Armored Cavalry, survive in a world full of mods

The tall, thin man in black robes suddenly turned his ear to the side, and everyone saw a small red dot disappear into it in the firelight.

Soon a smile of excitement appeared on his face, and his withered fingers began to twitch incessantly.

"Found them! Found them! Your Majesty, our men have finally found those rats!"

"Really? That's good... Clean them up and don't cause too much trouble here. I don't want to suffer too many unexpected losses. Hilt, bring over the Third and Fourth Battalions. For at least a week, not even a rabbit is allowed to get close to this place!"

"But Your Majesty! In that case, the power used to protect you..."

“I’m not so fragile that I need that kind of meticulous protection! Bring them all here.”

The captain of the guard, clad in gleaming armor, lowered his head and accepted the order. A few minutes later, several large birds with long, elegant feathers soared into the sky, carrying the order far away.

Soon, a commotion arose in the forest as flames flickered and died down. Startled birds flew from their nests, trying to escape the danger emanating from the noise.

Angry roars and the sounds of swords clashing and cutting into flesh moved rapidly through the jungle, approaching in a specific direction.

The king of the Hols soon received some interesting news: the attackers had not only not been annihilated, but were instead moving towards him... It was unclear whether this was due to specific intelligence or sheer luck.

But Camus and his men could not let him take such a risk. The captain of the guard immediately wanted to take the king away from this dangerous place, and after a moment's thought, Julius agreed to his officers' request.

After all, he can't help anything here. Although everything has entered the most crucial final stage, he can't do anything else here. He'll just abandon everything else.

Thus, before the firelight reached this place, His Majesty the King had already left the mountain peak and arrived at the camp below, surrounded by his personal guards. This caused a small commotion before calming down, with only the firelight on the mountain peak still flickering.

………………

The sound of hooves echoed through the jungle as the warhorses moved nimbly, avoiding the trees and bushes of all sizes. The cavalrymen on horseback wore only ordinary chainmail, with lamellar vests covering their upper bodies. Their skirts and extra armor had been removed to reduce weight.

Marching through the night and through such complex terrain is a great test for an army. The slightest carelessness can lead to people falling behind or going missing. For an army with poor organization, less than half of them may reach their destination after a night march.

But this group was clearly not among them. Each of them skillfully maneuvered the reins in their hands. Even though they were marching through the complex roads and rugged terrain of the mountains, not a single person fell behind. Everyone silently followed Tersolius, who was leading the way.

Although the moonlight was perfect, the jungle remained shrouded in darkness due to the obscuring leaves. However, despite wearing that flamboyant winged helmet, his sharp eyes were still able to see the path clearly, allowing him to lead his cavalry accurately over the mountains and valleys.

The warhorses were losing strength. Even though they were riding the best horses in the world, they were traversing some of the most difficult and rugged mountain roads in the world, and at breakneck speed... Ordinary horses would have been worn out long ago, only the fine horses they rode could withstand such torment.

Although the distance was not far, they chose the most rugged and difficult route for the sake of secrecy. So before setting off, they fed their warhorses clean water and bean feed, and also added eggs and salt, just to keep them in good physical condition.

The warhorse's breathing gradually became heavier, and sweat soaked the padding under the saddle, but it became more and more spirited, running faster and faster, and even gradually becoming excited. Its master had to pull it tight to keep it from running too far.

The fresh hay and beans in their stomachs are being digested and absorbed. The rich and plentiful food supply allows these warhorses to continuously recover their strength as soon as they slow down, which is far superior to that of ordinary mounts.

When the sweat from their horses had completely soaked through their saddles, they finally saw the firelight on the distant mountain peaks. Everyone tightened the reins on their warhorses and took a short rest on the slope...

"Marcus! You lead the first team up the mountain path on the left. If you encounter resistance, scatter them immediately and get to their aid as quickly as possible!"

A troop of cavalry roared away, kicking up a cloud of dust. They didn't carry powerful lances, but rather longswords and chain maces. Riding swift horses and wielding light swords, they arrived at the scene with incredible speed and launched an attack with lightning speed.

