Cataphracts, surviving in a world full of mods

The once invulnerable and ferocious monsters now screamed and howled like slaughtered chickens before collapsing to the ground. Their screams came one after another, like the rhythmic tolling of a large bell, leaving one breathless. In just a few breaths, twelve monsters lay on the ground, turning into lifeless, motionless pieces of flesh.

Positioned at the rear of the army formation, he had a general view of the entire situation. With his excellent eyesight, he could vaguely see these things happening, but due to the distance, he could not figure out the reasons in a short time. He could only watch as these strange and surprising situations continued one after another, completely baffled.

Caught off guard by this sudden change, the once well-organized front line began to twist and waver. Soldiers and officers were filled with doubt, and even the noble generals who commanded them became hesitant, which naturally reflected in the overall situation.

He didn't know what had happened to the monsters, but he knew very well how fatal such wavering could be in the face of a well-prepared and powerful enemy—so almost instinctively, he gave the order to execute a dozen or so people who were afraid to fight with swift and decisive action, including even a general.

Under the bloody swords of the guards, the vanguard formation was finally reassembled, and the soldiers mustered their courage to continue advancing. However, this time, as they passed by those huge, stinking corpses, a sense of unease and fear inevitably arose in the hearts of each of them.

As for Samir, his heart sank completely... Even before the battle officially began, he had a very ominous premonition—the successive deaths of these monsters had turned their original advantage into a terrible point of attack on morale, and the soldiers were filled with doubt and panic, their condition was not as good as before.

His face darkened as he gripped the hilt of his sword. Had he known things would turn out this way, he would have preferred to avoid this predicament and instead engage the Imperials in a proper battle. That would have been far better than this terrible and embarrassing situation.

Julius, standing next to him, also had a gloomy and pale face. He kept turning his head to look at a man in black next to him, but the man just lowered his head and didn't say a word. Only his slender fingers, which were sticking out of his tattered sleeve, were twisting nervously.

At this moment, although both of them were filled with negative emotions, they both had a similar thought—that their plan had backfired.

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

At 100 paces, hitting a person is not a difficult task. Any skilled archer can do it, and a more skilled archer can even accurately hit the vulnerable areas such as the face or armpits that are not protected by armor, killing indiscriminately within the limits of physical strength.

But to shoot at the flesh of a colossal creature that is only a palm's width wide and not protected by armor at this distance, especially when the target is constantly moving... that is beyond the capabilities of ordinary archers; only the most elite archers out of a hundred can hit it.

To ensure absolute success, each target was monitored by at least a dozen elite archers. Once the monster entered their range, they would immediately aim at vital points and fire poisoned arrows. It was through such meticulous planning that such remarkable results were achieved.

The remaining two monsters continued to advance persistently, following the final command. They had even come within a hundred paces, allowing arrows to strike and break them repeatedly. Occasionally, the arrows would pierce their flesh, but this did little harm. However, they still could not escape their fate of death.

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

Suppressing her breath, the muscles in her shoulders and arms taut and elastic, the powerful longbow was slowly drawn back, the stretched deerskin bowstring accumulating terrifying power, until at a certain moment, she made up her mind and her fingers naturally released.

The thick, broad-bladed, barbed arrow glided through the air, becoming a swift white dot as it flew out, then accurately struck the back of the monster's neck, exposed by the movement of its joints as it walked... It looked as if the prey had deliberately exposed its vitals to be shot.

The poison on the arrow immediately took effect, causing the monster, which had been relentlessly advancing, to stop abruptly. Terrible pain began to destroy and torment its nerves, even driving it to madness as it pounded its head with the iron hammer in its hand. But before it could flatten its head, the poison had already extinguished its last vestige of life.

As the last massive armored monster staggered and fell to the ground, the soldiers of the Imperial Legion immediately cheered. Any lingering doubts or panic they might have had vanished, replaced by unwavering confidence in victory and glory. They couldn't wait to tear their opponents apart, to crush this army that dared to oppose them, and to watch their warriors howl and flee before them.

Such cheers were like a warhammer striking the Asel army, further weakening their morale and confidence in the final moments before the battle.

But having reached this distance, there was no possibility of retreat for anyone... The nobles and generals of Asel spoke up, shouting encouragement to their soldiers, braving the casualties brought by the rain of arrows, and bravely pressed towards the Empire's formation.

After firing an arrow, Colin immediately gave the order to retreat without hesitation. The archers quickly organized themselves and retreated in an orderly manner, moving to the rear along the path left for them by the heavy infantry formation, avoiding the charge of the enemy's elite infantry, while leaving behind a large number of obstacles such as chevaux-de-frise.

This caused the continuous barrage of arrows to finally stop, and the Assele generals immediately seized the opportunity, urging their soldiers to use this time to cross the dangerous middle section.

