Cataphracts, surviving in a world full of mods

Therefore, the transfer of a portion of Abatheris's army to the more dangerous southwest was met with no objection or resistance. Everyone saw it as revenge, a way for him to vent his resentment, and it was indeed necessary.

But what happened next was completely unexpected, as was everyone else's—the imperial cavalry, appearing out of nowhere, ravaged the army into mangled remains in just one afternoon! Of the more than 3000 men, only four or five hundred stragglers could be found, and they were all half-mad with fear. Some couldn't even speak clearly, only letting out incoherent screams. The horrific scene left everyone who witnessed it with lingering fear, and even his most warlike generals became more conservative.

Almost everyone was astonished by the ferocity and cruelty of his revenge, as fierce as a lion tearing open the throat of its enemy! They were also terrified by his deep cunning—he was able to use the Imperials to eliminate his own enemy, whereas before, everyone thought he would let the matter go for the time being.

Suddenly, some of the lords and generals under his command became more submissive, and they rarely objected as fiercely as before when discussing military matters, making it easier for him to command their armies.

Meanwhile, the Abatheris family, a powerful family that had amassed enormous wealth through maritime trade and possessed vast and rich territories, had completely broken ties with him! They were no longer willing to feign concern and openly expressed their hostility towards him, leading some of their families to oppose him at every turn.

After all, in the other party's eyes, even if his daughter was captured by the Empire, she could be exchanged for ransom and at least her life would be safe. They were willing to pay some price for this. But he took such a ruthless revenge. He was the one who tore off the mask first!

The divisions and schisms within the army were growing increasingly severe, with every lord marveling at his wisdom and vengeful nature... but only Samir himself knew that he genuinely wanted to let the matter rest for the time being!

Upon receiving the news, realizing the consequences, he even considered going to the head of the Abatheris family to explain... but after yet another unit belonging to an ally of the Abatheris family was destroyed by the Imperial cavalry, any further explanation seemed pale and powerless...

The situation has now reached an extremely bad point.

Their original tactic—to stretch the Imperial supply lines and wear down their manpower—had become a pipe dream; without the cooperation of the Abathris family and their allies, they simply couldn't do it.

A significant portion of his troops no longer obeyed his orders, or at least outwardly complied but inwardly defied them... Even the best commanders would feel uneasy in such a situation, especially when they were facing a powerful and aggressive enemy.

No matter how brave and skilled a warrior is, it is impossible to fight a powerful enemy when one of his legs is unresponsive. He can only temporarily shrink the army's defenses and is troubled by this terrible situation.

He summoned his trusted subordinates more and more frequently, lighting braziers and oil lamps every night to illuminate his tent, studying maps until late into the night, racking his brains to figure out possible routes of attack from the Empire, and discussing how to solve these thorny problems.

Many people can offer him advice based on their wisdom, but ultimately it is he, as the commander, who has the final say on the decision-making process. This is his duty and obligation, even though every decision seems so difficult.

He could no longer reconcile with the Abatheris family... Both sides were well aware of this. Things had come to this point, and bloodshed was the only way to resolve the situation, for neither him nor the other.

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

An imperial cavalryman in gleaming silver armor and crimson uniform is nothing unusual in itself, as they are a common sight throughout the Kingdom of Hols these days. However, if a dozen or so of these cavalrymen were to appear outside the camp of the Asel army, it would be enough to attract the attention of thousands upon thousands of eyes.

These cavalrymen arrived surrounded by a large horde of Assele cavalry, looking like captured prisoners... except that no prisoners in the world would retain their weapons like this, or even strut in with such an arrogant attitude.

In the very center of them stood an official in an imperial robe, calmly riding his steed. They entered the camp in this manner, remaining unperturbed by the hostile gazes of the surrounding Asel soldiers. He parked his horse in an open area with the same orderliness as if inspecting his slaves, and then waited quietly.

The pride of these imperial people was so glaring, with no intention of concealing it, that it almost instantly aroused the dissatisfaction of everyone around, causing many soldiers and officers to shout loudly... Of course, it was easily suppressed by the Alphas.

This commotion caused a hint of disdain to reappear in the expressions of these imperial people... Fortunately, before things really got out of hand, the commander here had already agreed to receive the imperial envoy.

The official among them, dressed in a long robe, straightened his clothes and then walked through the passage formed by the Apharis towards the most dazzling and luxurious golden tent.

--------

"Please sit down, envoy of the empire. Welcome to your long journey."

