Cataphracts, surviving in a world full of mods

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Upon returning to his castle, the Viscount immediately retreated into his warm room with its burning fireplace, wrapping himself in thick furs.

He knew why he always had this uneasy feeling. It started when he saw that strange corpse and had continued until now, growing stronger and stronger. It was as if something was crawling up his neck from his back, leaving behind a wet, cold slime and a wriggling sensation, making him wish he could scald his whole body with hot water.

He shouted a few words towards the door, and only after a servant brought him a cup of hot wine did he calm down while drinking it, still vaguely pondering what his ominous premonition was all about...

He didn't know how much time had passed; he had long since finished his wine, and his whole body was warm. He was curled up in his fur, dozing off, when suddenly he heard hurried footsteps and heavy knocking on the door. The knocking was loud and urgent, as if something extremely important was happening, prompting him to impatiently shout:

"What's the rush? Have those troublemakers rebelled again? You're about to smash my carved wooden door!"

"My lord, my lord, get up quickly! His Majesty the King's personal guards are here! They're waiting outside our castle!!!"

With a muffled thud, the viscount jumped out of bed, hurriedly put on his shoes, and flung open the door. As a viscount, he might be a lawless local tyrant here, but before the king, he was nothing more than an ant; how could he dare show the slightest disrespect?

He stumbled and crawled all the way to the drawbridge of his humble castle. The dazzling sight of armor made him almost dizzy. Camus's men, wearing dark green cloaks embroidered with white horses galloping in the sun, fine armor, and helmets decorated with bright feathers, surrounded him. Even a cursory glance was enough to estimate that there were at least five hundred of them.

His castle had only a few dozen pitiful soldiers. Although the large profits from the forest allowed him to equip his men with fairly good armor, compared to the king's personal guards, they looked like a group of destitute beggars... Their boots were probably worth as much as a whole set of chainmail for his soldiers.

Especially those gleaming face shields, which only revealed a small area of ​​the eyes, nose, and mouth... made him extremely envious.

Just as he was turning his head to find the highest-ranking noble among them to strike up a conversation, a general, covered in gleaming silver scale armor and with a helmet adorned with heavy blue feathers, rode up on a long-legged, pointed-eared Hols horse and tossed him a parchment scroll inlaid with gold thread.

The viscount hurriedly took the parchment scroll and opened it without hesitation—he had a premonition that it contained something very important… After a slight hesitation, remembering that he was illiterate, he quickly turned and handed the scroll to a bald old man with a tangled beard and greasy robes. The man's robes, originally dark green, now looked completely black and extremely unkempt.

The old man opened the scroll and stared at it for a long time before his eyes suddenly widened. He then used one hand to rub the yellowish discharge from the corner of his eye. Suspecting that he was getting old and senile, he shook his head vigorously to clear his mind before turning his gaze back to look at it again... but nothing had changed. He still saw the same words, and it bore the king's seal, impeccable.

"Hurry, Narodo! Hurry! Tell me what it says on it?"

The viscount waited patiently for a while at first, but when the old man had been watching for a long time without saying a word, he finally couldn't stand it anymore and began to urge him impatiently.

The old man swallowed several times, his forehead trembling rapidly, and drops of cold sweat seeped from his hair and forehead, running down his cheeks and disappearing into his thick, messy beard.

Finally, he took a deep breath, glanced somewhat flusteredly at the expressionless Camus and his men standing guard beside him, and then forced out the words from his throat to read aloud the parchment:

"By order of His Majesty Julius Vede Bernard, King of all Hols, Head of the Nobles, One on White Horse (a long list of various titles)... Viscount Mattiarus has repeatedly refused the state's summons, failed to fulfill his obligations to the King and his lord, and repeatedly defaulted on taxes... In accordance with the laws commonly observed by the many nobles of the kingdom, Viscount Mattiarus's lands are now revoked, his noble status is stripped, and his property shall be used to compensate for his neglected obligations, effective from the date of delivery of this document. As if His Majesty were present!"

After reciting the last sentence, the old man's hands trembled so much that he could barely hold the parchment, which slipped from his fingertips and fell into the muddy water on the ground.

"what?……"

This was the sound that came from the viscount's mouth as he finally came to his senses. He was completely stunned, like a frog caught in a bright light. His mouth was wide open, and even his pale tongue was clearly visible—it seemed that his health was already somewhat worrying due to his indulgence. After all, he was a regular at the city's treasury and spent half the year away from the castle.

"This is your punishment. Now, according to His Majesty's order, you may take your most valuable possessions, but everything else must remain here. You are the only one."

The Holstein general dismounted, the sound of his armor scraping against the ground echoing as he approached the viscount. His face remained impassive, as cold and hard as the sword at his waist.

