Cataphracts, surviving in a world full of mods

"These constructs are difficult to mass-produce, which is evident from their structure, if I'm not mistaken..."

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

“Damn Tersolius! Damn bastard! I curse you ignorant fools! I curse you! You have no idea who you’ve offended! ... Huff! Huff!”

A short figure, completely covered in black cloth, was moving swiftly through the jungle, muttering under his breath as he ran. Upon closer listening, it was clear that all he was doing was vicious curses and furious insults.

He moved swiftly through the forest as if it were flat ground. The dense bushes and rampant thorns posed no obstacle to him; he always managed to nimbly and quickly bypass them. He didn't stop for a long time, running from when the moon was still shining in the sky until noon when the sun was shining brightly on the earth.

Most people would be too exhausted to even move a finger after traveling all night like this, even if they didn't fall and get seriously injured. But he didn't seem to be exhausted at all. He seemed to have inexhaustible energy and was still walking briskly.

Even while running, he still had room to vent his emotions by talking nonsense. Even without companions, he kept talking the whole way, as if he were complaining to someone he couldn't see.

This is partly due to the seed of wisdom implanted in his spine—which allows him to stay awake and have plenty of energy for long periods of time, always managing to escape at critical moments, and enabling him to withstand more damage than ordinary mortals, even enough to survive severe injuries such as those that pierce the heart or break the spine.

On the other hand, it was because of the special medicine he took. In this dense and complex forest, no means of transportation was as convenient and fast as two legs. Even the most magnificent warhorse would have difficulty moving here. However, after drinking the medicine, he could maintain an extremely high speed and run continuously for several hours. No one could catch him in this terrain.

Of course, this doesn't come without a price—after escaping, he will be extremely weak. At that point, he'll even have difficulty lifting his eyelids, so he must find a safe enough area to hide in before then, otherwise even a child could easily slit his throat.

He knew there were several designated safe zones in the area; if he could get there before the drug wore off…

The man, who was running at top speed, stopped. His heels kicked up a large chunk of grass, and his leather boots sank into the damp mud, spilling dew all over the ground.

Even though the sunlight shines brightly through the treetops, people unfamiliar with the terrain can easily become disoriented by the trees of all sizes, and may even overlook important things.

“Damn Tersolius!…”

He was so angry that his gums were aching and itchy, and he was in a very gloomy state. Just two days ago, he had a confident and triumphant look on his face, but now he looked miserable.

He couldn't help but feel resentful... After all, he had made thorough preparations, even sending out all the constructs just in case, all to completely eliminate Tersolius, the enemy of the Holy Order—he had even considered the woman who always ruined their plans, and specifically set aside some to deal with her.

To maximize the chances of success, he even launched the plan when the city was about to fall, darkness was approaching, and the target was most relaxed and undefended. He also scouted the terrain of the camp beforehand to ensure that nothing went wrong. Despite all his meticulous planning and attention to detail, he still failed at the last minute. No one would be willing to accept that.

Not only did he fail to complete his important mission, but he also lost all the important constructs in one fell swoop. He even failed to achieve the secondary goal of dealing with the Hols woman, which can be described as a complete defeat.

He touched a recessed triangle on the bark with his finger to make sure he was on the right track, and then started moving forward again.

…………

No matter how much anger is used to cover it up, it is always difficult for a person to ignore their true thoughts deep inside. The man knew very well why he was so uneasy—fear was compressing his heart, making him as restless as an ant on a hot pan.

This fear stemmed not only from the potential punishment for his shameful and incompetent failure, but also from the lingering threat behind him.

In just a dozen breaths, barely enough time to even take a piss, he clearly sensed that more than half of the constructs he had sent out had been lost. He didn't dare to linger and turned to run away in fright.

As it turned out, his decision was absolutely wise, because the Imperials then released a large pack of military dogs to thoroughly search every corner of the surrounding fields, houses, and mountains. If he hadn't escaped in time, he would probably have fallen into the hands of the Imperials.

It was precisely because of this deep-seated fear that he cursed incessantly as he fled, trying to calm himself down and relieve the pressure, as if cursing Tersolius here would actually cause him any trouble, have any effect, or bring him some kind of victory...

Sweeping away the fallen leaves, the man opened the oak plank tunnel door and, after confirming no one was following him, cautiously descended. As he closed the wooden door, a strange gust of wind suddenly appeared, stirring up a clump of leaves and erasing all traces of the tunnel…

Chapter 257 comes to an end (3)

Safe houses may not be comfortable, but they generally provide seclusion and security. This is the basic function of such locations—to provide people with special circumstances with a place where they can temporarily escape their pursuers, recover their strength, and replenish their supplies.