"Prepare!"

"Prepare!!"

Loud shouts of agreement rang out simultaneously from the mouths of officers on both sides. Within the steel barrier formed by spears and halberds, the heavy infantry on both sides drew their javelins, waiting for the other to enter effective firing range.

"cast!"

Just a few dozen steps before the battle lines were about to collide, the Imperial Legion, which had been well prepared, took the lead. The well-trained elite heavy infantry had been resting and recuperating here for most of the day, and each of them was full of energy. Upon receiving the order, they immediately and uniformly threw their sharp and heavy javelins into the air, drawing one deadly and precise parabola after another.

Large raindrops fell again, but this time they were much heavier and more deadly...

"what!--"

"Ugh! Ah!!"

"Ahhh!"

………………

The heavy javelins, carrying terrifying kinetic energy and tempered steel spearheads, swooped down from the sky, easily piercing shields and shredding iron armor. In the blink of an eye, they brought terrible casualties, causing the front ranks of the Asel infantry to fall in droves, like wheat cut down by the scythe in autumn.

The sudden appearance of these corpses, along with other comrades, caused them to stumble and fall. In an instant, all sorts of screams, the sounds of bones breaking, flesh tearing, armor plates squeezing and rubbing against each other, shields clashing, and the most vicious and filthy insults mingled together.

The Assele's counterattack finally arrived—they were also a people skilled in using javelins, but at this moment they had suffered heavy casualties due to their disorganized formation and exhaustion. However, someone eventually threw his javelin at the officer's command.

The not-so-dense hail of javelins landed on the Imperial lines, causing some casualties as shields and armor blocked them, but this did not do them any harm. Instead, it immediately provoked a fierce retaliation from the Imperials.

Round after round of javelins rained down from the sky, each one heavy and deadly, making the cries of the wounded all the more piercing. The increasing number of javelins even coalesced into an undeniable sound, sharp and piercing, as if tearing throats apart to elicit a heart-wrenching wail.

In a very short time, without precise aiming or the slightest hesitation, the Imperial Legion's heavy infantry emptied their five javelins, giving the enemy a heavy lesson before even making contact. Then, fearlessly, they raised their shields, gripped their spears and halberds, forming an indestructible wall of steel, and clashed fiercely with the Asel infantry!

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The sounds of tens of thousands clashing in battle echoed through the heavens, drowning out everything else in the world. Euryedos spat disdainfully, then fastened his helmet and pulled a hornbow from his saddlebag.

"The Assele tribal riders are coming! Look at their ridiculous appearance! Riding those skinny horses and wrapped in sheepskins, they dare to challenge warriors like us?! Come on, let these southerners know how overconfident they are!"

The light cavalrymen immediately erupted in loud cheers. Some of them still retained the customs of their hometowns, making sharp and loud sounds unique to life on the grasslands. They followed their officers and roared away, like red clouds sweeping away from both flanks of the army!

Each of them could firmly secure themselves to their saddles with just their two legs, calmly drawing their bows and shooting arrows on their galloping steeds. At this moment, riding the empire's finest horses was like adding wings to a tiger. Their armor and cloaks formed a sea of ​​silver and red, and they had already unleashed a rain of arrows before the battle even began.

For most of the Assel tribe's cavalry, this was nothing short of annihilation... Their inferior armor offered barely any protection against such an attack, and they were thrown off their horses piece by piece, like flesh being scraped from the bone with an iron brush, or falling to the ground along with their horses.

What's worse, this completely reduced their already mediocre organizational skills to the bare minimum... They were recruited riders from one large or small tribe after another, and they didn't have any good cooperation with other tribes to begin with. When faced with such a setback, they immediately lost their fighting spirit, and many of them even turned around and fled on horseback.

Of course, it was soon proven how foolish they were to do this—the overseers mixed among them immediately brandished their swords at the fleeing men, forcing them to turn back and continue their attack with a bloody and brutal massacre. The other riders and horses' hooves that completely blocked their view also made their escape difficult, and they were soon driven back.

Worse still, the Imperial archers had already taken up new positions and, under command, began to unleash a barrage of fire on the enemy.

In an instant, arrows rained down from the sky like locusts, even colliding and rubbing against each other. Many fell to the ground without hitting the enemy, and the ground was quickly covered with a layer of arrows, with countless people crying out in pain as they fell to the ground.

The tribal cavalry immediately suffered a heavy blow, and their intention to harass the rear of the imperial army was instantly shattered—or rather, became impossible, though still possible, the possibility had become ridiculously small.

