Cataphracts, surviving in a world full of mods

After such a march, a commander would usually only be met with a barrage of complaints and dissatisfaction... which also means that the discontent accumulated in the hearts of the soldiers should not be underestimated.

Reckless and foolish commanders often overlook these signs because they can ride horses or carriages and do not have to endure the same pain as their soldiers, so they naturally assume that their soldiers are suffering from no illness... and they often only realize this after paying the price.

However, the various mercenary leaders within this mercenary army were not included. After all, their positions meant years of working together, so they couldn't possibly be unaware of this.

Therefore, under such circumstances, if the soldiers do something outrageous when collecting grain, they are rarely interfered with, unless it becomes too serious.

Their army left a village filled with wails and cries, finally having collected enough food. What followed was the arduous march—they had to travel a considerable distance, almost across half the kingdom.

At least for now, most of them are still in high spirits, believing they are about to make a fortune and excited about the wealth that is about to be theirs.

Of course, most of them are aware of the danger of risking their lives for money, but they generally don't think they will be the unlucky ones; they are full of confidence and wishful thinking.

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

The sturdy castle was built with bluish-gray stone, and the walls and towers were built with this fine and hard material, which was strong enough to deter unprepared armies.

Of course, while there are many advantages to building with this material, there are also some undeniable drawbacks—for example, it is completely unsuitable for habitation in cold and damp climates.

The fireplace was burning fine hardwood, each piece of which had grown for decades or even centuries, hard and dense. Thrown into the fire, it would burn for quite some time.

In a wooden and brick room, such a large fireplace, burning for a while, would be enough to warm and comfort the whole house, but here it only slightly reduced the unbearable chill; one still had to cover oneself with thick blankets to ward off the cold.

The room was luxuriously decorated, with oak panels on the walls, murals around the perimeter, soft chair cushions filled with swan down, and heavy four-legged tables with gold corner protectors on every edge.

The enormous roast goose had completely lost the crispy, honey-coated skin and delicious taste it had when it was fresh out of the oven. To the host, it was utterly tasteless and he had no appetite. He simply drank glass after glass of fine wine imported from that powerful country in the East until his pale, wrinkled face turned red from the alcohol. Only then did he reluctantly put down his silver glass.

The floor here was so cold that it could freeze your toes through your boots, so he deliberately used a slightly lower stool to support his heels off the ground. He kept tugging at his long beard with one hand, while the other hand thoughtfully flipped through the parchment in front of him.

This was an elderly man whose hair had turned completely gray, devoid of any other color. Only his mustache remained thick and long. He had even styled it with ointment to curl it upwards on both sides of his face. The square scarf draped over his shoulders was embroidered with golden vine patterns, and his long, fleece-lined silk robe shimmered with dull silver patterns.

This was someone whose high status and power were immediately apparent. His fine clothes were without a single wrinkle, and the only strange thing was that he had no servants attending to him.

It was still raining outside the castle. Although it wasn't heavy, the damp and cold weather was really unbearable, especially for people who had suffered old injuries and whose bones still bore scars. They would suffer even more in this kind of weather, repeatedly enduring the pain of the lingering wounds.

Rheumatism and arthritis don't get any special treatment in this climate either, and gout is even worse. Both can wear down a strong man, and this old man unfortunately suffers from two of them—gout and injuries.

His ankle was swollen. The intense pain prevented him from moving at all; he wouldn't even lift himself off the stool. Only by drinking heavily by the warm fireplace and getting drunk could he forget the terrible agony.

"So you're telling me that all the forces in the south of the empire have been drawn into Asel, right?... Even the infamous Tersolius?"

He rolled the parchment back into a scroll and tossed it onto the table beside him. The old nobleman stroked his chin thoughtfully and asked a question, seemingly talking to himself as he looked at the seemingly empty room.

“That’s right, otherwise His Majesty the King wouldn’t have agreed to our plan. Everyone has to admit that this is our best opportunity. If we miss this golden opportunity, what will we do when the Empire has pacified their south and secured vast territories?”

A figure dressed in a light blue silk robe emerged from behind the cabinet. The hat on her head was decorated with pale red feathers, and the boots on her feet had gold-inlaid buckles. In one hand, she held a silver cup containing a blood-red liquid, taking sips from time to time.

The elderly nobleman continued to enjoy the warmth of the fireplace, showing no intention of turning his head away.