To excavate a basement in an unknown forest and then conceal it with dead trees and fallen leaves is truly remarkable. Unless one has exceptionally keen senses or prior knowledge of the location, it's unlikely anyone would even realize such a place existed, let alone notice it while passing by.

In the darkness, the man calmly groped around in a hole on the left side of the wall for a while, then pulled out a white candle and a flint and steel for starting a fire. In the pitch-black environment, he accurately struck the flint and steel with the curved steel piece. A few bright sparks flashed in the darkness, and some of the ignited fragments fell into the fluffy tinder on the table. The reddish-brown flame continued to expand and spread, and soon it became bright in the darkness.

The flame was used to light the candles on the table, which were then placed on silver candlesticks. The light began to spread, dispelling the darkness and cold. It illuminated the space, which, while not spacious, was not cramped either.

The floor here is paved with neat blue bricks, and the surrounding walls are made of the same material, keeping the murky and dirty soil out of reach. A small copper bowl on a nearby table holds evaporated potion, ensuring that the dampness and darkness won't attract any insects. It also leaves a lingering, acidic, pungent smell.

The space wasn't large; it contained only a table, a bed, and a box in the corner. The box was double-layered, with a moisture-absorbing agent made of quicklime and other materials sandwiched between the layers to ensure the contents wouldn't be damaged.

Without pausing, he opened the box and took out the contents one by one, placing them on the table—dry biscuits wrapped in oiled paper, dried meat coated in oil and sealed in paper packages, and various medicines packaged in glass bottles, each with a different function, perhaps poison, perhaps tonic, or even medicine to speed up wound healing and reduce bleeding.

Of course, the most important thing cannot be forgotten... He took out a bottle of light purple potion from a hidden compartment on the side of the box. There were thin, thread-like things wriggling inside. If you looked more closely, you could see the unique segments of soft-bodied creatures on these white thread-like things.

Most people would keep their distance from such a thing, even if they didn't throw it away, but his eyes showed a look of wild joy, as if a traveler who had been trekking in the desert for days had seen a clear water source. That kind of soul-deep longing made him unwilling to wait even a moment longer. He directly bit off the cork with his teeth, tilted his head back, and poured it all down his throat.

The next moment, accompanied by a suppressed scream, his eyes turned bloodshot, and the skin on his entire face turned purple. Some tiny thread-like things could be seen spreading out from under his skin, rapidly spreading to every corner of his body. This process lasted for half an hour before he stood up, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and although he was completely exhausted, he felt a sense of relief.

"Finally, we managed to feed this greedy little guy in time..."

He let out a long sigh, relieved that the ominous churning in his head had finally stopped. The sticky, drilling sound that kept reaching his ears was like a death knell, forcing him to rush here without daring to linger for even a moment. Otherwise, he couldn't even imagine the terrible consequences he would have faced if he had delayed.

By the light of a candle, he tore open a hard biscuit wrapped in oil paper and began to bite into it with difficulty. He then opened the wine jug next to him and used the cold wine, which had a bitter taste of mugwort, to rinse the biscuit crumbs from his mouth.

These durable biscuits undergo three baking processes and five drying processes. The final product is then wrapped in waterproof material, allowing them to be used even after five or six years, although they will put considerable strain on your teeth.

After wolfing down his food, he finally breathed a sigh of relief, wrapped himself tightly in his black robe, and lay down on the bare wooden bed, preparing to rest for a while before setting off again.

He gently blew out the candle on the surface, conserving precious lighting fuel, and the basement was plunged into darkness again. Although it was pitch black, it was safe enough for someone to sleep soundly... That's how it should be.

A dark shadow silently emerged from the head of his bed, as if it were a real shadow, making no sound. But he still felt uneasy instinctively and reached out to grab the candle he had just extinguished—the effects of the potion had worn off, and he had lost his ability to see in the darkness.

He had to stop halfway through the movement when a terrible numbness spread from his shoulder to his fingertips and then quickly spread down his spine, as if someone had smashed rocks into powder and poured it into his veins. The hard, heavy things were flowing through his body with his blood, and soon he could no longer move.

An immense fear surged through his heart once more. He was certain that there were others here, but he was completely immobilized, only able to move his eyes.

"How interesting..."

A sharp, dry voice rang out beside his head. He could almost picture the man looking down at him, his voice full of smugness and curiosity, like a skilled hunter eyeing his prey in a trap.

"The medicine really worked. This is a lucky thing for you. At least I don't have to break your bones, and you don't have to suffer any more pain."

Two hands gloved in deerskin picked up the flint and steel he had just used. In the darkness, with a slight collision, sparks briefly illuminated a small patch of space, allowing him to clearly see the scratched iron...

