Armored Cavalry, survive in a world full of mods

A black bone blade extended from his wrist, its barbs helping him accurately capture the dangerous snake. Trying to control the flexible end, the steel and bone actually sparked dazzlingly. To his slightly surprised look, the sharp tip had already coiled around his wrist like a real, living snake—and if he had continued with his previous thought, he would have only had his hand neatly severed.

So he had to back away, dodging the snake's snapping teeth, and then he heard a mocking laugh coming from beneath the other man's iron mask:

"Try dancing."

"What!……"

A few flashes of silver light appeared, like the brightest stars in the night sky. The instant they appeared on his retina, a sharp pain shot through his neck. He subconsciously swung his bone blade, and with a clang, the blade that had been knocked away twisted and darted back in mid-air. In an instant, it transformed into several silver streaks in the air, hissing and tearing at him.

"...After all, you didn't have a choice, did you?"

Only then did Brazil's Saiyaros finish his sentence. He remained standing still, barely moving, with only his arms and wrists twitching with the whip, yet his prey was already exhausted and struggling to keep up.

He was almost mocking his prey, his blade whip flashing and ruthless, but always aimed at areas that weren't vital, slicing off pieces of flesh every now and then. Before long, the man in black opposite him was covered in blood, as if he had been rolled in a knife, and his movements became increasingly slow and sluggish.

Just as a hungry wolf always weakens its stronger prey, causing it to bleed and become sluggish and vulnerable before hunting it safely, the same applies to him. No matter how poorly his opponent performs, Brazil's Cesar Rodriguez has long since learned not to be complacent, and those taunting words also serve as a driving force in this process.

The whip seemed poised to tear at the throat, but in the instant the opponent hastily parried, it twisted and flew toward the chest, emitting a crisp laugh in the air. Its end curled up like a snake's tail, barely dodging the bone blade the opponent was trying to parry. It scraped against the hard bone, producing a grating sound, and then sliced ​​off a small piece of flesh from the fingertip.

The blade seemed poised to wrap around the ligaments of the knee, but as the opponent hurriedly lifted their foot, it slyly and cunningly stabbed upwards, shaking off the blood droplets on the blade, and finally sharply grazed the opponent's jaw, leaving a deep bloody mark.

The whip is never an easy thing to use, much less suitable as a weapon... But to him, it was as natural as an extension of his body, and he could take lives with ease... His superb skills honed over the years went far beyond those methods used to inflict pain on sinners.

And so, without even using the scimitar in his right hand, his opponent had already been slashed bloodily, becoming increasingly disheveled and unable to hold on, even having to roll on the ground and dodge among the trees to avoid... or more accurately, trying to use the complex branches and bushes to entangle his whip and block his attacks.

This did have some effect, forcing him to use his scimitar to cut through the overly dense bushes. At the same time, he pressed forward step by step to prevent his opponent from escaping, but always maintained a distance of two meters, using the length advantage of his long whip to suppress his opponent who was wielding a short blade.

...Speaking of which, can a sharp blade that grows from the wrist be used to deal with an opponent wielding a short sword?

He nodded silently, deciding to leave this interesting question for later consideration. Then, he silently increased the movement of his wrist, making the rustling blade scales in the air even more dangerous and unpredictable, like a tireless serpent.

...This prey possessed extraordinary stamina, even exceeding his most exaggerated expectations—after all, he only needed to swing his wrist to make the whip move, while the other had to jump around like a monkey, expending its strength intensely every second. If it were a strong ordinary person, they would probably have collapsed to the ground by now, and even if he whipped them hard, they wouldn't be able to get up.

Every time he retracted his whip blade after an attack, his opponent would relentlessly try to close in and take advantage of his close-range weapon, but he would always be forced back by the blade scales that suddenly shot out. Although his movements were slowed by the pain, he never seemed tired and was still ambitiously trying to turn the tide.

This ambition is quite positive and necessary. After all, in such a fierce confrontation, if one has already decided that one is doomed to defeat, then there is really no possibility of victory, especially in such complex terrain where anything can happen.

