, dejectedly throwing down their swords. Toanodos reached out to grab the king's shoulder, trying to pull him up from the ground.

But Julius remained enthusiastic and talked on and on:

“There are quite a few people who think like you, you could even say they are quite rampant. The vast majority of my vassals are a bunch of bastards. They are racking their brains to pull me down from this position, hoping that I will meet with misfortune one day. Many of you have long wanted to surrender to the Empire. You have long wanted to stop fighting and are happy to see yourselves change masters.”

"It's just that I, this madman, have been forcing you to drag this out and keep fighting... That's what you think, right? But I can bet you that when you take me to see the commander of the Empire, you won't get what you want, no matter what."

He smiled and showed his teeth:

"Absolutely not."

356 Escape and Avoidance

Tersolius rarely felt tired; often, even when discussions went on late into the night and everyone else was exhausted, he still had plenty of energy.

Only after commanding a truly large-scale operation, maintaining high-intensity thinking for months on end, and after the conclusion of a decisive and massive battle, would he feel that indescribable, bone-deep fatigue.

As the commander-in-chief, he didn't need to do everything himself. In fact, apart from some important decisions, his generals, officers, and staff could completely maintain the operation of the entire army on his behalf, and most problems could be solved simply by relying on military discipline and precedent.

For this reason, he didn't need to worry too much about the post-war pursuit and handling. He only needed to give simple verbal orders and the entire army would move on its own, just like a person's body doesn't need him to actively control it to make the heart beat and the lungs expand and contract.

After a great battle, cleaning up the devastated battlefield is the sole responsibility of the victors, while the dead and the defeated simply wait to rot. It is a heavy task, but also a unique honor and a privilege.

To be precise, their actions were fast enough that the legion's auxiliary troops entered the battlefield before many of the dead bodies had even cooled down, began digging pits to bury them, and collected undamaged weapons and armor... But the gradually warming southern climate quickly turned the place into a stinking, rotting hell.

No, it hadn't reached the point of rotting yet, but a thick, cloud-like stench was already spreading. The piled-up dead flesh and excrement were undergoing a terrible chemical reaction, forcing and urging the victors to clean up and bury them even faster.

This also made the battlefield environment harsh, and few people could tolerate the stench and bloodshed to stay there any longer. Even the battle-hardened imperial soldiers did not want to stay there any longer. Their desire to continue attacking and advancing was extremely strong, and they were no longer willing to stay in the camp and do nothing.

Tersolius responded to this wish without hesitation, issuing orders to continue the advance the day after the battle ended. He ordered his legions to dismantle the fortified walls, regroup, and continue their southward march toward the city that had firmly blocked the entire eastern passage.

Their brothers and comrades are waiting there, holding their ground against the enemy's attack, awaiting their support. Therefore, the imperial army will not stop for a moment; they will continue to advance until the enemy is completely subjugated or destroyed.

They traversed plains and crossed hills, leaving the battlefield behind.

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

Fleeing from the battlefield is hardly a wise decision—especially after you've personally tasted the bitter consequences.

In most cases, this decision can help the person live longer, as long as he is clever enough to evade the blades of the supervisory team and the pursuit of the enemy, he can still keep his own life when his comrades die and fill the trenches... But all of this is based on the premise that he can evade them.

Those brave and elite soldiers who fought fiercely in battle often found themselves helplessly killed by the enemy during their rout, because they had lost their confidence and will to fight, and naturally became weak and easily bullied... At this point, the soldiers would often disregard their commander's orders, focusing only on their own escape... And in this situation, if the enemy were to pursue them...

The elder of the Abatheris family had no time to sigh. Not only him, but everyone around him had no right to breathe a sigh of relief. They were still under threat, and the Imperial cavalry were still tracking them. These greedy hunters were determined to wipe out their precious prey.

They were no longer the same size they had been when they left the battlefield, and what they encountered was quite different from what they had expected—a troop of nearly a thousand Imperial light cavalrymen chased after them like mad dogs, and even followed them out of the battlefield, clearly having received orders beforehand.

In this process, they constantly harassed them with arrows, slashed them with swords, and hammered them with axes and hammers, sweeping past their formations time and time again, taking away blood and lives, tormenting them with fear and death, breaking up their ranks and formations, and forcing those who dared to flee the war to slow down and resist their attacks.