The tinder blanket drew him in, followed by the lighting of candles, and the space became bright again. As expected, and with a hint of despair, he saw a figure with an iron face and a half-smile standing at the head of the bed—this was the Imperial Jailer!

These men with iron faces are the wardens of the Imperial Prison, in charge of the guards and all the prisoners... The iron faces symbolize the righteousness and authority of the law.

His teeth were practically chattering—he knew exactly what these guys were capable of, so he had no further doubts about how they had managed to find this place, and simply lamented his bad luck.

You see, these people with such important responsibilities rarely bring prisoners back themselves; it's usually the masked jailers who handle it… He somehow got the good fortune to become the exception… No, no! That's not right, considering he just launched an assassination attempt on General Tersolius…

“That thing in your head is really troublesome, so I deliberately doubled the dosage of the medication… To be honest, that dose would normally cause an ordinary person to have cardiac arrest, so I’m quite surprised that you’re still conscious… I’m very interested in opening up your head myself to study it, but not here.”

A cool, smooth deerskin glove was pressed against his forehead, its tip tipped with sharp steel fingertips, and slid gently upwards. The areas where the fingers touched felt like they were on fire, making him strain his eyes to open them wide.

With a soft rustling sound, bright sunlight streamed in, and two figures wearing bronze masks, one crying and the other laughing, descended from there. They then simultaneously bowed, placing their right hands on their foreheads as a sign of respect to their ruler.

"Tie this gentleman up carefully and take him back. Remember to give him his medication every three hours. Don't let anything happen to our lovely trophy."

A few soft laughs came from under the iron mask. The jailer turned and left without hesitation, while the two copper-masked jailers immediately took out leather ropes and tied him up tightly from head to toe. He couldn't even bend over, as his joints were fixed in place by a tough piece of wood.

"I need to explain the situation to that official. This kind of thing happening in my jurisdiction is really troublesome. Although it's not quite there yet, it should be in about two months."

He shook his head as if in distress, then bent his knees and shot up through the hole as if he had been lifted up, making one wonder if someone had tied a rope around his waist.

………………

How should I address you?

Thesolius smiled as he looked at the masked figure before him, whose wide black robe was embroidered with rich and ornate patterns in gold thread. Beneath the robe was an inner armor made of fine steel wire, and a straight-bladed longsword with a hilt inlaid with jade and tortoiseshell hung at his left waist. His boots had sharp, angular steel toes, and his elbows and fingertips had the same design.

This was a lean and well-built man, very tall, but not particularly broad-shouldered. His hands, feet, and waist were long and powerful, like a young and strong male leopard.

“You may call me Brazil Saiyaros. I am the warden of the Southern Toyacos Prison, responsible for bringing the lands you have conquered completely under His Majesty the Emperor’s control.”

“I should cheer for you, Warden. You did a fantastic job. I thought the mastermind behind this had already escaped, but I never expected you to bring him to me.”

“I am ashamed. This is my duty, yet I allowed the thieves to do such a thing here… Our scouts discovered that place by chance, but we didn’t know who set it up, so we kept a watchful eye on it. This time, we just happened to catch them there.”

“If the city of Toracasi had been fully governed by the Empire, and even had a well-organized official structure, I would now rebuke you for your dereliction of duty and incompetence without hesitation, because then you would have truly failed in your duty… But now, the city was only captured yesterday, and you have already fulfilled your duties so well. What else can I say but praise? This is what you deserve.”

"It is an honor!"

"Furthermore, I believe that someone as talented as you deserves to shoulder more important responsibilities, and His Majesty would be pleased to know that there is such an outstanding person as you here."

Brazil's Saiyar couldn't help but smile. Tesorus's meaning was straightforward and clear, without any beating around the bush, directly displaying the style of a soldier—which also made him more certain that he should do something.

"If you allow it, I will do my utmost."

Tersolius nodded slightly and sat up from the carved oak chair:

"Let's go see what we've gained this time. Hopefully, he'll know more than the last one."

………………

Almost every city has dungeons. Maintaining order is not just a matter of words, and not all crimes need to be dealt with by swords and axes. Those who have committed crimes but do not deserve to be executed must have a place to be punished, and there are no exceptions anywhere.

Torakasi is a large city, and its dungeons are exceptionally spacious. Constructed with sturdy bluestone slabs, they have been in use for countless years. In some places, the stones have been worn smooth and shiny, and it's unknown how many people have lived there.

However, this place is definitely not an ideal place to live. Rats from who-knows-where always appear in every dark corner. They are all red-eyed, fat and strong, almost the size of kittens, with bare, hairless tails that look like worms and are disgusting. These are beasts that have been gnawing on the flesh of prisoners and tearing at rotting limbs and flesh for years. Their teeth carry terrible putrefactive poison. Once bitten, you will inevitably rot and turn black.