However, just like many things have two sides, this kind of ambitious drive also means more flaws, such as what we see now—

The whistling blades cunningly and deliberately grazed the other person's side, tearing through their clothes and drawing out pieces of flesh and blood. Finally, they even began to gnaw at the bone with a crunching sound, and this terrible wound inevitably brought unbearable pain... for a normal person.

He calmly used his scimitar to parry the downward thrust of the bone blade, then deflected the blade, pressed down and thrust forward, using the long tip of the scimitar to pierce the opponent's throat. In the blink of an eye, he made the most direct, decisive and effective response—if the opponent had been even slightly slower to dodge, he would have been pierced through the throat.

His prey neither dodged nor avoided him, which made him widen his eyes and realize something, but it was still a few minutes too late.

Patrick's throat suddenly swelled, then wriggled forward, and in an instant, a sticky, tubular object emerged from his mouth. A whitish-green acidic liquid gushed out, spraying straight at Brazil's face!

The thrusting scimitar changed its move in an instant, deftly circling and twisting along the opponent's arm, shifting to the left. In a flash, the sharp blade cut deep into the flesh, leaving a mark on the hard bone, and the spurting blood stained a large patch of wild grass around it.

The two stepped back. Brazil's Saiyarlos silently lowered his head, covering his face with his hands. Patrick, on the other hand, bent over in pain, curling up and awkwardly covering the horrific, hand-length, gaping wound on his side.

After a long time, a sheet of iron was slowly removed. The liquid on it was still trying its best to corrode the metal, producing dense white-green foam and a layer of fragile green rust.

"Ah...you almost succeeded."

The face beneath the mask bore only burn marks below the eyebrows, which were spreading and threatening to reach the eyeballs. He casually wiped them away with his sleeve, revealing the bloody flesh beneath the skin.

"...What exactly are you?!"

Patrick gritted his teeth. Even with his physique, the blow he had just received was hard to ignore. It had almost ripped open his side ribs, exposing his internal organs. Blood was flowing out uncontrollably, and the parasite inside him was becoming agitated due to the intense exertion, even refusing to mend his wounds and slow the bleeding.

But what truly shocked and terrified him was the guy opposite him... He had never seen an ordinary person so fast that he could completely immobilize him. He had never seen anyone wield such a strange weapon as a whip with such ease that his carefully prepared killing move was rendered useless, and he was almost sliced ​​in two by the opponent.

Finally, he wiped the dangerous acid off the iron face with his sleeve, then tore off a piece of his sleeve and threw it into the nearby bushes. Brazil Saiyaros put the iron face back on and calmly wiped the blood from his scimitar onto a nearby tree trunk.

"You are just one of the defenders of this great nation, nothing more. We will purge all rebels, traitors, and sinners from the Empire. You may think you are special and unique... but that's laughable. You are not the most difficult one I've ever encountered... nor the most cunning and treacherous, but you are certainly the most troublesome."

"What's the meaning?……!"

Patrick's expression changed, and then he found that he had suddenly lost sensation in his legs, and the numbness was spreading rapidly. The parasite inside his body was writhing violently, as if it had encountered something terrible and was urging him to escape immediately.

But he was powerless. After letting out a final, surprised sigh, he collapsed to the ground as if he had no bones. The terrifying, almost unbearable numbness that made him stop breathing completely overwhelmed him.

“My knife and whip are coated with a special drug that can knock out even the strongest man in a few breaths, yet you’ve been jumping around like this until now… To be honest, I’m quite curious about your body’s structure now, and perhaps I’ll have the chance to participate in it later.”

The bushes nearby rustled slightly, and then a copper-masked jailer in a black robe emerged from them. After bowing to Brazil Sairos, he found a rope and tightly bound the immobile prey on the ground.

"Moreover, I had already arranged for people to be around you. You are a fish that has run into a fishing net, but you still hope to escape by biting through a rope. Little do you know that the net has already been pulled out of the water and thrown onto the boat... You had no way to escape from the very beginning."

