Cataphracts, surviving in a world full of mods

In this barren and desolate land with scarce rainfall, it is difficult for either humans or animals to have extra compassion to give to anything other than their family. It is even common for elderly or weak family members who are unable to work to be ruthlessly driven out of the family.

Especially after a major disaster, it becomes very difficult to find elderly people in the tents here. The old and weak among the roaming wolves have all disappeared, leaving only young men, women and children who have survived by chance.

Therefore, the people living on this land often show no mercy to their enemies, and consider annihilation the best course of action.

The fires in the valley were still burning, and the burners' tents smelled of burning. The felt and sheepskin inside were turning black and curling until they finally turned to ashes.

The head of the tribe's chief, Guiren, was hanging on a beech tree, staring at the horrific scene below with his bloodshot, pale eyes. A gentle breeze blew, and the branches swayed under the weight of his head, as if nodding.

Large numbers of male and female slaves had their hands tied behind their backs. They were grouped into sets of ten and bound to a pine stick. It was difficult for them to struggle or exert any force. Even just standing up required resisting the pull from behind, and walking required considerable effort, let alone running... Even a slightly strong child could easily catch up with them.

Moreover, if someone wanted to escape, they had to convince everyone else to take the risk. If someone in a group escaped, the others would kill them without asking any questions. With this barbaric yet effective strategy, it was extremely difficult for captured slaves to escape.

Livestock such as cattle and sheep are the most valuable assets, but they are also an unreliable form of wealth. Given the limited medical care and rudimentary understanding of people on the grasslands, livestock deaths are not uncommon. In colder weather, they can die in large numbers. The dead cattle and sheep are also difficult to utilize, causing this wealth to vanish in the blink of an eye.

The Kurists were all very familiar with their livestock, a skill they relied on for survival. Now, using this skill, they were selecting from the livestock, placing the healthy and fat ones in first class, the more ordinary ones in second class, and the thin and weak ones in the lowest class... and then distributing them according to their contribution to the livestock.

Other valuables were distributed in the same way, and even the captured slaves were divided into several classes based on their health, height, and appearance... Of course, no matter how they were distributed, half of them had already been distributed and sent to the army on the hill.

Not a single Kurist complained. The warriors who came out were no fools; they knew very well that the reason they were able to seize these treasures so easily with few casualties was because of the powerful Imperial army. When the Imperials appeared on the hillside, their opponents had already lost all will to fight and had become a flock of weak lambs.

Even by their most basic moral standards, a large portion should be given to the other side. That would be fair, especially considering the other side's imposing and grand military bearing; who would dare say anything?

Having witnessed the terrifying charge of the enemy's elite light cavalry that swept across the entire valley, the Kurist people who had come with them were filled with both respect and fear. Some even thought that the enemy would take them down as well. Under such circumstances, they were already grateful to have gotten their share.

Although the spoils had begun to be divided, most people's saddles were still empty. Their valuables, cattle, sheep, and slaves were gathered together for safekeeping, with each group of five or six choosing a trusted person to guard their share. After all, the campaign to the north would continue until the governor of Tersolius was satisfied.

This was the usual way of handling things, so no one complained. On the contrary, everyone was in high spirits, with a bloodthirsty pleasure, looking forward to setting off again to plunder more wealth and people.

Lone wolves have already appeared on the distant grassland. They are the scouts of the wolf pack, drawn by the thick scent of blood. They will be the ones to deal with the corpses on the grassland.

As the horns sounded, the cheering Kurist men immediately spurred their horses forward, circling the Imperial legions as they raced toward their next destination, like hounds surrounding a hunter.

………………

Such situations were occurring everywhere across this vast land. Led and accompanied by the southern Kurist tribes, the imperial legions crushed one unsubdued tribe after another, destroying their dwellings and plundering their people and livestock. The Kurist people, who had just suffered a major blow, were filled with fear and dread.

Many tribes began to migrate north spontaneously, completely disregarding the livestock that would die from illness or exhaustion during the long journey. In order to escape the terrifying imperial army, they even abandoned the elderly and weak who were unable to move around.

