Cataphracts, surviving in a world full of mods

"It was an Imperial general! He shot an arrow that severed the rope, causing the flag to fall, and the arrow also grazed the lord's face at the same time..."

The officer fell silent as if his throat had been choked. Then, as if possessed, he peered over the crenellations of the city wall. Meanwhile, the imperial general who had just fired an arrow had already put his bow back in its quiver and pointed in their direction. But that one gesture was enough to make him recoil as if bitten by a snake, and he dared not look out again.

The young man was trembling with fear... When the arrow grazed his cheek, he could almost smell death. It was fierce and sharp, with a metallic smell. He had never been so close before. It was like having the fangs of a lion or tiger gripping his neck, making him unable to muster any courage.

And so they practically watched as Imperial cavalry passed right by their city.

Chapter 312 Divergence (1)

No matter how outstanding a person's appearance is, it's impossible for them to always be radiant... After all, even the most beautiful woman will look disheveled if her face is covered in blood, especially if her nose is crooked...

The arrow that Tersolius fired was drawn with a strong bow, powerful enough to kill an armored soldier. Although it only drew away half of the arrow, it was still a force to be reckoned with. When it hit Alva in the face, it broke his nose. Now his nose was crooked to one side, his face was covered in blood and dust, and he was almost unrecognizable as a man or a woman.

Being strapped to a jolting horse is certainly not a comfortable experience. The constant shaking and impacts will ravage every joint and every internal organ in your body... This is completely different from the fatigue caused by riding a warhorse; it is like being treated as a brutal prey that has been shot.

So Alva's coma lasted only a short time, so short that she didn't even have time to hear the lingering sound of the arrow that Tersolius had shot through the rope before the cavalry cheered, the excitement of the Imperials returning with their spoils filling their warhorses.

Her face was in excruciating pain, as if a layer of skin had been peeled off... She couldn't figure out what was going on for a while, only that her whole body was aching and sore, her hands and feet were tightly bound, and her mouth was stuffed with something soft and pliable. After pushing it around with her tongue a couple of times, she realized that it was actually her deerskin gloves!

Blood kept dripping from her nose into the yellow dust in front of her. The dust kicked up by the horses' hooves pounding the ground choked her, making her face covered in soot. But her mouth was gagged, so she couldn't even cough. And the ropes binding her body were so tight that she couldn't move.

This torture continued for a long time. Just when Alva was losing consciousness, she was finally put down from her warhorse and roughly thrown to the base of a large tree.

Then came that awful voice she heard before she lost consciousness.

"She doesn't look well... Strange, even though her nose is broken and her face is swollen, it shouldn't be like this... Doctor, come and take a look at her quickly."

"They're here, they're here."

Her eyes were badly swollen, and she could only vaguely see a blurry blur of light and shadow. As the bright nail polish faded, a soft, pale blue figure approached her, and slender, cool fingers gently touched her forehead. Like a scorching desert receiving a refreshing rain, the burning pain subsided somewhat, causing her to let out a soft moan.

"Oh, she's awake, sir."

"Hmm, it seems like I'm alright. Why was I so weak just now? That's strange..."

The soft fingers paused suddenly, then a helpless voice rang out:

"I've taken a closer look, and it must be because you tied them too tightly, sir, and the jolting of the warhorse caused this... After all, people aren't prey; they still breathe."

"...I see. I've never personally captured prisoners before..."

"I need to check on the condition of the Passatria warhorses again. This lady just needs some of this to drink and a night's rest, and she'll be almost recovered. The injury on her face will take some time... but her nose can be put back in place now, otherwise it will grow crooked later."

"Then doctor, please get started quickly, we have a meeting later."

"Hmm... It's better if you do it, sir. Putting the nose back in place requires speed and stability, which I probably can't do well. It's very simple; just bend it in the opposite direction of the twist, and you'll feel it clearly."

Tesorus stroked his chin and then nodded:

"Okay, I'll just use my hands to pry it back up. I noticed her nose is slightly sunken."