"Honorable and glorious Commander Asel, I have come to you on the orders of our esteemed Commander Tersolius to deliver a message concerning your daughter Alva."

The exchange of pleasantries was extremely brief, but the poems they exchanged revealed a decisiveness unique to soldiers, which confirmed to Samir that the other party was not some bureaucrat who wrote ceremonies. He raised his hand to signal the other party to continue.

The imperial envoy was a middle-aged man with a resolute face, light tanned skin, a broad jaw, thick, straight eyebrows, and short hair. His robes were impeccably clean, with hardly any dust on them. He stood up, took a scroll from his pocket, and handed it to a servant beside him, who then gave it to Samir.

"Miss Alva recently ran into our patrol force. As you know, we are currently at war, so we had to invite her back as a guest. But you don't need to worry about her safety. The glorious Imperial Army disdains to use despicable means. She will safely spend the war with us, ensuring she enjoys the dignity and respect of an Imperial noble."

Samir stared blankly at the letter before him... Just as he had expected, it was nothing but empty rhetoric, devoid of any substantial information or promises, and it was not written by his daughter.

This wasn't even written by Thesolius; it's likely that some scholar was just randomly chosen to do the work. It's just a finely crafted piece of paper with no real value.

"Please give my regards to Lord Tersolius. At the same time, I also want to know when my daughter will be able to return to my side? I believe the Empire has no intention of detaining her indefinitely. What can I offer in exchange for my daughter's freedom?"

“I’m very sorry, sir, the Empire will not release Miss Alva for the time being. After all, the current situation is very complicated, and I believe you can understand that. We have no intention of asking for ransom or anything else. I have come here only to convey the news that your daughter is safe and sound.”

"Of course, according to our commander's will, if you are willing to lead the army out of the land of the Kingdom of Hols, then the situation will be much simpler and clearer, and we will naturally send Miss Alva back... but I believe you do not have such intentions."

Samir remained silent for a long time, a strange light flickering in his eyes, then his thick beard twitched slightly.

"...Of course, that's not something I can decide. In that case, let my daughter stay at your place for now. I believe she won't be too impatient."

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

The wind and snow raged day and night, the biting cold was intense, and even through thick walls it was enough to make one feel the chill. Especially for those who were lightly dressed, without a house to keep out the cold wind and a burning fire, it would be incredibly difficult to get through such a night.

The cold can silently steal a person's life. Before you know it, your limbs stiffen, your blood slows, until there is no enough warmth in your chest and abdomen, until even the surging blood becomes icy cold, and finally you become a frozen corpse.

The stench of cattle and sheep inside the tent was so strong it was almost suffocating. But the boy showed no intention of opening the felt window; instead, he squeezed his entire body into the pile of cattle and sheep, seeking warmth and shelter from the cold alongside them.

A haggard, aged woman huddled with him. Their tattered woolen robes barely kept them warm on such a night. The warmth of the surrounding livestock and the tent held up against the cold wind gave them the confidence to get through the winter.

The most exquisite thing in the tent was the small stove in the middle—cast from pig iron, sturdy and durable. As long as a continuous supply of fuel was added, the tent could always be kept warm, and food could be cooked amidst wisps of black smoke.

He traded deerskin for the stove, which was damaged during transport and missing the handles on both sides. This gave him a bargain. After some persistent haggling, he successfully got his hands on it, and it quickly came in handy, making life a little easier for him and his mother.

Amid the howling wind and snow, his mother was fast asleep from the day's hard work, but the boy kept his eyes wide open, as if the heavy physical labor of cutting and carrying timber during the day had not exhausted him, giving him extra leisure time to squander.

After a long while, his hand unconsciously reached to a spot next to him, and from beside the broken stool, he found a fine and powerful horn bow, which he pulled into his arms and gently stroked.

It was a fine bow, so fine that Turia tried to snatch it, but before he could actually do so, Turia cut off one of his ears and nearly slit his throat.

He kept thinking about what happened that day, about what that man had told him... to become a soldier, a soldier who would never go hungry...

Chapter 318 Deterioration (2)

The cold night finally passed, and the chilly wind of the second day still made people reluctant to leave the tent, but they had no choice. After settling his mother in, the boy picked up the axe from the tent and went outside—he needed to chop firewood again today, and even more.

About two gallons east of the tribe, there is a dry grove of low trees, which is where they obtain fuel. This grove was originally much closer, but after several years of logging, it has retreated to a place far from human habitation.

He led away the only cow in the tent, ate some leftover dried milk, chewed a few mouthfuls of wild vegetables that had been dried and stored since autumn, and then hurriedly set off without any delay, walking through the thick snow and heading into the distance, leaving only a long trail of footprints.

