Armored Cavalry, survive in a world full of mods

"I understand, boss. Of course I understand. Even if I, Old Pete, am useless, I still know how to do it to get more benefits. I guarantee that my tongue will be stiffer than a dead fish, and I absolutely won't be able to say a word!"

"You know it yourself, so be it. Rather than being forced to your death... we might as well seize this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Anyone who gets in our way, just cut their neck! Use their bones to help us stand on tiptoe. I don't care if they're a king or whatever!"

In the glow of the burning torch, Diyur, his face grim, slammed a sharp dagger hard onto the table, pinning the parchment firmly to it and splitting a thin, winding line in two.

………………

The sharp knife sliced ​​along the edge of the swollen wound, shaving off the white, rotting flesh. In the process, it kept digging deeper into the wound until the bright red healthy part was exposed, then stopped with satisfaction. The ointment was then carefully wrapped in burlap to promote wound healing and keep out dirt.

This is not an easy process for these people. In fact, swollen wounds are often more sensitive and more likely to cause severe pain. Treating the necrotic tissue in such wounds can be excruciating. Doctors often need to put a stick soaked in saline solution into the patient's mouth to prevent them from biting their tongue.

After finishing all this, Samir, covered in sweat, finally caught his breath, tentatively moved his shoulders, and sat up with some difficulty.

This wound was caused by a stray arrow that had just pierced through the armor, leaving a small cut on the skin. However, within just a few days, it swelled and rotted rapidly, turning into the terrible condition that makes it difficult to move the shoulder, necessitating the removal of flesh to remove the decay.

This is something a general inevitably encounters. If his wound hadn't worsened, he wouldn't have focused so much energy on it. And now, the increasingly dire situation is constantly draining his attention...

362 Desperate Situation (1)

Samir could clearly feel himself gradually weakening... It was a terrifying phenomenon that made him panic. He could clearly feel his limbs becoming weak and powerless, and his spirit was not as good as before. The fever from his wounds and the exhaustion that was surging through his body were troubling him.

He had not anticipated that a wound no wider than a fingernail would deteriorate to this extent, as if the gods themselves were casting a curse upon him in dissatisfaction with his failure. In just two days, it swelled and turned red like a camel's tongue, and then, like a parasite, drained his strength and energy.

It was precisely because the change happened so quickly and rapidly that he, who had been unable to spare the time before, was only able to summon a doctor to cut away the rotten flesh from the wound with a sharp blade and then apply ointment.

"My lord, we are short of the medicinal herbs we need. Most of them were left behind in the forward camp during the evacuation... It was too chaotic at the time. Some people even rushed into our camp to rob and kill... Fortunately, your guards arrived in time and scattered them. Otherwise, we would most likely not have been able to escape."

"...It's alright, just do your best."

"As ordered."

………………

The physicians accepted the order and withdrew, leaving behind the prepared medicine and ointment before they left, instructing the guards and servants to change the medicine and drink it on time every day. At this moment, Samir's upper body was only wrapped in white bandages, and his face was full of suppressed exhaustion as he lay on the soft fur cushion.

This little bit of leisure is an extreme luxury; it won't be long before his duties drive him back to doing those seemingly endless tasks that keep popping up one after another.

In the face of utter defeat, how could anyone escape unscathed? Although he had begun preparations long before the collapse, when the moment actually arrived, he realized that everything he had done was still far from enough... The collapse and chaos swept across the entire army like a storm, tearing his troops to pieces and scattering them in all directions.

All the noble status and military organization became meaningless at that moment. Generals and soldiers fled in panic, and officers and servants were equally disoriented. Fully armed elite soldiers, in order to escape the battlefield, mercilessly used swords and axes to cut down their colleagues who stood in their way. Panicked nobles, in order to open a passage, did not hesitate to order their guards to charge their own people.

The long battles and attrition before were not as tragic as that moment. In that true chaos and despair, life was something lower and more worthless than grass. It was cut down piece by piece by the blade of death. Steel and flesh clung together and shattered into a mess. Flags were trampled and crushed like garbage by countless feet.