The other party had long since stopped answering him, and Brazil's Cearáros seemed finally satisfied, now busy tearing off the pieces of clothing corroded by the acid to make sure they didn't get on his skin.

The sun had reached the edge of the mountain peaks, casting a bright, blood-red light. It illuminated everything in the forest as if it were soaked in blood, but soon it would set completely, releasing darkness to engulf the earth.

But now, the waning sun still hasn't set, and it's still trying its best to prevent the cold and loneliness of the night from encroaching on this forest. The birds and beasts of the night in the jungle are also preparing to become active. Everything seems so natural and ordinary, but for the people living on this land, some things have already changed... unpredictable changes.

403 Exposure (3)

Dense brambles are a nasty thing, especially for those traveling through the forest. They not only snag clothes and tear flesh, causing excruciating pain, but they also cunningly and maliciously hide in seemingly harmless thickets. Only when your hands and feet venture deep inside do you realize what awaits you, and then you curse endlessly amidst the sharp pain.

Normal people would choose to avoid these areas and walk on the cleared paths. But if they really have no other choice, most would carry a machete or similar tool to clear a path for themselves... Only one type of person would rush in recklessly and joyfully—that is, someone who is being chased and forced to flee for their life.

Urtbandora was an ordinary mercenary from the Western Kingdom of Sarudu, at least ten years ago. He was one of the most unsuccessful and down-on-his-luck mercenaries, who would scrimp and save to repair his armor, drink watered-down sour wine, eat black bread mixed with sawdust, and even have to borrow a grinder from a tavern to polish his blade.

All of this changed during a massacre that followed... These desperate guys, with their audacity, decided to rob a caravan on the road, even prepared to leave no survivors, but little did they know that it was actually a caravan used by the Holy Order to transport experimental subjects.

So they naturally became the targets of the massacre, and even their corpses were not wasted, but prepared to be used later. Only he was the first to kneel down and beg for mercy when he saw that the situation was not good, and he was even the first to chop the axe into the back of his teammates' heads.

This also gave him an opportunity, an opportunity to become a test subject—if he could survive, he would not only live, but also immediately gain unimaginable power. At that time, he obviously had no choice.

The experiment was incredibly painful. His limbs were cut open with sharp blades, his internal organs were turned inside out, his nerves were removed and stripped away, and he was given all sorts of drugs to drink and inject. He suspected that he might have gone mad at that time, but not very obviously.

But in the end, he survived and naturally believed that he had become a being beyond mortals. He did not resent the insect masters who tormented him, but was instead grateful to them for bringing about such an extraordinary transformation.

From then on, he devoted himself to the Holy Order of Knowledge, and grew increasingly contemptuous and disgusted with those mediocre mortals, even taking pleasure in torturing the experimental subjects... But he never imagined that one day he would be driven to such a state by these mortals.

The dense thorns tore at his clothes and ripped his flesh. The vicious thorns even pierced his flesh and broke off the branches because of his movements, but he dared not slow down his movements even a little. He desperately tore and slashed with the sharp blades that grew from his wrists, allowing himself to continue to move through these desolate bushes.

Whoosh! Whoosh whoosh whoosh!

A shrill screech, like the cry of a bird, came from the side, and he was terrified. He desperately burrowed into the ground, and then two or three vicious crossbow bolts, about the length of a middle finger, forged from steel, with sharp blades and blood grooves, grazed his head and pierced the tree trunk next to him. Thin copper plates served as stabilizing tails, and could also cut off a person's fingers like blades.

A black figure wearing a bronze mask emerged from the bushes beside him with a grin on his face. He couldn't see the expression on the other person's face, but the bronze mask had an exaggerated and mocking smile, revealing the coldness and stiffness of metal, which made people even more uneasy.

Those three crossbow bolts were fired from the opponent's hand crossbow, which was only the length of a forearm. Their power was not as amazing as that of a crossbow bolt that could be drawn with both hands, but with the sharp blade and barbs, they were enough to easily pierce the flesh, sever ligaments, and bring extreme pain to the target. As long as they struggled slightly, the blade and barbs on the crossbow bolts would gleefully tear apart more flesh.