“Alka, go through the jungle in that depression and meet up with Marcus. Remember to take them by surprise and throw the whole mountain into chaos. Don’t linger. Once you’ve got what you need, leave. Just keep them confused.”

Arka yanked his chainmail visor down hard, grabbed his chain mace, and charged forward. Another troop of cavalry followed him, their gleaming swords flashing coldly in the moonlight. Apart from the sound of horses pounding the ground, there were no more shouts or battle cries.

Tersolius adjusted his helmet, straightening it after the long ride, let out a soft breath, and then urged his horse forward.

The remaining cavalry immediately followed, equally silent, with only the billowing dust and gleaming swords announcing their arrival before disappearing into the jungle in the blink of an eye.

With two twangs of bowstrings, the two dark figures standing on the tree let out a muffled groan and then fell headlong to the ground. The cavalrymen didn't even glance at them as they charged past.

Meanwhile, the distant sky was ablaze with flames, like beacons guiding the way.

………………

"This is bad! This is bad! The situation is very bad... I have to hide, yes! I have to hide."

The man in the black robe was pacing anxiously. A blood-red fly was perched on his shoulder, rubbing its two slender front legs and occasionally scratching its head to remove the dust. Its two transparent wings also fluttered from time to time, cleaning itself thoroughly.

But its owner is far from having a good time and is currently in a terrible dilemma.

The man hesitated for a moment, taking two steps towards the cave entrance, but immediately stomped his foot to stop. He then turned and walked back towards the blood pool, only to stop again after a few steps, turning back hesitantly to look outside the cave.

He was really worried about leaving his treasure here... but he couldn't move this big pool. If an uninvited guest barged in, it would ruin the entire ceremony, and all his efforts would be in vain!

Men often struggle to make decisions. Perhaps they subconsciously feel that doing so is the safest approach, but some decisions have uncertain outcomes. If they could be more resolute, things wouldn't usually turn out too badly... What often makes a situation spiral out of control is this indecisiveness.

Sometimes, doing nothing is the worst thing you can do.

Before he could suppress his hesitation, a scream and the sound of rapid hoofbeats came from outside. He finally reacted like a stubborn donkey that had been whipped, ultimately deciding that his life was more important. So he pulled up his robe, buried his head, and rushed outside.

As soon as he stepped out of the cave, the noisy, bloody smell filled the air. This sweet and pungent smell even made him relax for a moment... Only the hot blood that had just gushed from his neck could have this smell, and it would dissipate after a while.

A sharp whistle suddenly came from beside his ear, tearing a hole in his hood. The fly was immediately startled and flew away in a panic, but was blown off balance by the air current from the passing horses. Then, it was flicked by the flames on the brazier, and its thin wings instantly turned to ashes. The tiny insect fell into the embers, and after a short while, there was a "pop" sound, and splattered liquid everywhere before it became completely still.

The man in the black robe shuddered, as if someone had kicked him, but he didn't dare stop. A pitiful wail came from the side.

A Holstein officer, with a heavy arrow lodged in his chest, was pinned to a pillar, but fortunately, his heart and lungs were not injured. He weakly let out pitiful howls and cries.

A dark shadow swept past him, leaving a trail of blood. Half of his neck was ripped open by the blade, and he immediately went still.

Striking shadows swept swiftly through the camp, like a rapid gust of wind. But this storm brought not the swaying of grass and trees, but piles of blood and severed limbs.

Startled awake in the dead of night, the Hols had no time to mount an effective resistance. All they heard were screams, the sound of horses' hooves, and warnings of enemy attacks. They had no idea where the enemy was. Dizzy and disoriented, they ran aimlessly around the camp.

Fortunately, they were a trained army, not some kind of peasant army that would break out at the slightest fright. Officers were constantly trying to organize the scattered soldiers into an effective resistance.

But so far, none of them have succeeded. Every time they make such a move, a heavy arrow, seemingly out of nowhere, will pierce through them. The arrow shaft and feathers, painted black with black paint, make it impossible to tell where they came from. Only the killing of one officer and commander after another accelerates the chaos in the entire camp.