The Imperial light cavalry relentlessly fired arrows, weakening their enemies and keeping them constantly entangled, preventing them from easily escaping. In the end, they could only desperately endure the onslaught of arrows, yet at crucial moments they would always raise their spears and swords, bravely tearing apart the enemy's weak points and launching a fierce and unparalleled attack with the help of their iron armor.

They guerrilla-style attacks, like a real wolf pack, and will relentlessly attack any opponent who dares to turn their back on them until the opponent suffers heavy losses and flees in panic, before moving on to their next prey.

Thus, after a long period of probing, the two armies finally began a full-scale battle, fighting each other like two ferocious beasts, tearing each other apart until their flesh was dripping with blood, until the enemy's bloody sinews were exposed and their throats were ripped off, and only then would the victor devour the flesh of the defeated.

This is a war unlike any other in the world... The main forces of two powerful nations are fighting fiercely on a plain, and a victor must be decided, who will reap all the rewards.

At this moment, neither side has committed their reserves, because everyone knows that the time is far from over. The reserves that will determine victory must be deployed to the battlefield at the crucial moment, even if it means bloodshed and carnage ahead...

Chapter 340 Grinding Mill (5)

The battle axe in his hand drew a fierce and short arc. Although the distance was short, it accumulated enough power to precisely tear open the already battered chainmail neck guard, cutting deep into the muscles and bones, severing blood vessels and exiting from the other side, bringing out a large gushing of hot blood.

The halberd swung down heavily, its sharp armor-piercing spikes on the back easily piercing through the helmet with immense momentum, bringing out the mangled red and white contents beneath.

The spear thrust out again and again, each time with precision and power, piercing the weak points of the armor plates and striking vital organs such as the throat and chest. Many unlucky ones were even shoved onto the spearhead, helplessly watching themselves being pierced, letting out miserable howls and screams, and then falling to the ground like trash as the spear was pulled out, to be trampled by thousands of feet.

The sounds of steel piercing flesh and weapons clashing against armor were as dense as the flapping of wings of a swarm of bees leaving their hive. The screams and wails were so numerous that they were difficult to hear clearly. All that could be heard was a loud, indistinct, and powerful sound, like thunder—a unique sound of the battlefield, a mixture of metallic clanging, screams, and wails.

In this long battle line, any change takes time for the commander to know the details, and during this time, the situation may change again. Therefore, any commander with common sense would immediately occupy a high ground with a good view to ensure that he can adjust his strategy at any time according to the situation.

Of course, this adjustment of strategy also puts great demands on organizational ability and the discipline of soldiers. They need to execute their general's orders without hesitation and not make any delays or disobediences due to fear, confusion, or even hot-bloodedness. Only in this way can the adjustment be meaningful.

And now, Tersolius is doing just that.

The commander of the Imperial Legion raised his banner on a high hill, surrounded by heavily armed soldiers. His staff and generals circled around him, awaiting his orders and offering their advice as appropriate.

In this drama, he can see the entire battle line between his army and the enemy, but he can't see it more clearly. He relies more on a keen intuition to perceive the changes and then pass the orders to the general in charge of that area.

He wouldn't issue overly detailed orders, such as moving the archers back a certain distance... that would be arrogant and narrow-minded. He wanted to be the brain of the army, not the nerve center—that was the role other generals and officers should play, and he trusted that they wouldn't disappoint him and would be able to make more detailed and accurate judgments.

Although the elite infantry of the Assele had lost much of their initial vigor due to various changes, they were still the elite troops under their respective lords. They no longer had to do hard labor such as herding, fishing, and farming. Their lords provided for their armies, and they were well-fed with mutton and spices. They were strong and sturdy, and their willpower and weapon skills were far superior to those of soldiers conscripted for the needs of war.

Under normal circumstances, they are hard to beat and can easily tear apart the enemy's formation, slaughtering their opponents with javelins, swords, battle axes, and warhammers. These elite warriors who do not engage in production are always full of confidence.

But now, their confidence has been dealt the most brutal blow and ravaged. Their opponents—the elite infantry of the Imperial Legion—are all full-time professional elites, just like them, but with better armor, stricter discipline, and more coordinated teamwork.

Their wall of steel was so solid and resilient, and their counterattacks were so fierce and ruthless. They would not strike unless they were sure to achieve something. In the midst of the brutal meat grinder, they became even more spirited, using all their skills and discipline to gain the upper hand.

If one were to describe the feeling of facing such an army, the old man could only think of a torrent of molten iron... And as time goes by, such an opponent often brings deeper and deeper despair to one's own side, because they do not know how to shake such an enemy...

Breaking through the steel wall in front of them seemed like a distant dream, even a delusion... Although both sides had suffered casualties, there was no doubt that they were at a disadvantage. The enemy still firmly occupied the advantageous terrain and fiercely attacked anyone who dared to meet their blades.