This weapon is not designed to kill the target, like thorns that are hooking at his flesh; it is more about torment and pain, to render the target immobile and helpless.

Even if one of these crossbow bolts pierced his joint, he probably wouldn't be able to take a single step...

The parasite inside his body gave him superhuman endurance and agility, but he had no intention of fighting it. Instead, he took advantage of the moment when the creature was cocking its crossbow to scramble out of the bushes and plunge into an even more remote ravine, enduring the pain of thorns scraping against his body again and again.

He dared not stop, and absolutely could not stop, because he knew that the empire's hounds and jailers were hunting him down. Even if he could kill the pursuer, he would be caught in this terrible net because of the delay, and then he would truly be doomed.

But he wasn't running around aimlessly—he wasn't like those fools in the Grain in Ear season who would plunge headlong into a place they knew nothing about and act recklessly. Before actually taking action, he had carefully studied the surrounding terrain and his escape route, so he knew very well that if he continued along this ravine, he would reach a river that flowed through the forest. The flow wasn't too strong, but it was enough for him to slip in and escape.

However, this process was also extremely painful. Thorns were everywhere in the barren mountains, especially in this place with piles of rubble where other plants could hardly grow. He dared not open his eyes for fear of being scratched by the thorns that were everywhere.

The dense and thorny forest provided him with considerable protection. As long as his pursuers did not dive into the thicket with the same recklessness, no one could outrun him... just as a person who cherishes his boots cannot catch a thief who dares to wade through the mud.

He gritted his teeth and forced his way through the dense thicket of thorns, his clothes torn into rags, revealing the tough leather undershirt underneath. The exposed skin was covered in blood, a truly gruesome sight.

But he ultimately achieved his goal. After crossing the last stone, he heard the sound of rushing water, and a refreshing mist of water rushed towards him.

Having calculated the distance, he leaped up without hesitation, passing through the last layer of bushes. His boots immediately felt the pebbles on the riverbank, and before him lay a clear and wide river.

Once he plunges into the river and goes downstream, he can climb ashore at any point downstream, making it extremely difficult for his pursuers to catch him.

Without a moment to hesitate, Urtbandora plunged headlong into the river—or rather, did half of the action—before turning around without hesitation and viciously stabbing downwards with the sharp blade in his hand.

Ding! Ding ding ding!

Bone and steel collided with a crisp, melodious sound, followed by a relentless barrage like a sudden storm. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead as he desperately parried the rain of sharp spikes, trying to prevent the weapon, capable of easily piercing through his chainmail, from piercing his chest as well.

Fast! Terrifyingly fast, so fast that it's impossible to think, as fast as standing in a raging storm, except that every drop of rain is sharp steel, a vicious grim reaper, where the slightest carelessness will cost you your life, and the slightest flaw will cost you dearly.

He quickly realized that if he continued to parry like this, his throat would be torn open and his chest pierced by the vicious spikes. But his opponent pressed on relentlessly, making it impossible for him to escape. In desperation, he bulged his throat and spat out a white-green acidic liquid with a fierce expression.

The gray figure in front of me was only wearing a short garment that covered his body and limbs, with only his two eyes showing. He had no chance against this terrible strong acid liquid. In an instant, his eyes would be blinded and his face would be corroded!

He eagerly anticipated the scene—the enemy screaming and howling under the corrosive acid, easily killed by him. He had done this countless times in the past for fun, without exception.

After all, who can withstand such a blow? And without prior intelligence, who can defend against it?

...As it turns out, such a seemingly clever pause often leads to disastrous consequences.

The gray figure suddenly blurred rapidly in front of him, then appeared five steps away. The sour liquid splashed onto the stones, but did not touch the fibers or flesh. However, a sharp and intense pain pierced his shoulder blade from behind.