The gaunt man, wrapped tightly in a black robe, moved forward quickly in a contorted posture, almost using both hands and feet, but for some reason no one paid attention to him. Even as he passed right by the soldiers, not a single person turned their eyes to him.

But these people did not include Tersolius… that sneaky, fleeing shadowy figure, no matter how you looked at it, had “suspicious” written all over his back…

76 Swift Horse and Light Knife (2)

The cavalrymen, who came roaring in, were like a pack of hungry tigers. They lurked in the darkness, sharpening their teeth and eyeing their terrified prey. Every now and then, they would suddenly extend a claw and take away more than a dozen lives.

Although the garrison here was considered elite, being ambushed by a large group of cavalry in the dark was the most disadvantageous situation. They couldn't see where the enemy was coming from, and with their commanders being shot one after another, they were unable to organize themselves and were soon scattered and fled.

As long as they turn and run away, the cavalry will not pursue them, allowing them to escape and making the whole mountain even more chaotic. The fleeing soldiers are like a virulent contagious disease, and if no one stops them, this desire to flee will spread to the entire army...

With no resistance around the cave, the cavalry charged into the entrance, only to turn pale as they rushed in.

They had seen countless corpses, and even created thousands of them themselves... but none of them had ever seen such a horrifying pool of blood, filled with pale and wrinkled human heads, like substandard grains floating in a pot of water, shriveled in the middle, colliding and rolling on the surface.

No one knows exactly how many heads there are. New ones keep rolling up from beneath the blood, colliding with other heads. The flesh on them is white and wrinkled, but it doesn't rot. It's a heart-wrenching scene of utter devastation.

But this hesitation was only momentary. Soon everyone regained their composure and began to take the red pottery jars off the saddles and smash them on the cave floor. The black, viscous liquid inside flowed everywhere. They even smashed a few jars and poured the black oil into the blood.

After doing all this, Marcus picked up a burning ember from the brazier outside, blew on it gently, and threw it in.

Orange-yellow flames immediately shot out of the cave. In addition to kerosene, they also threw in a lot of wooden items such as roadblocks and deer antlers. Once the fire started, they wouldn't stop until everything flammable inside was burned...

The wood and oil crackled and popped incessantly, and the intense heat caused the hair under their helmets to curl, forcing them to step back.

Watching the orange-red flames billowing out of the cave entrance, accompanied by thick black smoke, it was as if they had filled the entire cave with oil, rather than simply scattering a few cans of oil on the ground.

Some observant people quickly noticed that the billowing black smoke seemed a bit off. It wasn't a vast, boundless cloud, but rather wisps of uniform size that shot into the sky and vanished in the blink of an eye.

From the time they launched their attack to the time they lit the fire, it hadn't taken much time. Logically, they should retreat as soon as possible to prevent the Holsteins from realizing what was happening and surrounding the entire mountain...

But General Tersolius seemed to have discovered something and plunged into the woods, not yet returning. So everyone waited silently, and even though the army in the camp below might have already been mobilized, no one tried to pull their reins.

In the blink of an eye, the sound of hooves came from the woods. Tersolius, holding the reins in his left hand and carrying a large, black sack-like object in his right, leaped out of the woods. Before reaching the cave, he threw the object on the ground, and everyone could see that he was a tall, thin man whose legs had been broken and bent back, which was why he was carrying the object like a sack.

Having suffered such severe injuries, a normal person would have been half-dead long ago, but this man remained conscious, still looking around with his eyes. When he saw the burning cave, his expression changed instantly.

Before he could utter a word, two cavalrymen swiftly bound his hands and feet with thick ropes and threw him onto their horses. Just in case, they also stuffed a rag from a dead man's body into his mouth and blindfolded him.

Tersolius glanced at the burning cave again and sighed silently. He had followed this guy all the way to the huge burial pit. The last batch of slaves to be executed had not yet been covered with soil, and their headless corpses were exposed in the bright light, attracting countless green-headed flies.

The flies were exceptionally large, almost as big as a nest of bees. Startled by his horse, they swarmed up and blocked out the moonlight.