If it were just the Imperial army, they wouldn't be so terrified—but after those so-called kin joined in, they truly faced the imminent threat of annihilation!

These despicable kin also know their migration routes for each season, where they are likely to be, and which routes to take to easily catch them...

With the help of those Kurist tribes, the already formidable Imperial Legion can now easily deliver a terrible blow, as if turning over a stone and catching an insect underneath!

In just a few days, seven or eight tribes had been completely wiped out... The heads of their nobles were cut off and hung from the treetops, the able-bodied men were enslaved and their livestock were divided up; if it weren't for the few survivors who escaped, they wouldn't even know about it.

Seeing such a disaster about to befall them, who wouldn't be afraid? Any sensible person immediately sprang into action. At the very least, they wanted to stay away from the south to avoid being caught. As for the other unfortunate souls, let them fend for themselves.

A tragic migration took place on this land. Everywhere, tribes drove their cattle, sheep, and horses, pulling carts and carrying all their belongings, heading north. Heartbreaking cries echoed across the entire grassland.

Many people thought that this was the end for the Kurist people. Now that they had lost their army, they were powerless to resist the terrible enemy. They were like a flock of sheep being driven, lost and weak.

The elderly people left on the land silently found a place to sit and watched their descendants depart. Their faces were expressionless, showing neither despair, sadness, nor anger, but rather a sense of normalcy.

Wolf tracks have already appeared on the hillside. In the twilight, green bioluminescent dots move and wander in the darkness, waiting for their next meal.

An old woman suddenly opened her mouth, which had only five teeth left, and took a deep breath, as if she wanted to burst her lungs. She paused deeply at her limit, then let out a long, sharp, and low moan, with a rapid tremor, which pierced through the surrounding darkness and spread into the distance.

The other dozen or so old men opened their mouths in response at the same time. Their voices, gathered together, sounded like a huge beast sighing on a high slope, sending chills down one's spine in the darkness.

With another inhale and exhale, the exhalation became melodious and clear, like a lark flapping its wings and soaring into the sky. A desolate and long ballad was played by their mouths and throats, spreading to all directions.

This is the most common folk song among the Kurist people. Every young child learns how to speak their language and all aspects of the land they live in from this song. Under the protection of their parents, they learn how to ride a horse, how to draw a bow and arrow, how to herd sheep, and how to drive away hungry wolves...

A burst of weeping erupted from the departing procession. Some men and women, tears streaming down their faces, dared not look back, only pressing forward, leaving behind the song etched into their very bones, and the people who raised them to live with the lurking wolves... At the same time, they held their bewildered children tightly in their arms, watching the flock of sheep being driven around them.

Fear is rushing in from the south, nightmares are spreading from the south, and they are about to grab them by the toes and drag them off their horses, so they cannot and dare not linger.

The men who went to plunder the Empire did not return; they remained in the West with their armor and warhorses. This time, it was not the Western Empire people who wept bitterly, but they themselves…

………………

A wolf cautiously poked its head out of the bushes, sniffing the bloody scent in the air. The fur on its head was a tangled mess from the sharp thorns and branches in the bushes.

Wolves are cunning and ferocious beasts. A single wolf is not a threat; a strong man can handle it with a little care. But if they gather into a pack, then all the men in the tribe must be on guard, protecting their cattle and sheep as if they were guarding an army.

The scent of blood wafting from afar excited it, its two green eyes shining even brighter. Just as it shook its fur and was about to emerge from the bushes, the sound of rapid hoofbeats suddenly came from the top of the hill, causing it to instinctively pull its head back and try to hide.

But it was too late... An arrow shot from the bowstring, piercing through the loose branches and leaves, easily penetrating the fur and flesh, and emerged from the other side, pinning the gray wolf to the ground.

A tall, strong steed galloped in, its fiery red cloak billowing in the night. The rider tucked his short bow into the saddlebag behind him, reached for the saddle, leaned down, and swiftly dragged the wolf onto the saddle. He then deftly tied it with ropes. Throughout the entire process, the warhorse maintained a slow trot pace and never stopped.