"!!——"

He looked down in shock, only to see a blood-stained tip emerging from under his armpit, precisely piercing his ligaments and bones, locking his shoulder blade tightly!

His panic vanished in an instant; almost instinctively, he tried to escape the dangerous situation using only his two legs—given his superhuman jumping ability! ...

呲!

Two more sharp cones were taken from his belt and calmly pierced the ligaments of his knees, as easily as a butcher slaughtering pigs and sheep.

Having suffered such a severe blow, he could no longer stand and fell to the ground in a rather disheveled and unwilling manner, only able to watch helplessly as the two gray figures slowly approached.

He didn't even realize that another person had circled around behind him! And the guy who made the first move was just trying to draw his attention!

In an instant, he understood everything that had just happened, but it was too late, because the surrounding jungle began to ripple, and the copper-masked jailers filed out. One of them grabbed a long iron clamp and grabbed his neck, forcibly dragging him up from the ground like a dead dog, and then tied him up with ropes.

Only after confirming that he was unable to move did the gray-clad henchmen approach and draw their weapons. The armor-piercing spikes, forged from fine steel, were completely free of blood; all the blood dripped from their sharp tips onto the ground. The henchmen showed no sign of pride in this, and just as silently as they had arrived, they left from both sides.

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

Without hesitation, Dorsyat discarded the crossbow in his hand. The moment the order to take action was given, he threw the crossbow into a crevice in the rocks next to him, to prevent this thing that had just been useful from slowing him down.

After the plan for a long-range sniper was finalized, he, with the best marksmanship among the three and the parasite in his eyes, naturally took on the task. And indeed, he proved to be capable of handling such a heavy responsibility, but in the end, fate was beyond his control.

The target was a full 150 paces away. At that distance, a person wouldn't even be larger than the tiny notch used for aiming, making it extremely difficult to hit accurately... But he still seized the moment when the target paused by the well, and the crossbow bolt struck the man's head with perfect accuracy.

At that distance, the crossbow bolts fly in an arc and are extremely susceptible to the wind. His success at the time even shocked himself... The joy that followed turned into the frustration of failure before it could even fully unfold.

For some reason, his target suddenly straightened up and raised his head, causing the crossbow bolt to hit his chest instead. Surprisingly, the chest was already pierced by armor, rendering the bolt, which had traveled too far and had reduced power, useless.

When their first attack failed, he knew there would be no more chances. Without any hesitation, the three of them decided to split up and retreat... In short, they would have to rely on their own abilities to escape on their own.

He couldn't escape towards the area closer to the other two, lest he implicate them if he made a mistake. So the best direction was the cliff to the due south!

Without any hesitation, he jumped off the edge of the cliff, and then, just half a second later, turned and reached forward, accurately grabbing a protruding rock. The impact of the sudden fall made a crisp scraping sound on his shoulder, and the parasite inside his body also began to wriggle, enhancing his endurance and strength.

The fingers moved slowly to the sides. Then a curved bone spur emerged from the gap between the middle and ring fingers, as thick and sharp as an eagle's talon, with fine serrations at the bottom for cutting flesh.

He inserted the bone spike into the crevice between the two rocks, twisted it slightly, and it became firmly stuck. He stretched his muscles and bones, slowly shifting his position until he found a new foothold. Then he moved to that spot and, following the protruding rocks and the recessed footholds, he quickly climbed down the cliff at a speed that was beyond the reach of ordinary people. Below was the private hunting ground that used to belong to the Holstein count. The dense forest and complex environment were enough for him to hide comfortably.

Although the situation became critical, he remained calm. Like the other two, he had planned his escape route in the world... Who would have thought that he would dare to climb down the cliff empty-handed?

404 Preparations (1)

The cool mist began to seep silently into the fibers of clothing. In this damp and cool morning, the mist was everywhere in the forest, soaking the damp soil and leaves, leaving a layer of moisture on the surface of steel, posing a hidden danger to those who did not take care to maintain their weapons, and also making those who did not wrap themselves in blankets taste the bitter fruit.