This strange fellow, taking advantage of the stench of the rotting corpse, plunged headfirst into the pit of corpses. Teresolus, worried that he might have other tricks up his sleeve, jumped in without hesitation, stepped on the soft corpse, and pulled him out. Without bothering to argue with him, he broke both of his legs on the spot.

The number of wronged souls who died unjustly here is unknown, but the corpses are arranged neatly like radishes in a field, layer upon layer, with no end in sight... Although he was used to seeing corpses on the battlefield, he still sighed at the sight he saw.

Here lay only the corpses of those who had suffered unimaginable torment yet still met their tragic end. Each body was covered in bruises and their hands were worn raw and bloody. This enormous pit was painstakingly dug out by them, one stroke at a time, using the most rudimentary tools. They even had to break up huge rocks before they could carry them out.

Even the strongest young man would have to exert a great deal of physical strength to do such a thing; it is one of the most strenuous tasks. If he doesn't get enough to eat, he might even work himself to death.

But these slaves painstakingly carved out such a huge pit. Countless people died in the process, and those who remained received no mercy. Even if they wanted to continue being slaves, they were not allowed to. They were all beheaded, leaving only their mutilated bodies buried here.

It's unimaginable the despair they must have felt before their deaths, yet such things are all too common in this world. Slaves were not seen as people with dignity and will, but as property, as consumables, as things that could be disposed of at will.

Others might just be surprised, but these things were particularly jarring to him...

With a somber expression, Tersolius spurred his horse and rode away. The silent and solemn cavalrymen followed behind him, urging their horses to retreat swiftly along a forest path that had been scouted and planned beforehand. All that remained was the empty camp still illuminated by the firelight and the cave that continued to spew flames.

Before long, the sound of heavy armor scraping came from all around. The Hols army quickly surrounded the place, but they were destined to come up empty-handed—the ground was littered with dead bodies, and the cave had now become a crater, with no one knowing what was burning inside.

The gushing orange flames licked the surrounding mountain walls, bringing astonishing heat. His Majesty the King, who had just lain down in his camp, appeared here, surrounded by a large number of Camus's men, wary of any sudden enemy attack.

Julius stared blankly at the cave before him. This once chilling cave had now become a scorching hell, with flames constantly leaping out and flashing white light that almost blinded anyone.

It was impossible to get close here. Even at a distance of several dozen feet, they were still sweating profusely. However, no one dared to take off their helmets. The corpses with their heads pierced all over the ground were enough to make them extremely vigilant. Even the king put on his helmet, which was also decorated with an angular crown carved from expensive metal and exquisite gemstones.

Julius didn't know what expression to wear... In the blink of an eye, everything here was burned to the ground, and they hadn't even caught a glimpse of the enemy. A huge commotion was already erupting from the camp below; he knew the crazed soldiers had regained their senses and were immediately wreaking havoc throughout the camp.

His reason told him that he had failed, but he was also seized by a crazy impulse. This thought was like a wasp swarming around his head. He wanted to give the order immediately to have everyone block the roads around the city and set fire to all the surrounding forests. He wanted to keep the raiding cavalry here, regardless of casualties or costs!

Heavy breathing erupted from his chest. The king lowered his head, his face contorted with rage. Everyone around him became more cautious. It was clear to anyone that an unspeakable rage was building up within him.

The crackling and roaring of the flames continued unabated, the rocks were cracked from the heat, and the bright flames wandered around, trying to spread out of the cave. But the surrounding walls were bare, and the flames, finding no flammable material, stretched themselves longer and longer, as if they were about to burn down the entire barren mountain.

But after a while, when Julius raised his head, he had regained his composure:

“Go and relay the orders to our lord and general. I have given them permission to retreat... They can only retreat to Dorisca. We must rebuild our defenses.”

The attendant beside him was even stunned for a moment, hardly believing his ears. His Majesty the King, who had previously vehemently opposed the retreat, had actually agreed to allow the nobles to lead their troops in a retreat... He knew that such a retreat would inevitably lead to a major rout and cause countless troubles.