The Imperial cavalry followed mercilessly, trampling and ravaging every group that managed to form a cohesive unit. They instilled fear into the hearts of the enemy with bloodthirsty laughter and swords, causing the chaos to grow ever stronger, more rampant, and more unstoppable.

Once a nobleman or general attempts to organize soldiers to resist, they will immediately suffer annihilation—those iron torrents, their silver armor smeared with blood, pace like lions on the edge of the battlefield. Once they find an opponent worthy of their attention, they will immediately surge forth unstoppably, trampling and crushing the resisters into a pile of mangled flesh, driving them to extinguish their courage and continue their hasty escape.

He even witnessed firsthand how elite soldiers clad in iron armor were chased like rabbits by Imperial cavalry, only to have their heads easily smashed by the enemy's iron clubs when they were exhausted... whereas they could have easily driven away and killed the enemy when they were fighting in formation.

In the vortex of collapse and escape, countless people were trampled to death, and countless others were taken by steel blades thrusting and smashing from behind... He only knew that in the past few days, he had only managed to gather about 8000 remnants of the defeated army, and they were a mixed bag, with the vast majority of the elite troops having been completely wiped out on that battlefield.

When he led 5 troops to meet the enemy that day, he was already pessimistic and lamented the uncertainty of his future. However, he did not expect that they would lose so thoroughly and so tragically. The battle alone wiped out most of their elite troops, and these remaining remnants were simply no match for the imperial army's attack.

In fact, keeping them under his command has already exhausted Samir's energy, and the situation is constantly deteriorating. Every day, people are deserting on their own, and the number of troops he can control is constantly decreasing... Just a few days ago, he even had about 10,000 men under his command.

The despair of the situation had left him no time to think about anything else. He didn't even know whether his nobles and generals had fled or died there. No one could say for sure. After all, in that desperate situation where the mountains were collapsing and the earth was cracking and mud and sand were flying everywhere, even a lord's life was no more precious than a soldier's. He would also scream and die under the sword and axe. Their rights would also be put to a terrible test in such a desperate situation.

Everything he did was a desperate struggle, the last gasp of a commander who had just suffered a crushing defeat and was unwilling to give up his duty... Samir realized this clearly and painfully, but still forced himself to grab on like a drowning man.

Now, there's nothing he can do to turn the tide... From the moment his legion began to split, he had already foreseen this tragic end... It can only be said that no one can control the capriciousness of fate. All he could do was try his best to preserve the last bit of his army's bloodline, stubbornly and ridiculously refusing to accept his fate of annihilation.

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

But his brief respite from sleep ended even shorter than he had anticipated. Before he could even regulate his breathing, hurried footsteps approached from outside, pounding loudly on the wooden floor.

None of the guards wanted to disturb the general who was working tirelessly for the country, but the message from the visitor was far too important, so someone quickly opened the door and delivered the message to Samir's ears.

Even though his body was being tormented by fever and pain, at this moment, upon hearing the news, this tormented man suddenly jumped out of his bed, as if bitten on the ankle by a venomous snake, something vibrant and surging flowing in his eyes.

"You mean my daughter..."

“That’s right, sir. Miss Alva has returned to us with her entourage, escorted by Imperial cavalry… The Imperial commander released them.”

"call…………"

With extremely complex emotions, Samir let out a long sigh, but ultimately forced himself to pull himself together, grabbed the blood-stained lining from the side, and put it on.

"Help me up and let my daughter wait for me in the central command tent."

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

A large bow with gold carvings on its handle is being turned in a slender hand. Calloused fingers gently brush over the lacquered bow, feeling its hard yet elastic texture.

"Among the spoils of war we collected after the battle, this should be the best bow. It was probably left there by some nobleman. Others can't use it, so only you are good at using it."

Teresus smiled as he examined the longbow in the other man's hand, his gaze traveling from the antler-patterned bow tip to the gilded bronze handle for added weight, admiring the beautiful patterns carved into the lacquered surface.

"This thing has a distinct Assele style, but it is made by Hols. It performs well with both light and heavy arrows. Although the draw is a bit stiff, its power is enough to penetrate heavy armor... However, it is also more delicate than a regular longbow and needs to be protected from moisture."