Thus, their original plan was completely shattered. In order to prevent the thousands of elite troops they had brought out from being driven away and hunted down without any value, until they were torn apart, he had no choice but to order his troops to form a battle formation very close to the battlefield and use a large-scale military formation and a rain of arrows to drive the enemy away.

They did it so easily... in fact, too easily. The other side suffered only minor losses and turned away without hesitation, just as someone would abandon a whole roasted lamb without hesitation after only burning their fingertip.

The enemy's cowardly actions even delighted some of their officers, who thought they had successfully repelled the pursuers... But what happened next undoubtedly ripped off their pride.

Whenever they tried to escape, the enemy would immediately launch a counterattack, specifically targeting the moment when their formation shifted and their ranks loosened, the moment when they were most vulnerable and easily bullied, tearing off large chunks of bloody flesh, and then fleeing without hesitation when they tried to fight back.

If they dared to send their cavalry on the pursuit, the Imperial cavalry would relentlessly try to lure them deeper into their territory. Simultaneously, they would coordinate with other forces to encircle them, ruthlessly devouring any predatory advances that reached out.

Like the brown wolves of the southern desert, these cunning and ferocious wolves never recklessly attack flocks protected by males and alpha sheep. Instead, they specifically target the weakest and most vulnerable parts, while being unwilling to suffer even the slightest injury themselves.

The antelopes could only watch helplessly and angrily as the beasts left wounds on their own kind until they got what they truly wanted, or until they were exhausted from the endless harassment and finally at the mercy of the beasts.

They had become sheep, and worse, they were being tracked not by wolves, but by a pack of hounds. The real hunters were being drawn by the howling of the hounds, and once they arrived, the truly horrific slaughter would ensue.

The cavalry's purpose was simply to slow them down, making them move more slowly, thus buying more time for the pursuing troops.

That's why they never stopped after that... by cutting off their own arms in a bloody manner, leaving a group of people to cover their retreat.

Those who remain in this situation will undoubtedly face certain death, and will undoubtedly be trampled into a bloody pulp by the iron heel of the empire. No one wants to face this miserable end—unless they have no choice but to.

This is the core strength of the Abatheris family. Making this decision is incredibly difficult, almost like cutting off someone's arm at the shoulder. What is lost is not just a few kilograms of flesh, but also terrible pain and massive blood loss... But in order for the rest of the body to survive, they have to do it.

This worked; by abandoning some of them, they finally managed to escape from the battlefield and reach the pre-planned boarding point.

Their family was incredibly wealthy—and this vast fortune was acquired through trade and metal mining—so naturally, they would prepare a way out for themselves before coming to participate in the war.

According to the original plan, regardless of whether the war was won, stalemated, or a rout, the fleet would pass through this area during this time period, and they would use flames to signal for the other side to come and guide them.

They had never had a smooth journey, but at least this time there were no unexpected problems. The fleet approached the river bend as planned, and the survivors boarded the large ships as planned, preparing to return to their hometowns to lick their wounds and recuperate.

They shamefully abandoned the others and fled the battlefield alone... Faced with a formidable enemy, they made a cowardly choice and suffered heavy losses as well... Now, whether the decision they made for the sake of their family was worthwhile has become unclear in his mind.

But regardless, they did it anyway... What will the consequences be? Nobody knows.

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

The further east you go, the milder the weather should be—that's generally true, but now Dijour finds his common sense useless. He has to send his men to nearby towns to buy more warm clothing and rain tarpaulins to combat the maddeningly rainy weather.

They happened to encounter the worst weather... a cold and damp rainy season. No one knew how long this weather would last, but there was no doubt that it would be unbearable, like soaking every bone in cold mud. Those with old injuries would suffer even more, and could only rely on large amounts of strong liquor to fall asleep at night.

He was in the same boat. His shoulder, which had been injured by a crossbow bolt, felt like there were worms crawling inside it for the past two days. A terrible feeling of soreness, numbness, and swelling seeped out from his bone marrow, making it almost impossible for him to move.

To make matters worse, he was left-handed, and the flare-up of his old injury in the rainy weather undoubtedly caused him great trouble in using weapons.

The only saving grace was that this damned weather also prevented them from continuing their march. The forest roads of the Kingdom of Salanod had turned into sticky mud under the rain, and if they wanted to carry their supplies forward, it was impossible to continue marching on the roads in such rain, not to mention the roads that had been soaked and collapsed.