Tarina carefully examined the bloodshot, swollen tip of the nose, then groped around on the ground for a while, found a dry stick, and used the short knife she pulled from her pocket to cut it to a suitable length, smoothing the ends.

"Just stick this stick into your nostril and pry it slightly in the right direction. I've seen some soldiers do that."

………………

Exhausted and pained, Alva struggled to move his fingers, but this usually simple action was now incredibly difficult, as if he were putting his hand into molten iron, where even a struggle was blocked by the hot and heavy metal.

My thoughts were sometimes clear, sometimes blurry, as chaotic as a muddy swamp stirred up by a wild boar, making it difficult to maintain a clear mind.

Until a pair of strong, bony hands grabbed her chin, and then a hard wooden stick was thrust straight into her left nostril. The intense intrusion and pain jolted her awake, but before she could open her eyes or do anything, the pain suddenly intensified—

click!

With a soft crack, the overwhelming pain nearly destroyed her reason, causing her to break through her previous resistance in an instant. She reached out and covered her nose, tears welling up in her eyes from the unbearable stimulation.

She heard a sound coming from her own throat—a weak, mournful wail that she almost mistook for an illusion, like the cry of a girl whose pretty clothes had been stolen, both helpless and cowardly.

She couldn't believe that such a sound could come from herself! So weak, so ridiculous… she was only a step away from crying. She should have despised this cowardice, mocked this incompetence! …But now, she…

Sadness, helplessness, and confusion welled up inside her, carrying a strange feeling that made her heart pound, yet also a terrifying aggressiveness, repeatedly assaulting her defenses, trying to tear apart her reason and take over her emotions.

The tears seemed to loosen the blood around her eyes, making her vision clearer. She could clearly see a stick stained with blood and snot thrown in front of her, with a pair of intricately carved iron boots standing next to it.

"You're right, doctor, it's really easy. And this medicine, can't we just have her drink it all at once?"

"That's right, just drink it. It's one of my commonly used medicines, and it has a certain relieving effect on various injuries."

The voices rang out above her head, and the pair of iron boots took a small step forward. Then a small bottle was handed to her, the pale green liquid inside shimmering strangely in the moonlight.

"Drink it if you don't want your nose to grow crooked."

She took a deep breath and then suddenly reached out to smash the bottle to the ground, but the other party seemed to be prepared and nimbly dodged her fingers by stepping back.

The other person seemed to be getting impatient and had no intention of arguing with her anymore. He reached out and grabbed her chin, forcing her to open her mouth.

In the moonlit military camp, a tall man bit open the cork of the medicine bottle in his hand, then shoved the bottle directly into Alva's mouth, emptying it completely in an instant.

"If you vomit in this position, it will only flow into your nose. Think it through. At this point, is it still worth it?"

The bitter medicine contained a strange coolness. Seeing the other person's throat move, Tersolius finally released his grip with satisfaction... and then quickly blocked the other person's kick that was aimed at his groin.

The sounds of swords being drawn were as dense as a torrential downpour. The guards who had surrounded him were watching this guy who dared to attack their commander with predatory eyes. They held their gleaming blades to his long neck, the bright steel light enough to calm down any hot-headed person.

"It seems you still haven't grasped your situation... Alka, settle our distinguished guest in a suitable barracks, keep a close watch on her, and make sure she doesn't encounter any problems."

………………

The magnificent black warhorse excitedly stamped its hooves, leaping restlessly in the stable with its long, powerful limbs. Its heavy body knocked the wooden fence beside it so hard it seemed about to collapse at any moment. Every now and then it would snort and exhale two long puffs of white breath, looking quite excited.

Will this situation last for a long time?

Thesolius looked up as his horse used its immense strength to dismantle the stables. The grooms beside him dared not approach the excited beast and could only wait for it to calm down on its own.

"Logically, it shouldn't... Strange, all the other warhorses are normal, why is only Moss so excited?... It's clearly larger, this dosage should have less of an effect on it..."