"By the way, the auxiliary soldiers cleaning up the battlefield also found more than a dozen arrows with the same pattern. They must have been lost there by their owners. The workmanship is also very exquisite. They are made of feathers from a falcon, specifically the feathers from the wingtips. Want to try them out?"

As he spoke, he handed over the two arrows in his hand, but the other person simply lowered his head and reached out to take them, without any intention of looking up at him... This made Tersolius frown with curiosity, and then he took two steps forward, instantly closing the distance by half.

What happened next puzzled him even more—as if she were afraid of him, the mountain girl, who had been simply looking down to examine the bow, took another step back, increasing the distance between them.

"Why are you backing down? It's like I'm pointing a sword at you."

The other party's strange behavior completely aroused Tersolius's curiosity, and he continued to ask questions without hesitation. At the same time, he took another step forward, but before taking this step, he had already reached out and grabbed the other party's shoulder, preventing Colin from retreating any further.

"N-nothing!...I just..."

Colin finally raised her flushed face and stammered in defense of herself, but she got completely stuck halfway through her sentence. Her whole body stiffened, and only her mouth opened and closed, but she didn't know what to say. In the end, she could only habitually try to lower her head again, but this time she failed.

A long, slender finger pressed straight down on her forehead, forcibly stopping the girl from lowering her head again. It even pushed her head back. In that instant, he almost regained his fierce temper, his brows furrowing as he was about to curse out, but he stopped himself at the last moment, letting out only a pitiful scream.

"Something's not right. Something's definitely not right about you...something's way too much."

Thesoris frowned even more deeply, feeling that the girl in front of him was completely out of place, especially since she had turned her head away abruptly after letting out that scream, not daring to look at his face at all... When did she become so timid?

"It was the same a couple of days ago. I looked for you two or three times, wanting to give you this bow, but I could never find you... If I hadn't given you the order today, I don't know when I would have been able to see you again."

At this point, he thoughtfully touched his chin:

"You're not deliberately avoiding me, are you?"

The girl in front of him seemed unmoved, but he keenly noticed that she was gripping the bow handle tightly and deliberately turning her head to the side, her body shifting slightly as well.

"You're really avoiding me! What's the reason? Are you feeling unwell?"

He immediately confirmed his judgment, and then frowned with some worry:

"This is common. It's easy to get sick this season. If you notice anything unusual, go find Talina as soon as possible... Speaking of which, we just finished a killing spree, and we still have to prevent the spread of the plague. There will probably be a lot of trouble afterward."

"We don't know when we'll be able to deal with those tens of thousands of corpses. They're probably already starting to decompose on a large scale... This is a real headache. We can't just leave them there for wild dogs to plunder."

As he was talking, his deeply ingrained way of thinking caused his thoughts to drift elsewhere. It took him a little effort to bring them back, and then he noticed that in just a short while, the girl opposite him had started to move away, as if she wanted to turn around and run away.

"Stop right there! Still trying to hide from me... Is there something you don't want me to know?"

"It's nothing, really nothing!! Please don't ask anymore, sir! I have things to take care of, so I'll be leaving now!"

This time, Colin showed no intention of stopping. Instead, he gritted his teeth and continued running out. He had already reached the tent flap and was about to slip out.

"This is an order."

…………

Just as the cold glint of swords and spears flashed, accompanied by his suddenly serious voice, Colin stood up as if frozen, forcing himself to turn around and face him.

No matter how much she wanted to back down, at this moment, when the man in front of her truly became serious, when he genuinely gave the order with a firm tone, her feet could no longer move an inch, just as she had become accustomed to following him to victory...

Wow...

The sound of a dozen or so arrows colliding was dense and unique. Holding them in her hand, she could only manage a handful. Then her hand fell into the other person's larger, warmer palm, and the arrows were stuffed into her hand as well.

"Do you expect me to go looking for you all over the place again for these dozen or so arrows? Or should I have someone order you to come here yourself? ... If you don't want to talk, then don't. I won't refuse to listen when you're willing to tell me. You must have your own reasons for being like this. I believe you're not afraid of or disgusted by me. At least I have that much confidence in you."