"Everything you've done comes at a price. Did you really think you could live a carefree life as a minor lord on the border? Every foolish thing you did that you thought was a success was a stepping stone to this day. Now get out of here. You're no longer a nobleman. Think of a way to survive."

"No! You despicable bastards, this is baseless! I am the lord of this place, and you dare to try to drive me out of my home! I will never leave!! Soldiers, fire! Fire! Kill this man! Now!"

As if something had suddenly snapped out of his head, the viscount, fully aware of his predicament, stared wide-eyed and almost roared in a frantic, desperate voice, giving orders to the soldiers on the city wall to have the dozen or so crossbowmen use their powerful crossbows to kill the Holstein general in front of him and save him from the despair of losing his territory and becoming a commoner.

At this moment, he had gone mad, almost completely irrational, desperately pouring out every insult he could muster.

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Nothing was recorded, no response to commands, no trembling of bowstrings. There were no screams of arrows flying and piercing bodies. Everything seemed frozen. The soldiers on the city wall stood frozen, their crossbows hanging limply. The scholars and confidants beside them were all silent... Everything was so quiet, so quiet that you could almost hear the sound of blood flowing in your heart.

The lord finally despaired completely, his legs gave way and he collapsed into the mud... No, he could no longer be considered a lord.

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Clutching the bundle tightly to his chest, Mattearus rode his skinny horse cautiously along the forest path... his once elegant clothes were now covered in mud, making him look like a drowned rat.

Suddenly, a rope rose from the ground. Completely distracted from the road, he and his horse were tripped and fell to the ground. Two men dressed in animal skins and carrying longbows sprang out of the roadside bushes, quickly bound him with the rope, and pinned him to the ground. Ignoring his panicked cries, they began searching his belongings.

"Isn't that bastard Mattearus? He's the one who forbids us from entering the forest to cut wood or hunt, and he takes most of the crops we grow in the fields. He caused my parents to starve to death... He even hanged my brother from a tree, saying he wanted us to see what would happen to any unruly people who dared to disobey his orders..."

"It really is him! Look, his clothes are even embroidered with gold thread... If it weren't for this damned bastard, we wouldn't have had to go into the mountains... I never thought he would fall into our hands! Hey! You damned thing, do you remember the man you hung from the tree?!"

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Chapter 241 A Fierce Attack (1)

Beneath the iron hooves, cries of agony filled the land...

The overwhelming sound of footsteps made the castle's stone bricks tremble. The young soldier could not hold his longbow steady, his legs became weak, his face was pale, and his lips trembled. He looked like he might faint at any moment.

Outside this fortified castle, as far as the eye can see, there are blood-red banners, gleaming iron armor, and a forest of gleaming swords and spears. The sturdy shields are covered with raw cowhide, wrapped with iron bars and studded with copper nails, and are densely arranged like a tough wall.

This castle was once a formidable fortress that would deter any potential entrants – its sturdy stone walls would leave enemies battered and bruised, while defenders could simply sit back on the battlements and leisurely shoot down any remaining enemies.

But now, the once sturdy and orderly city walls felt as fragile as autumn leaves to him. He felt no sense of security on them, his legs trembling and he almost ran away. If it weren't for someone watching him with swords and knives, he probably would have turned and fled. And to get away faster, he would have thrown away his helmet, taken off his chainmail, and stolen a horse from the stables...

But now he could only hide behind the battlements like a wooden stake, only daring to peer through the gaps. He cautiously observed the army below, their armor gleaming in the sunlight, and the more he looked, the more desperate he felt, the drier his mouth became, and the weaker his legs felt.

"Is this the Imperial army?... How can they have so much armor? How can everyone be wearing it?! I must have drunk too much last night and gone mad to witness something like this..."

A soldier holding a crossbow muttered to himself, his voice low, but just loud enough for the soldier to hear...

"Stop your fucking nonsense! If the Imperials come in, your heads will be chopped off and piled up! If you want to live, you'd better fight for your lives now, understand? Stand still, anyone who dares to take a step back, don't blame me for showing no mercy!"

"As long as we can get through today and let a few more of the Imperials die, they will realize that this place is a tough nut to crack and will stop charging. We can hold on until His Majesty the King's reinforcements arrive, and the Imperials will definitely be repelled."

Their captain was shouting and rallying morale from behind. His long-standing authority quickly calmed the soldiers down. After all, with the high city walls, even a thousand imperial soldiers wouldn't be able to take it easily if they were determined to defend.

Bundles of arrows were being urgently carried up the city walls, but the quantity was not large. After all, this was just a small castle, and arrows were never cheap, so the stock was generally limited.

Just as the soldiers relaxed a little and were no longer so tense, a sharp whistling sound from the sky made everyone look up at the same time—then a shattered battlement and flying rubble brought with it heart-wrenching screams and howls. A piece of rubble grazed a soldier's face, causing a sharp pain, and blood flowed down and dripped into his blouse...