No one wants such a beast near them, but he has no choice now—the stiffness and numbness in his body are still intense. The only thing he can move now is his eyelids, and these thin skin obviously can't stop the rat from coming over and gnawing at his big toe. This process won't be quick because rodents have unique eating habits. They always make full use of their teeth to break down and mash their food bit by bit until the bare bone is exposed, and they will use this hard thing to grind their teeth.

To make matters worse, the wooden frame he was tied to was extremely sturdy and reliable, with leather straps extending from every point to secure the prisoner's limbs. Even his fingers were clamped in special iron clips, rendering him completely unable to use his skills. He could only watch helplessly as the gray-furred, stench-of-death creature drew closer, probing forward with its long, pointed nose. He could even feel the damp, soft beard touching his skin...

Chapter 258 comes to an end (4)

Damn rats, disgusting pests!

He was practically chewing his own tongue and cursing in his heart, but he could only helplessly watch the filthy thing approach his toes, then open its sharp yellow teeth and begin to tear at the callus on his toes. Those teeth, sharp and strong from years of friction, peeled off a layer of callus from his thumb in the blink of an eye.

It seemed that this vicious and disgusting little thing had no intention of being satisfied, but continued to gnaw tirelessly. Before long, he felt a terrible pain coming from his toes in despair. As blood flowed out, the smell of blood excited the rat even more, and its gnawing became faster and more ferocious. It quickly gnawed a hole in his toes, as if it were gnawing on a biscuit.

This would be a horrific form of torture for anyone—to be slowly gnawed away by rats, the pain no less than that of being sliced ​​to death. Or rather, it would be a more brutal form of slow slicing, with smaller, more agonizing wounds, where the victim's screams would continue for days, resulting in a gruesome and unbearable death.

But he couldn't even scream; all he could do was blink his eyes frantically.

He considered himself a being beyond mortals, yet now he was being slowly chewed up and eaten by beasts that ordinary people could crush with a single step. This was a mental torture for him, almost driving him mad. His eyes were wide open, but he couldn't drive away these freaks with his gaze.

The pain in his toes was becoming increasingly intense, and he almost suspected that his bones had been gnawed out. He now somewhat hoped that the imperial jailers would come in and check on him; even enduring their torture would be more dignified than being torn apart and eaten alive by these lowly creatures—dying from torture and being devoured by rats were simply not the same kind of death.

Of course, if these rats were the Imperials' punishment for him... Thinking of this, his mood darkened, and he even temporarily ignored the pain in his toes.

The stench of blood spread, drawing more rats out from the corners, their noses twitching as they scurried across the ground, drawn to the scene and ready to join this rare feast. He could even imagine his fate—when the cell doors opened tomorrow, all that would remain would be a pool of blood and mangled carcasses; a few days later, he would be reduced to bones…

The iron gate's hinges, having been unlubricated for a long time, emitted a sharp, piercing sound when turned. But at that moment, it was like heavenly music to him, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

The rats were startled by the shrill sound and scattered immediately. One even rushed towards the prison gate in its panic, only to be lightly kicked against the wall by a steel-toed boot. After twitching a few times, blood flowed from its thick, pointed mouth, and it died.

"These damned pests can pop up anywhere, even on such solid stone ground... It's the lazybones of the Hols who didn't do their job properly, making this place so damp. Prisoners die exceptionally quickly in this environment, not even surviving a second torture session. They're really bad at their job... Ah, I've rambled on too much. Please come in, sir. It seems our guest has suffered a bit, but compared to the crimes he's committed, this is nothing more than an appetizer."

The jailer, whom I had met once before, walked in first. His voice, though still sharp and dry, carried a strange air of exhilaration, as if he had stumbled upon something wonderful. Behind him stood a tall, distinguished man, dressed in a magnificent black silk robe that seemed out of place in the damp, gloomy environment. His gaze was sharp as a hawk's and majestic as a tiger's, making one unconsciously feel weak and breathless under his gaze.

The man immediately understood—General Tersolius had actually come here in person. This was a perfect opportunity for assassination. The dungeon was narrow and difficult to hide in, but it was spacious enough that there would be no obstacles... if his lovely little ones were still around.

The scar on Tersolius's left eye was very faint, thanks to Talina's skillful treatment and perfect suturing. Whenever he focused his attention on a particular spot, it would become more noticeable due to the movement of his brow muscles, making him appear more dignified and composed, with a sharp, sword-like edge that seemed to want to peel back the layers of the observer and see into the depths of their mind.

"That's interesting. You mean this guy ran for a whole day and night and a whole morning, getting there on foot?"