Talina stood outside the manger, watching the excited behemoth with puzzlement, while Tersolius, looking at his old companion, already had a bold guess:

"I don't think it has anything to do with your medicine, doctor. This guy is just causing trouble on his own..."

Amidst the terrified cries of the groom beside him, Thesolius stepped forward, grabbed the horse's ear that it was trying to raise high, and pulled it down forcefully, causing the excited beast to obediently lower its head and rub against him, panting heavily.

"Hoo..."

Finally, a few gentle pats on its thick neck easily calmed the beast that had just been wreaking havoc. After a few more light stomps of its hooves, it stopped moving, lowered its head, and obediently began to nibble on the concentrated feed in the manger.

"This fellow has been out of action for a long time... I haven't ridden it into battle myself in a long time either. Passatria horses are noble, docile, and warlike creatures, so that's probably why it's so happy."

After tidying his warhorse's mane one last time, Thesolius turned and left the dilapidated stable—it would certainly need repairs, at least to restore its function as a shelter from the wind and rain.

"Today has been quite fruitful, Doctor. Quickly gather everyone together. We need to think carefully about how to handle this great gain... Perhaps the plan should be adjusted. After all, the key to changing the situation is now in our hands."

Tarina also packed her notebook into her small bag and caught up with him in small steps:

"I suspect the Assele army has already made a move. Whoever they are, they certainly won't remain indifferent, and there should be significant changes to come."

"Plans really do never keep up with changes; who could have imagined things would turn out this way..."

"Yes, who could have imagined this..."

----------------------

The still of the night is a time for people to rest. Even a destitute beggar knows to search for something to keep warm, huddle together to get through the night, and regain some strength so as not to freeze to death.

But sometimes, for something more important, people will always give up this time of rest, use firelight to dispel the darkness and illuminate their way forward, and refuse to stop for even a moment.

Several beggars huddled in the stove of a pie shop—it wasn't spacious, but one could still duck and squeeze in to escape the cold wind outside. Sometimes, if they were lucky, the ashes inside still carried the warmth of the day, making it even more comfortable. It was often a coveted spot that required fighting and brawling to claim.

The beggars who have survived to this day are all experienced old people. They know very well that on this winter night, even if they fight tooth and nail for a rotten apple during the day, they must obediently huddle together and curl up in a ball to avoid becoming food for wild dogs the next day.

The night was cold and long. After enduring a period of torment, the beggars gradually fell asleep. Although this sleep was unreliable and intermittent, it was enough to restore some of their energy. No one was willing to move their spot, fearing that if they moved even a little, someone else would take their place.

"squeak!"

The shriek of a rat scurrying through the street startled a drowsy beggar. The alert creature gave them a warning, followed by the heavy clatter of hooves, initially muffled and indistinct, but growing louder and louder as time went on, as deafening as thunder.

Everyone realized something was wrong. The beggars scrambled out of the furnace, which was so small they could barely move. Three or four of them, as if their pants were on fire, hurriedly scrambled into the dark alley next to it. They then skillfully shoved aside a pile of broken boxes and garbage and buried themselves inside, leaving only their eyes sticking out as they intently watched the street where a large cavalry force was about to pass.

Just a few breaths later, the thunderous sound of hooves rolled across the street ahead. In the firelight, the constantly intertwining horse legs resembled a swaying jungle under the dark moonlight. The rubbing of armor plates was as dense as a rainstorm. The burning torches illuminated the gleaming iron helmets and the turbans wrapped around them.

After an unknown amount of time, the cavalry finally passed through the street, and a beggar hiding in a pile of garbage asked in bewilderment:

"What happened? Why is there such a commotion?..."

Chapter 313 Divergence (2)

"The 3,000th squad, by the legion commander's orders, must reach the town of Toricas before sunset today!"