"Alright, go do what you need to do... I have to get busy too."

363 Desperate Situation (2)

Haha!

With a sigh, the strong man steadily placed the three sacks of grain on his back onto the carriage. His shoulders and arms remained motionless, as if cast in bronze and iron. If it weren't for the sharp, piercing friction sound emanating from the carriage as it was being jolted, one might have mistaken his shoulders for carrying cotton.

Few people could work like him. He could carry three sacks of grain at a time, and he was incredibly fast. It was hard for others to see him tired. He was always full of energy, moving back and forth, loading one cart after another.

This man not only had a beast-like majestic face, but also a beast-like strong body. At the same time, he was generous and unconcerned with trivial matters, and quickly made a name for himself in this logistics and transportation team. Everyone got along well with him and was willing to listen to his advice.

"Hey, Brother Saratag, dinner's ready. We can move the rest later."

"It's okay, you go ahead and eat. This little bit isn't enough for me to stretch my muscles. I'll be done in a bit, and the soup will still be hot by then."

Saratag wiped the sweat from his brow with his dark sleeve and took a deep sniff. He stretched his shoulders slightly and prepared to continue carrying the sacks.

He had already finished about half of the packing, and he could finish the rest in the afternoon, leaving him plenty of time to go to a nearby town to get some alcohol. Thanks to his beast-like strength, he earned far more money than anyone else, enough to allow him to drink all day and still save a considerable amount.

Putting aside everything else, the wine here is indeed quite good... This is also due to the high grain yield brought about by the fertile land, which allows the townspeople here to use more grain to brew wine, and over time they naturally developed better skills and techniques compared to other places.

Thinking of this, he felt his tongue go dry, and he couldn't wait to taste the ale that had just been taken out of the oak barrels and kept cool in the cellar.

The aroma of food wafted from the side, and his nose twitched as he guessed that the pot contained stewed smoked meat and beans—this was quite unusual, as the aroma of the oil was exceptionally rich, meaning that the old man cooking had been quite generous with the amount of meat, something he wasn't usually so extravagant with.

Realizing this, he immediately became anxious... If he was slow, those gluttons probably wouldn't even leave him a drop of meat juice. He had finally encountered such a good thing, how could he miss it?!

So he decided to increase his efficiency, throwing another sack on top of the three, and then preparing to put this weight, which could easily crush an adult man, on his own shoulders. During this process, he had to maintain good balance at all times to ensure that the things did not fall to the ground.

When his broad shoulders and smooth skin revealed muscles as strong as metal fibers, the terrifying weight inevitably yielded to his strength and was steadily lifted up. He only needed to walk about 50 meters to load the grain onto the cart, and he could finish the task much faster.

Life is getting better and better... He sighed from the bottom of his heart, a sense of peace and joy flowing through his heart, making his body stronger and his movements faster.

If he works here for a while longer, he can save up a considerable sum of money. Perhaps by the time the war ends, he will have earned enough to build two more houses. At that time, he can also gather everyone together to build a road connecting the village to the main road.

The food here is delicious, the climate is mild, and most importantly, the alcohol is cheap and you can drink as much as you want… But after all, this isn't the home they truly chose, and he does miss his own village a little. After all, he, as the village chief, hasn't been wasting his life away from home all this time. He's already seen his daughter, and she should know what to do…

Go home when the war is over.

With a thud, he threw the sacks off his shoulder onto the carriage again, and at the same time swung his arms slightly to straighten them... But just as he did this, suddenly, the horse in front seemed to be startled and took two steps forward, causing the carriage to be pulled forward and roll slightly. Unfortunately, the wheels got stuck in a ditch in the ground, causing the straps to sway.

Saratag frowned and bent down. He wasn't trying to push the carriage out by himself, but rather to check if the wheels had been damaged by the sudden swaying caused by the stones and the carriage itself—it was an old carriage that would be used for firewood in a few more years.

The instant his shoulder was slashed open by the steel, before he could even register the shock, his body reacted instinctively. Like a nimble big cat, he darted under the wheel, using the thick wood as cover.