The dark clouds in the sky had not yet dissipated, and he had to hurry up. The warmth that his tattered sheepskin robe could retain was limited, and he had to bring back the firewood before the warmth dissipated. This process would last for about half a month each year, allowing him to accumulate enough fuel in his tent.

The tall leather boots could prevent snow from getting in, but they were too worn to keep out the cold. They were the only pair of shoes in their tent, and only those who went out could wear them. They were a precious possession to him.

After walking for an unknown amount of time, just as his legs began to stiffen, he finally saw a grove of low trees—a type of tree called a cow scaffold, which grows extremely fast, reaching a maximum height of only two people, and its branches are always crooked. Its wood is brittle and suitable for use as fuel, but it has no other use. It is an important resource throughout the north.

The wood was easy to chop with an axe, but his bones were already frozen stiff, so it took him quite a while to load the firewood onto the ox's back, then he piled it high and tied it up for himself. He started his return journey again at a much slower pace than he had come, the huge pile of firewood on his back looking like it would almost crush him to death.

Wrapped his greasy, dirty robe around his legs and waded through the snow, he moved forward step by step like an ant carrying food for himself, tucking his hands into his clothes to warm them while stroking the smooth, exquisite thing tucked under his arm—the horn bow that haunted his dreams and kept him awake at night for so long.

He should have become a warrior. Yes, that's the best thing a man from the North can do in his life. He should have lived a better life, plundering and fighting, acquiring wealth like a wolf hunting its prey.

But he still had his mother to take care of. His mother had aged herself into an old woman to raise him, and her legs were not very flexible. Without her son to support her, she would freeze to death in the tent the next day... If he really had to abandon his mother, he would rather live a miserable life like this for the rest of his life.

So this longing can only be a longing, this idea can only be an idea... Just like every boy's dream, he can't become an eagle, he can't become a warrior. It's more practical and worthwhile to use this bow to hunt birds and beasts rather than to kill enemies. At least that can bring in money and meat so that they can live a better life.

He lifted the heavy load on his back, allowing his aching shoulders a moment to catch his breath, then lowered his head again and walked silently forward, urging the slow-moving old ox beside him, as the fine snowflakes gradually fell from the sky, and he walked further and further away.

………………

The old woman's curse was sharp and piercing, with the ferocity and determination of a she-wolf. In the raging flames, the led-away cattle and sheep and the stolen goods were covered with a thin layer of snow. Finally, the rotten and broken remnants were ignited by a fire. The long-term smoke and baking had made them very dry, and they would catch fire at the slightest touch.

The curses and swears, which had been quite loud just moments before, abruptly stopped. This caused the young man at the head, who was missing an ear, to turn around in confusion... Logically, he shouldn't have been burned to death so quickly.

The old woman with gray hair and one eye gouged out by a wolf was looking at him with a strange gaze, not at all like someone about to die... and it even carried a strange familiarity... until a snowflake landed on his forehead, and he was startled—it was clearly the look of someone looking at a dead person!

"You can laugh now, you can cheer, Turia, you can laugh happily... but I think you should cry. Of course you can take my cattle and sheep and even my life from an old woman like me who can barely walk, but I'm curious, will you be able to sleep soundly after that?"

The elderly woman asked the question naturally in a sharp, hoarse voice, while the flames had already reached within two steps of her and were about to completely engulf her.

"Ha, what nonsense are you talking about? Why would I have trouble sleeping? When your good-for-nothing son comes back later, I'll throw him into the fire to join you. Your fattened cattle and sheep will give us a few good days. After we've eaten and drunk our fill, how could we possibly have trouble sleeping?"

The young man called Turia frowned. Although his words were arrogant and domineering, he subconsciously reached for the hilt of his sword at his waist... as if the kid might suddenly appear from there and slash him. He unwittingly exposed his weakness and cowardice.

"Hehehe!...You're a complete idiot! Do you think my son will be cowardly and weak because of what you've done? Do you think he'll run away like a scared sheep?!"

The elderly woman propped herself up, picked up an awl made of ram's horn from the ground beside her, and slid it down her left forehead to her right cheek, carving a deep, bloody gash. The gushing blood made her look like a monstrous demon.

“My son is a hungry wolf! My son is an eagle! I am the rope that tethers him, this useless old man is the thing that binds him. Killing me will only make him more reckless! He will cut off every one of your heads, he will drain every drop of your blood, he will set your tents on fire, steal your cattle and sheep, kill your children, and sleep with your women!!”