In this western land, because there are no mountains to block it, the sea breeze from the west can always blow across the entire land without restraint, generously spreading moisture to every place. To some extent, this has created the perennial damp and cold climate here, and has also caused the lords here to suffer from joint pain.

This kind of pain is not limited to the poor and the lowly. Even noble lords who enjoy fine wine and meat all day long suffer more from it. Medicine can only relieve the pain temporarily. Some people are so badly injured that they cannot walk. When they rest, they have to deliberately place their joints, hands and feet on soft leather chairs. Even the slightest movement will make them feel a burning pain in their joints, as if they are being dug out by a dagger.

So their rooms always had fireplaces burning from morning till night, using the flames to dispel the occasional fog, allowing them to comfortably curl up in thick animal skin blankets.

Diyul had suffered from this kind of torment in the past... Although their lives were not so comfortable that they could eat meat and fish every day, they were still much better than ordinary people. In addition, they had been active in coastal cities for many years, and almost everyone had some problems with their hands and feet. They would become numb, sluggish and painful when it was too cold or too damp.

His problem was a bit more serious than his brothers'. In those freezing seasons, his right wrist was almost immobile, and he could feel an abnormal hard lump at the joint when he touched it.

But today, the chilly fog had no effect on him whatsoever, as it was all kept out by the thick, warm wool blanket, leaving his hands and feet warm and dry as if they had just been baked by a fireplace.

It wasn't until the first rays of the morning sun shone on their camp that Diyur calmly lifted his blanket and got up, taking a deep breath of the damp, chilly morning air. He then began to fold his blanket, rolling the fine, soft wool fabric into a small bundle that he could carry directly on his back.

This was allocated to them, the mercenaries, by order of their current commander. It was all thick, soft, high-quality wool, which provided warmth immediately when wrapped around the body. Even the sleeping area, if closer to the fire, would cause some to sweat profusely.

This kind of blanket is definitely not cheap... Diyul didn't know exactly how much it cost, but he knew very well that he and his men would never have been able to afford it in the past. Just by looking at the fine stitches and the sturdy and durable cotton edging, he knew that it was definitely a top-quality item, even good enough to be laid on a lord's bed.

Compared to these blankets, the blankets they used to use on marches suddenly became rags to wipe their feet, and they could sleep soundly even on nights after it had just rained, living under those felt tents without fear of wind and rain.

Now, none of these mercenaries have any doubts about their original decision. On the contrary, they all praise the wisdom of their leaders and are very excited about the preferential treatment they have received.

The Imperials' generosity exceeded their most optimistic expectations. Even these mercenaries, who were usually neglected, were treated the same as the Legion soldiers. Clothes, shoes, headscarves, socks, belts, blankets, ropes, tents... It can be said that they received the same treatment as the Imperials in every aspect of their lives, and they were quite comfortable living in the cold and damp mountains.

In addition to the large sum of reward they received earlier, they now receive a monthly military salary from above, which is far more profitable than working for Redbeard, not to mention they don't have to be driven to their deaths.

If there was anything they were dissatisfied with or uncomfortable about, it would probably be the strict discipline that suddenly descended upon them... After voluntarily surrendering to the Empire and deciding to serve the Imperial Legion, they legally became members of the country's army, and thus naturally began to be subject to military law. Military judges also began to use whips and execution axes to make them understand the consequences of violating military law.

So their past leisurely life vanished in an instant. Every day, military officers would repeatedly explain the military rules to them. First, the rules were passed on to the centurions, platoon leaders, and captains, then the higher-ranking officers would teach the lower-ranking officers, who would then teach the soldiers. They would also be frequently checked and whipped. If they could not answer three times, they would be dragged out and whipped, and their superiors would also be punished.

Once they were familiar with the military laws, the military judges would show no leniency if they violated them... During this period, those among them who couldn't break their old habits, who tried to go out and have fun, or even who tried to rob a caravan on the road to earn some extra money like the soldiers here in the past, were all pinned to wooden stakes and beheaded, no matter how much they begged for mercy.