The thunderous sound and a scream from the city wall left him bewildered and stunned, until he saw a huge round stone crash into the wall, bounce twice, break a hapless man's leg, and then stop in front of him...

Some experienced veterans reacted immediately, shouting and yelling, ordering everyone to crouch in the corner of the city wall. However, five or six people were injured or killed in the sudden attack. Two unlucky men had their heads smashed by stones and were being dragged away, bleeding and with their brains spilling out.

A cheer erupted from the troops outside. Behind their heavily fortified positions, several unassuming wooden frames were slowly retrieving their launching rods, while nearby craftsmen were sketching and adjusting the angles on wooden boards...

The castle might seem sturdy to the soldiers, but to the siege artisans accompanying the army, it was nothing more than a laughable, rudimentary little structure. The Empire was skilled at building cities; they could construct magnificent palaces and cities, build tall, continuous canals, and construct waterwheels that could draw water from the foot of mountains… They were also skilled at sieges; the Empire's artisans knew best how to make sturdy buildings collapse and how to leave those who thought they were safe speechless.

With just a slight adjustment of the angle, the catapult's boom lifted heavily as the ramming mechanism loosened, sending a rock the size of a human head arcing through the air before slamming into the battlements—another shower of flying debris followed, and after bouncing off, several unfortunate souls were cut and screamed in pain.

Once the location was confirmed, stones began to fly in one after another, relentlessly pressing down on everyone so that they dared not lift their heads. In the terrifying atmosphere of flying stones and rising dust, their spirits were continuously tormented, and their morale plummeted.

The Empire's skilled artisans swiftly loaded the stone projectiles and launched them directly. Since all parameters had been adjusted, the bombardment range was roughly the same. This saved them the time of aiming; they only needed to throw stones as many as possible.

Even the captain, who had just been so fierce, was now cowering in a corner like them. His treasured sword, which he never parted with, was now lying to the side, its gleaming brass hilt covered in dust.

After all, even if someone had the guts to fight those elite armored soldiers, no one would be foolish enough to take the hit of those flying stone projectiles. A slight mistake would result in their flesh and bones being turned to mush. At this moment, everyone was equal. Everyone had to cover their heads and cower in a corner, praying that the flying shards and frightening stones would not hit them.

Only when a unified shout echoed from below, accompanied by the rumble of armored hulls, did the soldiers hiding in the corner realize something was wrong. One of the bolder ones leaned out from behind the battlements, then, horrified, cried out in a hoarse voice:

"They're pushing the siege engines up! They're almost there!"

Everyone jumped, and some even peeked out to see what was happening. The next moment, another stone came flying, and an unlucky guy was hit squarely on the head, helmet and all, and crushed against the wall. His helmeted head was turned into a bloody mess mixed with a piece of iron.

The splattered blood and flesh landed on the faces of the soldiers nearby, causing some of them to scream like little girls. The captain, who had just been hiding in the corner, finally dared not hide any longer, stood up and began to shout loudly, preparing to respond.

Just by peeking in, the captain in charge of the more than 100 soldiers there froze, his face blank.

"What is this thing?..."

Several soldiers held up shields to protect their comrades, who carried a large wooden beam wrapped with iron chains. When they approached the moat of the castle, they simply placed the iron chains forward under the cover of the shields, then quickly laid the wooden beams and iron bars together, and pressed several steel buckle pads on top, thus creating a sturdy and durable bridge.

The siege tower, clearly designed specifically for this type of small castle, easily crossed the moat under the cover and push of the soldiers, and soon began to approach the city wall, about to smash the drawbridge with its steel claw head onto the wall.

Rockets continued to fly from the city walls, but none of them managed to ignite the siege tower. Most bounced off the iron edges and the damp fur. The catapults in the distance never stopped, each adjustment hitting the most critical points on the city wall with unparalleled precision. The soldiers who were originally operating the giant crossbows and small catapults didn't even dare to raise their heads, and could only watch helplessly as their important defensive equipment was smashed to pieces.

One after another, battlements were smashed to pieces, and the cries of wounded and killed soldiers echoed endlessly. As the distance closed further, swarms of arrows flew in, relentlessly killing the soldiers on the city walls. Archers, under the cover of arrow holes on the siege towers, began to suppress the city walls. At this point, no one dared to raise their heads; they could only watch helplessly as the siege tower drew ever closer.

The flying arrows and the constantly smashing dust piles caused the soldiers to scream in agony. Even those who were not injured were driven to the brink of madness by the horrific sight. Especially as their comrades were being smashed to pieces or riddled with arrows, some of them quickly lost their minds and began to stand up and run around in a frenzy.

The captain, equally disheveled and too ashamed to even peek out, gritted his teeth and charged forward, piercing the man's chest from behind with his sword. He then immediately withdrew his sword and retreated, dodging a barrage of arrows.