Hope was fading, confidence was fading, and as time went on, they had completely lost the chance to defeat the Imperials head-on... The offensives against their flanks were also making no progress and were even showing signs of decline - their cavalry did not win by virtue of their numerical advantage, but instead fell into a brutal strangulation battle, being constantly devoured and torn apart by those red figures.

They shouldn't have fallen into such a disadvantage; they should have gained more advantage in this morning's plan... if those highly anticipated monsters hadn't died.

Each of those monsters was as strong and enormous as four or five oxen, with powerful, thick arms that could easily crush a person into mincemeat. These monsters were clad in armor made of iron plates a finger's thickness, chains as big as an adult's head, and terrifying weapons such as axes, knives, and hammers that were half a person's height... These were things that were invincible on this land.

No warrior could face such a monster. In trying to do so, they were no different from a child standing before them trying to challenge them. These things should have easily torn apart formations, trampled enemy troops, filled the enemy's hearts with fear and retreat, and made victory easy for them.

But all these ideas and plans failed so easily, just like a clumsy servant predictably breaking the bowl in his hand... For some unknown reason, the monsters fell one after another on the way to charge, and in a very short time, they were transformed from a dangerous weapon into a pile of useless dead flesh.

He had hoped that a few survivors would be able to cause some damage in the Imperial ranks, but that hope was quickly dashed—they died faster than he expected, and the only results they achieved were some inexplicable bluffing and the creation of a large mass of fertilizer that could fertilize the land.

The situation was terrible... Although the old man had realized this some time ago, the terrible nature of it only became apparent after he actually tried it, as stark as cold steel.

The soldiers were still fighting fiercely, with no time to think about anything else, but the nobles and generals had already begun to ponder more complex issues; they could no longer see any possibility of victory in this war…

But the current situation leaves them powerless, and they can only rely on some terrible inertia to continue the war, hoping for some possible turning point, hoping that some better method will emerge on its own.

But before that, the old man believed that he still had certain convictions in his heart, and that he still insisted on honor. So he would continue to deploy troops, launch counterattacks or defensive attacks, until his army was safe.

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The battle continued, and Tersolius believed he had discovered something interesting.

A commander may don plain armor and conceal his flag to make himself less conspicuous on the battlefield, but as long as he is prepared to fulfill his duties, some things are destined to remain unchanged...

The subtle changes in the timing of troop movements, the characteristics exhibited during formation adjustments, and the passageways through which messengers run and traverse the formations... all of this may seem to contain vast and ethereal information, difficult to grasp, but in his eyes, it is as conspicuous as a flock of sheep running on a plain.

Tersolius believed he had located the commanding portion of the Assele vanguard and confirmed that the green goat banner, which was no more luxurious or imposing than the banners of other lords, belonged to the commander.

The Assele's wavering was far from enough to warrant his deployment of reserves, so upon discovering this potential weakness, he made a decision immediately.

"Calila, my champion, gather your men. Colin will command the archers and engineering cavalry to cover you. I need you to organize a strong offensive to crush the army under this banner. Generals Serlis and Tolemoris will assist you in launching the attack. Remember, this is an offensive, not a trap to get yourself into the enemy's hands. Be sure to coordinate with the others."

Carila laughed heartily as she accepted the task, and then, with a touch of audacity, asked him for a glass of his finest wine, to which he smiled and tossed her a bottle.

"Have a drink first, and save the rest for when you get back... I will lead the iron cavalry into the battlefield at the right moment. Everyone must act according to the pre-arranged plan without any delay!"

The generals responded with a thunderous roar, and the shouts that erupted in that instant even disturbed the flags above their heads, like the fierce thunder gathering in the thunderclouds.

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

A lot of blood has been lost.

Samir realized this almost wearily, that the most elite part of his army was suffering continuous losses, that the lords' elite troops were bleeding profusely, fighting to the bitter end against the Empire's elite heavy infantry.

This should have been the last thing to happen—such elite troops should have been kept firmly in hand, and sent to probe and wear down the enemy with smaller, less capable units until they revealed a fatal weakness before being deployed.

But the plan's devastating failure had disrupted all their original arrangements... The monsters they had placed high hopes on died along the way, serving no purpose other than hindering their own people, and severely damaging the soldiers' morale, making it inevitable that the situation would deteriorate further.

The tribal cavalry, who attempted to flank the enemy when their formation was breached, also gained nothing and suffered even greater losses. Most of them had poor armor that was of little use on such a battlefield, let alone being entangled and torn apart by the Empire's elite light cavalry. Now they even had to exert great effort to escape.

The sun moved across the sky with a despairing slowness, unbearably so, each second scorching his heart like flames. He had already dispatched most of his generals and was now caught in a dilemma.