“From now on, every one of you will live in fear. You will never sleep soundly in your tent! You will be afraid that a knife will cut your throats at any moment... How can such a future not be worth crying about? Although I cannot see it now, I know that day will surely come, so how can I not laugh out loud?!”

Turia's face twitched, and in a fit of rage, he pulled his bow from his saddlebag, intending to shoot the woman dead with an arrow... But before he could even move, the old, withered woman had already plunged the awl in her hand into her chest without the slightest hesitation, even with a hint of relief and a fierce malice as she stared at them, until she was engulfed by the raging flames...

The men, who had initially returned laden with their loot, now exchanged bewildered glances. A gloomy unease, like worms, gnawed at their hearts, as if the old woman's final curse had driven into their minds like nails.

The flames grew larger and larger, carrying the stench of burning human flesh, and stood out like a torch across the vast snowfield. The rising black smoke drifted into the sky, yet it did nothing to disturb the thick, dark clouds.

The snow fell heavier and heavier, and amidst this vast expanse of white, one of them suddenly pointed in surprise into the distance:

"Turia, look there!"

Everyone turned to look, and then they saw a small, dark figure appear on the undulating hill in the distance. It was as inconspicuous as a speck of charcoal in a pile of white paper, yet it stood there motionless, exuding a chilling loneliness.

Turia's body suddenly swayed, and a strong sense of palpitation suddenly struck him, as if a strong man had punched him hard in the ribs. For a moment, he could hardly breathe, and he could not take his eyes off the black dot in the distance. Even the severed ear on his head seemed to ache faintly.

He seemed to see that boy's fierce eyes again, those eyes that were reckless and reckless, only wanting to harm his enemies... He almost tore off one of his ears.

"Grab him!"

No sooner had he finished speaking than he spurred his warhorse toward the dark figure. The others hesitated briefly, then immediately followed, leaving only two to guard their cattle and sheep, and with a ruthless resolve, they surged forward.

………………

The group of people were speechless with astonishment. They stared at the human figure made of branches and straw, exchanging bewildered glances... especially after noticing the dirty sheepskin robe on top.

This is the clothes the boy was wearing—and it was because of this sheepskin robe that they didn't even recognize it as a dummy made of tree branches when they got within a dozen meters of it... It wasn't until the First World pierced through the target that they realized something was wrong.

"Why did that kid take off his clothes? Even if he fooled us for now, he'll freeze to death in the snow anyway. He might as well get stabbed and die a quick death."

While others were still wondering, Turia's expression changed drastically:

"Oh no, we have to go back!"

So the group that had just arrived followed their leader back, somewhat confused. During this process, many of them realized what was happening and showed expressions of panic.

But they were too late...

Left by the burning fire, the two guards who had been watching over the cattle and sheep had been searched naked and lay on the ground. One of them had his neck cut open by a sharp blade, revealing the rough cut and the deep white neck bone. The other had an arrow piercing his chest, and he didn't seem to have struggled much. The blood flowing from their wounds stained a large patch of snow, a glaring and shocking red.

Their horses, clothes, and weapons were all taken away, leaving only messy hoofprints that disappeared into the nearby woods, gradually vanishing amidst the increasingly heavy snowfall.

Turia dismounted and took two steps forward to the tent. He looked down at the footprints on the ground—although there were quite a few footprints around, a gut feeling told him that these were the kid's.

Right next to the footprints was a severed little finger, cut off at the second joint. The bloody cut was still oozing crimson liquid, and white bone and tendons could be seen inside.

These definitely don't belong to those two guys' fingers...

As if in response, the wind and snow suddenly intensified, sweeping across the sky and howling like ghosts, obscuring the surrounding view. Only the wreckage of the tent beside him remained, still burning fiercely, and puffs of snowflakes lashed at his cheeks, quickly accumulating into a white layer on his clothes.

This was destined to be a difficult night; only by sheltering from the wind and snow could one survive, which was especially deadly for a fugitive.

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

He is a man now... because hatred has fallen into his hands, and he needs to take revenge. It is his responsibility and his mission to live. He is no longer a child or a boy; he is Cheldoi, the son of Sakhoto.

Outside the cave, the snowflakes had formed a white curtain, obscuring everything just a few steps away. In this kind of weather, no creature would venture outside, no matter how thick their fur. Under such heavy snow, they would be swallowed up and buried, turning into frozen corpses. Such a sturdy and warm cave was naturally an excellent shelter.