Although he knew that the guy was doomed even if he didn't rush out, seeing one of his own men executed for running around made the people around him regain some of their senses and prevented more people from fleeing.

The silent imperial soldiers had already begun to approach the city walls. Only then did they begin to shout in unison, banging their swords and iron clubs against their shields. With overwhelming force, they swiftly occupied the open space between the moat and the city walls. Everywhere one looked, there was dense armor and imperial banners. Every shout rolled over the city walls like thunder, shattering their confidence and morale...

Arrows continued to fall, most striking the thick shields and sturdy armor without success. A few arrows fired from powerful crossbows pierced the thick armor plates, but only penetrated a few inches into the flesh, failing to cause effective damage under the double layers of heavy armor. Only those soldiers hit in vital areas screamed and fell, then were carefully dragged away by their comrades.

At that moment, all the defenders inside the castle went berserk and became extremely fierce. Everyone realized that once the siege tower reached the city wall, what awaited them would definitely not be good. With no way to retreat or escape, they mustered their remaining courage and, despite the continuous casualties, rained down arrows.

But their weapons were suppressed, rendering them powerless. In the end, they could only watch helplessly as the heavy drawbridge, with its steel jaws, crashed against the city wall. Dense armor, under the cover of crossbowmen, surged down like a river of steel, engulfing the wall in the blink of an eye. With the swinging of swords, iron staffs, and battle axes, with the sounds of flesh tearing, bones breaking, and entrails spilling out, the dark green armor was visibly receding and crumbling...

Seeing their captain fall to the ground in a single blow to a burly imperial warrior, and then die with a single hammer blow, the already trembling defenders could no longer bear it. With a shout, they turned and fled. In that retreat, there was no turning back, and the entire city wall was soon piled high with the corpses of the defenders. Their dark green robes were stained with a deep crimson of blood, and limbs were mixed among the bodies like withered branches sticking out from among fallen leaves...

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"Get back here right now!"

The tall, armored legionary soldier smashed his hammer down on the enemy before him, leaving the man lying on the ground howling and writhing in agony. At the same time, he turned and yelled at a woman running around wildly nearby, silencing the already deranged man instantly. She turned and disappeared into the nearby sheepfold.

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"Anyone wielding a weapon shall be killed without exception!"

"Kill anyone carrying a weapon!"

"Execute everyone carrying a weapon immediately!!"

"Anyone who dares to carry a weapon must die!!"

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Similar sounds echoed throughout the castle, roared by every legionary soldier, reaching every corner. They ruthlessly killed anyone who dared to face them with a weapon, their blood soaking through their armor, making them look like ferocious demons. Just passing by outside the rooms would frighten the civilians inside into weeping softly.

Door after door was kicked open. Whenever the civilians inside thought they were about to be brutally murdered, the Imperial soldiers, after a thorough search and confirming that there were no resistance fighters, would turn and leave without hesitation. They would then conduct a precise and effective sweep of the entire castle in small teams, stripping the armor off those soldiers who had laid down their weapons and were no longer resisting, binding them with ropes, and driving them into the courtyard.

Under these cruel and effective methods, everyone here quickly gave up resistance, no longer daring to take anything that could be used as a weapon, not even a short stick used to press dough... The imperial flag was also planted on the tower, and the double-headed eagle fluttering in the wind surveyed the newly conquered land, its sharp talons reaching insatiably southward...

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After leaving enough soldiers to guard the castle, the army that had captured it began to return to the main force, and the fall of the castle definitively declared that the land had come under the control of the empire.

One castle after another near the north fell easily, and the imperial army proved just how vulnerable these scattered castles were before their might...

Chapter 242 A Fierce Attack (2)

Years later, as Baliado lay dying, he would always tell his children about what he had seen that day, about the general he had met, about the armor plates that gleamed in the sunlight, about the banners that stretched like clouds, about the scene that made his blood boil and his army move in unison…

The late autumn sun is no longer scorching; instead, it brings a sense of warmth. It had just rained yesterday, and the ground was still damp and cold. Walking on the ground, you could feel a chill that ran from your heels straight to your lungs, making you instinctively wrap your fur tighter around yourself.

After securing the straps of his iron boots tightly at the back of his calves to ensure they wouldn't come loose, Bariah exhaled a breath of warm air into the morning sunlight. A thin wisp of white mist appeared before him, only to vanish in an instant. A chill ran down his spine, causing him to pull his clothes tighter around himself.

The camp gates slowly opened, and soldiers, their armor still stained with blood, filed in in neat rows, their footsteps kicking up dust. Cheerful laughter echoed among them, and smiles graced every face – this was a victorious army returning home. The soldiers who remained in the camp watched them with envy, occasionally turning to their comrades to grumble about their own lack of luck or complaining that their officers lacked the courage to take the missions away from them.