“But this is risky, extremely risky… as foolish as trying to eat meat from a lion’s mouth, and hoping that the lion won’t shut its mouth on its own… Tospert, tell me the truth, how many people are supporting this risky idea?”

The man in the fine clothes behind him downed his glass of wine in one gulp, then walked over to him and poured himself another glass, while simultaneously extending his hand to warm himself against the fireplace.

“Not as much as you imagine, but not too little either... but we can basically reach a consensus... Tosalis must be in our hands, even if it means stirring up a hornet's nest. As a nobleman who only stepped down from a commanding position a few years ago, I believe you can understand this.”

The night outside the window was a thick, inky black, as if even light couldn't penetrate very far. Only the wood in the roaring fireplace continued to char, radiating heat.

"Ah, so that's what you mean... Well, I have to admit that you're not wrong at least on this point. This is indeed the best time for us to take over the Tosalis region, but how do you plan to defend it after you take it over? Taking it over is useless; only by defending it can you truly obtain that land."

"When the Imperial Legions of the South return to their lands, how will we face the wrath of these adversaries... This is not meant as sarcasm, but rather an answer that this old man truly desires."

At that moment, the old man's attitude was truly sincere; even though he still had difficulty moving around, he forcibly put his legs down from the stool.

"You all act as if the empire is about to collapse and you're rushing to grab a share. What gives you such confidence? I don't think that country has reached that point."

"After all, in my view, the Empire is going through the most terrible time in its history. It would be unwise to provoke them at this time, so I am quite eager to know a wisdom that is beyond my comprehension and understanding."

"I sincerely hope for this. So, can you fulfill this old man's expectation?"

The old man squinted, and with one finger he ran it down his lips to the end of his mustache, making the upturned white mustache curl even more.

The man in the blue robe nodded slightly:

“You certainly deserve to know. In fact, this is one of the missions I came here for. Please take a look at this…”

As he spoke, the man took out a parchment scroll from his pocket. It was wrapped with a thin rope wrapped with gold thread and stamped with a gold sealing wax seal.

The old man squinted, took the paper without making a sound, and used the dagger on the table to cut the rope, unfolding the entire piece of paper.

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

The screaming wounded desperately clutched their bleeding wounds, trying to escape death with the help of nurses and doctors, their faces pale. But a significant number of them would not succeed, because due to the shortage of manpower, they would die from blood loss and infection before it was their turn.

Scholars and doctors wearing headscarves moved back and forth among the wounded and sick, each one extremely busy, because so many people were brought in that they even had to weed out those with milder symptoms who could still manage on their own, so that they could continue to participate.

This was the rear of Assele, where those who were lucky enough not to die on the battlefield would be sent to receive some basic care.

This country, located in the southern desert, has a developed maritime trade and a thriving economy. Cultures and wealth from both the East and the West converge and circulate here. It has also fostered a highly advanced medical system and has a considerable understanding of the human body and medicine.

This is why their methods of treating wounds and illnesses are relatively more effective and reliable, making it easier for them to gain the trust of soldiers.

But at this moment, the doctors and scholars in this army were completely unable to do much. So many wounded were brought in that the number of those who died from their injuries alone almost filled the wide open space outside, not to mention those who were still screaming and wailing in agony... This was no longer just overloaded; more accurately, it had completely destroyed the place's proper function, turning it from a treatment center into a mere refuge for the wounded and the dead.

The battle ahead had been going on for quite some time, and the dead and wounded continued to pour down... In a sense, these bloodied and mangled creatures were lucky; the truly unfortunate ones had long since fertilized the land with their blood and sweat.

A young man with dark skin, wearing a white headscarf, was carefully washing his fingers with water infused with herbs, not even missing the crevices under his nails. He was as meticulous as a starving beggar trying to pick out the last bit of meat from a sheep's spine, making one wonder if he was going to rub off a layer of skin from his own fingers.

At that moment, a strong man lay on the bed next to him, his body wrapped in thick white cloth to barely stop the blood from seeping out. His once carefully woven beard and hair had been roughly cut off and shaved off, making his dark skin appear even whiter.

This is the most distinguished wounded man here—General Iprah, who was just rescued from the battlefield by his men, and is now in a coma due to blood loss and injuries.

Bad news kept coming in, and even the scholars and doctors here heard about it, gradually becoming uneasy... This unease reached its peak when a general, seriously wounded and on the verge of death, was brought here—they simply couldn't imagine that a high-ranking and powerful person could be injured like this, so just how badly had the battle situation at the front become?!