In addition to some reasons that couldn't be made public, the mercenary groups naturally found a high place to set up camp and rest in the rainy weather, waiting for the rain to pass.

At least on the surface, that's how it seems.

357 The Burning of Ambition

In cold and damp weather, a bowl of hot soup is a perfect food, preferably with enough oil to form a thick layer on top. Paired with hot bread, it can be eaten in one go. A man can withstand the cold so intense that his toes will freeze off without flinching. Cooking food with fire to provide extra heat has been a magic weapon for people to keep warm since ancient times. The more extreme the weather, the more people crave oil and meat.

Among the many kinds of meat, venison is a rather special food. This animal has very little fat, yet its meat is incredibly delicious, unforgettable once tasted. In many places, it is a delicacy enjoyed only by nobles. Hunting deer in the forest is strictly forbidden to anyone other than nobles and their servants. Anyone who dares to violate this rule is considered to have committed a serious crime. To set an example, the deer are usually hanged swiftly and severely from trees near the village, thus deterring lowly peasants from coveting the lord's prized prey.

Of course, it wasn't entirely impossible for ordinary people to obtain meat from the forest. Wolves, with their low-quality meat and extreme danger, could be hunted at will, and basically only professional hunters would attempt to hunt them. Rabbits, an extremely abundant species, went unpunished, and their meat could be easily obtained with just a few simple snares. Furthermore, everything in the forest—whether underground minerals or surface trees—was irrelevant to them; at most, they could only gather withered branches and leaves for fuel.

But now, this kind of meat, which is only seen on the lord's table, has filled a barracks. Deer that have been skinned and hung upside down are everywhere, and their internal organs covered with mucous membranes have been collected and put into a bucket. These things will be used to feed the mercenaries' hunting dogs.

The well-protected deer herds in the forest provided a feast for the mercenary groups, both men and dogs. They didn't hold back either with the goats, antelopes, and wild boars; mercenaries and their hounds hunted and killed whatever they could find each day. Soon, the surrounding forest had become much clearer, and the local lord wisely remained completely out of the way, allowing these outsiders to plunder his prey at will.

After all, putting aside the fact that these elite mercenary groups were all hired by their king and given the order to move freely throughout the kingdom... these people themselves are a group of fierce armed men who have been through countless battles and make a living through war, and there are hundreds of them in total. They enjoy war and know it by heart, and they are not people that an ordinary lord would dare to provoke with the few dozen soldiers in his castle...

In fact, the fact that these mercenaries don't come to their territory to cause trouble and rob is already enough to make the lords burn incense with gratitude. No one with a clear head would provoke these dangerous elements who are at least temporarily well-behaved. They can only secretly pray that they will leave as soon as possible and stop lingering in their territory.

Now, looking at the whole sizzling, oily roasted wild boar on the fire pit in the room, Diyur's appetite was whetted. He unceremoniously used his dagger to cut large chunks of tender meat with a crispy outer shell, thickly coated them with a layer of bean paste he had bought from the village, and with a bite, a tear, and a chew, the juices burst forth, and the glistening oil flowed down his beard and onto his chin. In just a few bites, he had finished it all, leaving only his greasy hands gripping the dagger, ready to cut off another leg of the pig for a hearty feast.

This rather unrestrained eating style easily whetted the appetites of the others. Under normal circumstances, the men eating with him certainly wouldn't have been polite; they would have quickly set their sights on the best, tender meat, paired with warm wine, and in no time they would have devoured the entire wild boar down to bones. After all, when they weren't working, they rarely got to eat such good food, and they certainly wouldn't risk provoking some local lord.

But today, apart from Diyul, the other mercenary leaders all looked worried. Even with the fragrant, juicy roasted meat right in front of them, no one had any appetite. One of them, a dark-skinned man with only a bald patch around his head and a clean-shaven beard, would frequently glance outside, sighing at the relentless, drizzling rain, as if a terrible disaster was about to befall him. His hands were also tirelessly sharpening his dagger on a small whetstone. Even though the blade was already gleaming and slightly curled to one side, he showed no sign of stopping.

Only Diyul seemed unaffected. He had maintained a good appetite throughout, having already devoured a whole pig leg and was about to cut off a thick piece of the back meat to savor. He even ordered his men to bring a plate of fresh, dew-covered thin-skinned radishes, which he stuffed into his mouth between chews of pork, producing a crisp sound and the distinctive slightly spicy aroma of the radishes.