The rider galloped through the bushes and across the ditches. He climbed high slopes and ventured into low valleys, carefully examining every corner. Sometimes he would stop to observe footprints and animal droppings on the ground, and only when it was completely dark would he mount his horse and head back.

Traveling at night is extremely dangerous, but he is both skilled and daring. He urges his horse on with unbridled speed, always managing to avoid dangerous potholes at crucial moments and swiftly traverse gentle hills and grasslands; his warhorse is as if it were an extension of his legs.

He advanced at top speed, and soon he saw firelight in the distance—that was where the legion was stationed.

After traveling for a while, they saw the iconic, well-organized camp. After exchanging passwords, the soldiers guarding the camp gate pried open the barricades and deer antlers to let him in.

He followed the specially designed passage between the camps toward the center until he saw the huge white tent. He then dismounted, removed his helmet, wiped the sweat from his face, and waited for his guards to report.

Before going in, Fitzgerald paused briefly, organizing his thoughts in his mind, before lifting the gate and stepping inside.

"You're back. How did it go?"

Three oil lamps were lit in the tent, but the light was still dim. Thesolius sat there in the lamplight, thoughtfully examining a copper coin in his hand.

“Just as we expected, sir.” Unlike the composed lawyer Teso, Fitzgerald was quite excited, ignoring the wet hair on his face, and hurriedly reported his findings:

"The Kurist people have begun to flee and have started to abandon the old and weak in their tribes. They are terrified, and a large area of ​​the surrounding land has lost their tribes."

"Moreover, the water and grass in the north are even more barren, and the original tribes were already struggling to survive. If they brought their livestock there, they would have a hard time raising them, and the local tribes would definitely clash with them..."

The middle-aged man spoke clearly and logically about his findings, while Tersolius listened quietly, occasionally asking questions, but mostly just tapping his fingers thoughtfully on the table.

After the brief report, he finally spoke:

"It seems the time is almost right... As long as their leader isn't an idiot, he should be able to make a wise choice."

"Tell the tribes that came with us to tone it down a bit, don't push them too hard, make those two slow down, and don't mess things up."

Fitzgerald immediately nodded in agreement and prepared to do it soon.

Tesorus paused slightly before continuing:

"Have you heard from the Black Crows? They should have completed their mission by now."

Not yet...

Before he could finish speaking, the tent flap was suddenly flung open again, revealing a parchment envelope in the guard's hand bearing the glaring mark of a red-eyed raven...

Chapter 180 Black Crow (1)

The silent men in black were like ghosts. Their wide robes concealed any extra features, making it difficult to discern their gender and identity. The bronze masks on their faces, which could express sorrow, joy, anger, or laughter, made them appear even more otherworldly.

If one were to see them in the darkness of night, no matter how brave and resilient a person may be, they would likely be greatly shocked, thinking that messengers from hell have come to earth to entice fallen sinners.

Although they appeared to be dressed in plain clothes, the sound of metal plates scraping against each other and chainmail rings striking hard leather armor as their robes fluttered proved that they also had excellent protection; even their boots were covered with neatly arranged thin copper plates.

The prisoners who managed to escape from this country with its harsh laws were all formidable individuals, possessing unwavering will, ruthlessness, and extreme cunning.

Capturing them and bringing them to justice is not something cowards or incompetents can do. Although the jailers are feared by everyone, they are also exceptionally skilled and highly adept. Coupled with their meticulously crafted protective armor, they have become feared by criminals throughout the empire.

They are like vicious dogs from hell; once they catch a scent, they will never give up until their prey falls between their fangs and oozes scarlet blood, only then will they be satisfied.

Even their horses are specially trained and have their vocal cords removed, in order to become the most deadly hunters.

A jailer reached out and touched a fallen leaf on the ground, looking at it...

He observed the fine dust left behind by the shattered leaves for a moment, then looked up and nodded to their leader.

"They just left here a short while ago and headed southeast, probably trying to get into the forests of Perishart."

"This stray dog ​​is quite good at escaping..." the leader sneered, his voice filled with disdain.