Julius, however, showed no inclination to explain, nor did he seem interested in doing so.

Now, mobilizing all the troops to block the surrounding roads and mountains might indeed make it possible to capture those despicable cavalrymen, but he can no longer do that... He was momentarily overwhelmed by anger and didn't react in time, but after calming down a bit, he realized that he could no longer command the large army in the camp.

His army had already suffered heavy losses, and they were only kept here by a ritual paid for with the blood and souls of slaves. Once they regained consciousness, their first thought was to break free from their control. If nothing unexpected happened, a riot had already broken out in the camp.

Ultimately, he had already lost long ago. Long before he arrived in the city, long before those three heavy catapults were burned... these troops had already lost their courage to attack, their morale had plummeted to its lowest point, and no one could get them to leave their camp and continue risking their lives to fill the city walls.

It was only through his underhanded methods that the situation was kept afloat and prevented from collapsing on the spot.

But now that false morale has finally crumbled, and the false situation can no longer be maintained. Even if he doesn't give the order, there will only be an empty camp by tomorrow. It would be better to preserve some of his royal dignity and take the initiative to make them retreat, taking advantage of the dark night to minimize the losses.

Indeed, he had already anticipated that the troops in the city were prepared and might take advantage of the chaos in his camp to launch a fierce attack on him.

The task at hand is no longer to conquer the city; that's now a pipe dream. We need to find a way to minimize losses and at least bring back the vast majority of our troops. As long as these troops remain, there is still hope.

A bitter, fishy-sweet taste spread through his mouth; it was the blood flowing from his bitten tongue. He looked at the distant city with a bitter expression, realizing that he had paid too high a price and still gained nothing.

Will Alpert, this city of white stone, ever return to the Hols after it was lost from his hands? He didn't know, but he always felt that something called hope was slowly slipping away from him.

………………

"The Hols retreated, but they retreated too soon..."

Natamus narrowed his eyes slightly, watching the distant flames transform into a long dragon, slowly flowing backward.

This is a good thing, but it seems to have some shortcomings.

They had originally planned to launch a full-scale attack while the enemy was in disarray, catching them off guard. However, they hadn't expected the Hols to retreat so resolutely and decisively. They withdrew almost immediately at the onset of the chaos, without the slightest hesitation.

In this situation, it would be difficult to find a real opportunity, but he was unwilling to give up. If he could succeed when the enemy was in defeat, he would turn the retreat into an unstoppable rout, and the losses would be incalculable.

He hesitated for a moment, then immediately made a decision.

…………

A few minutes later, the city's iron gates were finally opened once more, and hundreds of fully armed cavalrymen roared out. Their armor gleamed in the moonlight, and they held spears and shields in their hands, ready to fight at any moment.

The distant firelight was clearly in disarray, and Natamus laughed heartily, feeling a bit more confident.

Suddenly, the sound of horses' hooves came from the hillside to the side. The cavalrymen were about to react when they saw a familiar figure in the bright moonlight...

Tersolius led his cavalry into the steel torrent, and the others made way for him, allowing him to charge to the very front of the column.

Natamus wore a chainmail mask, but his eyes revealed a smile. The two men exchanged a glance, and he suddenly punched his brother on the shoulder. Their loud laughter echoed through the night, drowning out even the neighing of warhorses.

77 Victory

The thunderous sound of hooves swept in like a torrential downpour, and the spearheads gleaming with cold light were the raindrops at the forefront of this storm. However, these raindrops would not penetrate the earth; they would only pierce through flesh and tear through armor, turning people into corpses and remains scattered all over the ground.

The dense collisions blended together, sounding like a deafening thunderclap. Countless bodies were thrown into the air, and dozens of spears snapped in two inside the bodies. The dense formation was brutally torn apart, leaving only the agonizing cries of the wounded, the spilled entrails, and the still twitching limbs.

After wreaking havoc through the gap, the cavalry immediately withdrew, preventing the heavy infantry closing in from seizing an opportunity. As they left, they began to reorganize their formation and roared back in the blink of an eye.