The messenger, carrying a command flag, rode swiftly to the scene and then hurried away. Before the dust kicked up by his hooves had even settled, he had already disappeared around the corner of the road. It was already late afternoon, and they didn't have much time left. So, with a command from the centurion, the officers immediately reprimanded the soldiers who had become somewhat lax, urging them to straighten their formation again and speed up their march.

Baria wiped the mud off his face, watching his comrades quicken their pace and pass by. The dense screech of their armor plates rubbing against each other was like a torrential downpour in his ears. Looking at the solid path they were treading on, the young man couldn't help but smile, feeling proud of his and his men's efforts.

His thousand-man unit was still responsible for maintaining roads and building bridges to ensure that the main force's marching speed would not be affected by potholes and bad roads before their arrival. This was crucial for the entire army, especially since the terrible road conditions in the south of Hols always made them curse and work hard. The huge stone wheels used to level the land even required three different horses to pull the carts.

When building small roads, they could do it themselves, but for roads like this that could accommodate large armies, they had to bring along the laborers from the engineering corps. More precisely, their main task was to protect the safety of the construction workers. They rarely got to do the work themselves and spent most of their time on guard to prevent enemy scouts or skirmishers from ambushing their workers.

After a week of continuous work, the road assigned to their fifty-man team had been repaired and was now passable by the main army. They were also given a rare moment of rest, able to stand by the roadside in the gentle afternoon sun and watch the scene at their leisure.

I'm such a lucky guy...

Baria could hardly contain his excitement—he was already a corps commander, and in two months, he was a strong contender for the promotion to centurion. His string of achievements had made his promotions exceptionally rapid within the entire legion. Many higher-ranking officers and important figures had even taken notice of his performance, and he could now be considered to have a very promising future.

His friend Caledo performed even better than him. Although the two no longer had as much time to talk after becoming officers, he had already learned that Caledo had been promoted to centurion based on his victories and merits. Several fellow countrymen even gathered together on the holiday to celebrate, enjoying a delicious meal of fragrant Southern goat meat roasted to a sizzling perfection with their newly issued military pay.

Aside from the victory banquets held by the legion, he had never eaten meat so recklessly as he had that day. His nose and mouth were filled with the pungent smell of mutton, and he could feel the oil rising from his stomach with every burp. However, due to military discipline, no one dared to get drunk, but everyone ate until they could barely walk.

Of the several fellow villagers who joined the elite legion together, only the two of them were able to become officers; the others were still just ordinary soldiers. During gatherings, their conversations were often filled with envious banter and complaints, but everyone still sincerely wished the two of them well, as well as their friends who had come all this way.

Now, even a conservative and taciturn man like him couldn't help but have more visions for the future and more ambitions. He wanted to continue climbing the ranks and join this glorious war with greater power... He was genuinely excited and thrilled about that future, and that's why he, like other imperial soldiers, sincerely longed for the war that was about to begin.

The Assele people are overestimating themselves by sending their legions to provoke the empire's authority; they will suffer under the iron hooves of the empire.

The Hols were on their death throes; their legions had been crushed and torn apart, and they no longer had the strength to challenge the Empire beyond their laughable walls, led by the invincible Tersolius!

Now that things have come to this, what else is there for him to worry about? His only concern is that there are too many talented people in the legion, and he won't be able to obtain that precious honor.

Now, the Imperial Legion is pushing its front lines forward, and towns that were previously in the buffer zone are falling one after another. It is said that two major cities in the east have already been ravaged by the Legion's iron hooves. Although there has been no real clash with the enemy's army yet, he believes that day is not far off.

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

He felt his breathing slow down, and the difficulty felt like being bitten on the neck by a wild beast with its sharp teeth—he would be torn apart, his blood vessels chewed off, and his bones broken in an instant.

In fact, everyone in the tent shared his feeling, suppressed by the man sitting in the chair, as strong and fierce as a lion. They dared not breathe too loudly, nor move their fingers even slightly, their whole bodies stiff as mice terrified by a venomous snake. They watched as the man stroked a saddle in front of him with his strong, bony hands—a saddle decorated with crocodile and cheetah skin.