"In order to escape from us, he lost the wealth he brought with him, his trusted subordinates, and his so-called collaborators. Now, what can he possibly lose to delay our advance?"

"Time is running out. Capturing this guy has been more difficult than we expected. We should have finished this mission three days ago... Now, we must bring him back before that person gets impatient."

"Salivia, you take a team and head straight from Paz. Don't let him escape from there. The rest of you, follow me and continue the pursuit along the original route. Let's go immediately!"

The crowd roared in agreement. A thin jailer led ten men away from the group and sped off along another path. The others rode their silent warhorses, following their leader as he roared through the woods. His dark bronze face flashed in the moonlight before disappearing into the darkness. For a moment, it seemed as if a cold wind was blowing, and ghosts were howling. The fallen leaves on the ground were blown up and down by the air currents, as if ghosts were passing through them.

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

A sharp pain shot through my shoulder, but it had already become somewhat numb and sluggish.

The warhorse beneath him had reached its limit, panting heavily, its saddle and mane soaked with sweat, which also stained his trousers, making him feel the hot, damp sensation.

The warhorse slowed down more and more, occasionally letting out a pitiful groan, but he only used the spurs on his feet to desperately stab the warhorse's belly, showing no intention of stopping. He would occasionally look back, but his expression did not show any panic.

Finally, this disregard for the condition of his mount brought about disastrous consequences. The once strong and agile warhorse was now completely exhausted. After being tripped by a small tree root growing from the road, it tumbled forward and fell to the ground, throwing the young man off its back.

He rolled on the ground a couple of times, looking rather disheveled, but actually protected his bones and muscles well, avoiding any serious injury from the fall. He then slowly stood up and stretched his limbs.

Looking at the warhorse lying on the ground, beyond repair, he reached into his boot and pulled out a gleaming double-edged dagger. He then plunged it diagonally behind the horse's ear, twisting it slowly as the horse convulsed in its final moments before pulling it out.

He carefully avoided the gushing horse blood. The clouds in the sky dispersed, and a ray of moonlight shone on the area, illuminating the young man's face.

It was a very ordinary face, with dark hair and a short beard. His facial features were completely unremarkable; however, his downturned eyes and slightly large nose gave him an honest and reliable appearance. He would be hard to spot in a crowd.

Like the young farmers in every ordinary village in the empire, they had just taken up their fathers' hoes and had not yet learned how to properly care for their fields, still needing guidance and help from their elders. Yet, they had already begun to shoulder the heavy burden of their families.

They hadn't yet learned to drink, swear, and spit in pubs every day to release their heavy pressure, and their romance stories always carried a kind of naive and innocent feeling.

The seemingly ordinary young man slowly wiped his dagger clean, then looked up to determine the direction before diving headfirst into the grove of bushes. He trudged through the dense thickets and undergrowth, making his way in one direction with difficulty.

…………

About fifteen minutes later, he finally managed to push aside the dense bushes and emerged from within, accompanied by the rustling of the leaves. He reached out and pulled the spider webs and weeds from his hair, took a couple of careful breaths, and then looked up to continue surveying the surrounding terrain.

This is a clearing in the middle of a dense thicket of trees, with a dead tree trunk lying in the very center. It is mostly rotten and hollow in the middle, buried under a few inches of grass.

Apart from that, there were only a few inconspicuous stones of varying sizes piled around. It looked utterly ordinary.

But he immediately breathed a sigh of relief, his shoulders relaxed, and he eagerly darted forward a few steps, bending down and reaching out to pry open an inconspicuous branch on the tree trunk.

"That's a good place."

A chilling, mocking voice suddenly rang out from behind him, sending shivers down his spine. He turned around with a force and speed that seemed to snap his neck—

A tall figure appeared behind him, the black robe covering his entire body and the bronze mask with its ambiguous smile almost making him lose his soul. He involuntarily stepped back, forgetting the huge tree trunk for a moment, and stumbled a few steps before regaining his balance.

"This guy's got some brains; he actually thought of setting up a hiding place here..."