Several arrows followed and became embedded in the carriage, their tail feathers still trembling slightly. The attacker in the jungle sighed in surprise, but the sigh turned into a panicked cry as the strong figure leaped out of the door like a leopard, showing no intention of waiting to be killed.

Saratag had no interest in thinking about who these guys were; he only knew they were definitely not good people. Good people wouldn't shoot arrows at innocent people in the jungle, trying to kill them. Whether these guys were bandits or whatever, he just wanted to kill them now.

The first attacker was closest to him in a thicket on the right side of the carriage. He leaped into the air to dodge the subsequent arrows, darted into the thicket like a fish, and then quickly approached with a series of movements that resembled those of a wild beast. Finally, as the attacker panicked and tried to grab the axe from his waist, he grabbed the attacker's neck tightly with his hand.

What followed was simple: he forcefully pinned the guy to the ground, quickly found a satisfactory rock on the ground, and then repeatedly smashed the guy's head against it like cracking walnuts, until a crisp sound of bones cracking and a gushing, sticky, bloody substance spurted out and stained his wrists. By then, the head had become a twisted mass of rotten flesh mixed with broken bones.

He could even clearly feel how the hard skull was repeatedly struck against the stone and shattered into pieces, and he could clearly see the tattered chainmail and the blurry patterns on the other man's clothes—he was now sincerely glad that this fool had thrown away his helmet, otherwise he would never have been able to smash his head so easily.

Without even catching his breath, he confirmed that the thing in his hand was a lump of dead flesh, then grabbed the axe and lunged forward, shifting his position behind a forked tree to dodge the arrows once again.

There are three left.

His hand deftly reached into a clearly visible white anthill, instantly gathering the ants and loose soil in his palm, and then, in a sudden lunge, he flung them at the other's face.

These ants won't help him bite others, but the dust will definitely get into his eyes, causing pain and discomfort, while providing him with valuable cover.

As his second opponent dodged, his axe slammed into his knee, skillfully avoiding the hard bones that would have jammed the blade, separating the cartilage and tendons, and smoothly cutting out from the side. Then, with a fierce arc, he slashed deeply into the throat from bottom to top, cleaving through the cartilage, blood vessels, and muscles.

There are two left.

Before the corpse in his hands convulsed and fell to the ground, he immediately changed his position, knowing that the remaining prey was now tainted with fear, which would be advantageous to his hunt and to help him continue to chop up the remaining two bastards.

At this distance, even a novice archer could easily hit a person, and once the arrow hits, it would exert its killing power. He knew this very well, so he would never let himself be hit. Before fleeing, he had already reached out and grabbed the longbow and three scattered arrows on the ground.

He had been familiar with this weapon since he was a little kid, and he was more familiar with the longbow than his penis. So, during the roll, he could even nock the arrows on the bowstring without breaking them. Then, in the gaps between the rustling bushes, he would accurately and fiercely draw the bow, letting the arrow pass through the gaps in the leaves like a little bird, quickly kissing the exposed throat of his opponent.

The last man was clearly terrified. He didn't even bother to resist anymore, or rather, he had gotten used to giving up the fight since he arrived here—turning around and running away always meant survival... This was like a truth etched into his mind. In fact, he was already a little too late to escape.

Like a leopard leaping out of the forest, a strong arm viciously grabbed his shoulder and pounced on him from behind, knocking him to the ground. But instead of tearing his throat open, an axe with a blood-stained blade pressed against his neck. The axe blade, which hadn't been sharpened in a long time, was terribly stiff. It was less like the axe blade cutting and more like the steel squeezing.

This thing can still cut off his head, but it takes a little more force. However, to kill him, all it takes is to break his neck.

Saratag finally let out a long sigh of relief, a sigh he had held since the attack, until now, and only now did he have the slightest inclination to ask a question:

"Where did you bastards come from?"

Meanwhile, the others who had gathered in front of the cooking pot finally came over, each holding a longsword and a spear, shouting and yelling as if Saratag was being kicked around by a group of people.

But in fact, the blood of the first victim was still on his hands and had not yet dried. The viscous brain matter made his palms feel extremely uncomfortable. The only injury he suffered from beginning to end was the small patch of skin on his shoulder that was grazed by an arrow.