This carefree demeanor finally drew the ire of the others, who began exchanging glances. Even the man who had been sharpening his dagger finally frowned.

"Diyur, you were the one who sent someone to wake us up this morning..."

"Yeah, can't you see? This huge wild boar is almost roasted. I invited you all here to have a taste. Don't just sit there and stand there. Are you planning to go home hungry?"

Diyul didn't even lift his head as he continued gnawing on the pork in his hand. At this moment, not only his beard and hands, but even the blade in his hand was covered with a thick layer of grease, which reflected a glittering color in the firelight.

"Just for this?"

The bald man's face already showed displeasure. He didn't even bother to sharpen the dagger in his hand. With a flick of his fingers, he plunged the sharp blade deep into the table. The oak wood, which was at least two fingers thick, was easily pierced through as if it were tofu.

Diyu chuckled, finally tossing aside the piece of meat in his hand, and casually wiped the blade of the dagger with his grimy sleeve.

“Just kidding, Salmer. Don’t worry, there’s nothing we can do right now, is there? In my opinion, this rain came at the right time, giving us a good excuse. Otherwise, we’d be worried about how to deal with that red-haired butcher’s wrath… You know, His Majesty didn’t hesitate to order his army to slaughter an entire city just because that newly surrendered city repeatedly refused to pay his taxes. He won’t be lenient with us.”

"Since you know this, how can you still eat it... Don't tell me you already have a way."

The man named Salmer raised an eyebrow, ready to continue arguing. But suddenly a thought flashed through his mind, causing him to lower his voice and involuntarily reveal an expectant expression on his face:

"If you really have a solution, tell us. Don't leave us here worrying."

Diyur narrowed his eyes, his whole demeanor suddenly turning serious. After looking around, he drew out his voice:

"There is indeed a solution. It just depends on whether you have the guts... Because if this solution is actually used, we could easily be killed without a burial place. In that case, being skinned alive would be the least of our worries."

The mercenary leaders exchanged glances, and finally, one of them, a bearded man in a brownish-red leather jacket, gritted his teeth and slammed his fist on the table:

"Damn it, we're going to die anyway! If we keep going east, even ten of us wouldn't be enough to fill the Imperials' trenches. Rather than becoming cannon fodder, we might as well take a gamble! ...If I make it back alive this time, I'm definitely going to rip that bastard's tongue out! He even told me it was some kind of good job..."

"That's right, let's at least take a gamble! They think they can buy our lives with this little bit of money!"

"I heard the fighting in the south is quite fierce. I guess the Hols are about to collapse. If the Empire's southern legions turn back, not only us, but Salanod will probably be finished! We definitely can't go there to die."

Everyone chimed in with their own opinions, but their voices gradually began to converge. Once everyone had made up their minds, Diyul nodded, raised his arm, and waved it to the side. With a click, the windows and doors around them were slammed shut, plunging the room into complete darkness. Only the sound of raindrops pattering against the eaves could be heard.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, but you all know this is a matter of life and death. If anything goes wrong, we could all lose our lives. So I have to take some precautions…”

Before he finished speaking, he pulled a crumpled piece of parchment from his waist, spread it out on the table with his greasy hands, revealing scarlet, spiderweb-like patterns on it.

"If you're really determined, cut your finger and let the blood drip on it. Of course, that includes me too. This is to make sure we're all in the same boat and no one has any brain farts or other ideas that could kill everyone."

It looks like just a tattered piece of paper, stained with a lot of oil and crumpled up. Normally, no one would probably give it a second glance... It might be used to wipe one's bottom, but at this moment, it inexplicably exudes an eerie and sinister aura, like a devil's covenant to tempt people, making them inexplicably unwilling to get close.

"What—what is this?"

Salmer frowned, clearly having noticed the strangeness of the object, while Dijour had already picked up the dagger, gently pierced his fingertip, and squeezed out a few drops of blood with his thumb and middle finger, letting the blood drip onto the parchment:

"This isn't anything good, but we need it right now... Do you know Granny Saya?"

"You mean the legend that circulates in the swamp on the western border of the Duchy of Harold?! That old witch who collects dead people's bones to make soup?!"

His words immediately caused more commotion, and what was originally warm and dry now seemed to become bloody and damp.