Forcibly suppressing his inner turmoil, the young physician Asler finally finished washing his hands and directed his assistants to remove the thick white cloth covering the general's body. At the same time, he continuously rinsed the wounds with a special and precious medicine to prevent further bleeding.

Now, all they can do is stitch up the wound as quickly as possible to prevent further bleeding and worsening of the injury. As for whether he will survive, no one can say for sure, since they can all see how much blood the other has lost... If General Iprah hadn't been physically strong enough, he probably would have died on horseback on the way here.

The silver needles and treated catgut were already prepared, but the dark-skinned young doctor did not reach for them immediately. Instead, he took out a small silver knife from the plate next to him, muttered incantations, stared at the hideous wounds in front of him, and then placed the small blade on them.

A faint glint of light flashed across the blade, almost imperceptible unless one stared intently; it would simply be mistaken for a strange ritual… yet the physician performed it with utmost care and meticulousness. Only after covering each of the jagged cuts with the needles did he breathe a sigh of relief, reach for the silver needles, and prepare to stitch the wounds.

Chapter 345 Breakthrough and Retreat (1)

The wounds were carefully cleaned and stitched up, and wrapped with linen soaked in ointment. This would help to neutralize the heat and toxins in the wounds, preventing him from being tormented by the heat and thirst.

But the blood lost is real and irreversible. No one can bring that life-filled fluid back into the patient's body. This will make him weak and prone to illness. Doctors can only cautiously use medication to nourish him and hope that the injury will heal on its own.

In this respect, disappointment always outweighs joy. After suffering such severe trauma, even if a person survives temporarily, their lifespan is often greatly reduced, and they suffer from illness in the rest of their life.

The physicians of the Assele were renowned throughout the south, and every king or nobleman considered it an honor to have an Assele physician in his court. This was not only because their superb medical skills could provide the best care for the noble, but also because their numbers were extremely limited.

No profession is subject to such strict control over entry and exit from the country as doctors. The king of Asel did not want the precious talents his country had cultivated over decades with countless resources to fall into the hands of lords of other countries. Only nobles who were on good terms with Asel and were of sufficient value could receive such an honor.

No one knows why these doctors have such extensive knowledge. It seems that no difficult or complicated disease can stump them, and they can always come up with effective methods... But now, even the best doctors in the entire army can only sigh in despair.

The strong General Iprah's breathing gradually stabilized, but his face was still pale and weak. He uttered faint moans while unconscious. The most serious injury was a blunt force trauma to the side of his forehead. Abrasions, contusions, and subcutaneous bleeding caused half of his head to swell up, clearly indicating that he had been severely struck by some kind of blunt object.

This blow would have been fatal, causing his skull to cave in... but the well-made helmet greatly reduced the impact, and with the cushioning of the inner lining, he was finally brought here alive to receive treatment.

Two servants were helping him drink the medicine, but because he was unconscious and weak, he drank it intermittently, coughing every now and then and spitting out the pale green liquid.

But the doctors couldn't care less about him, because they were filled with a grim sense of unease as they discovered that yet another important figure had been brought in... General Sadom, still spitting blood, was carried in like a sack by two panicked soldiers.

"My glorious Lord, what has become of the battle ahead?!"

The dark-skinned young doctor only had time to sigh before returning to his busy work, without even having a sip of water from the jug.

Immediately afterward, before he could even check General Sadom's injuries, the barracks, specially prepared for the wounded, were once again violently pushed open. One after another, wounded soldiers carried in, their ornate armor stained with blood, each one appearing half-dead...

"…………"

The young doctor was speechless this time; he was just pale and his hand holding the scalpel was trembling slightly.

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

Just how oppressive is the sight of a galloping horse charging towards you? It's hard for anyone who hasn't actually faced it to describe it... But when that moment truly arrives, your innate instincts will desperately urge you to run away, to avoid that dangerous and deadly trampling.

After all, the difference in size and weight is the most despairing kind of difference. A head-on collision only takes the blink of an eye; even the strongest man will be trampled into a pile of mud by a horse's hooves. Trying to stab this behemoth with a spear or halberd is another matter entirely...

On the galloping steed, a knight covered in gleaming brass scales gripped his lance and charged fiercely and resolutely toward his target. He had already used up all the javelins in his sack, and after killing several people, he finally made up his mind to challenge that enormous threat... that imperial champion who had swept through the enemy ranks as if they were nothing, causing their formations to crumble and retreat time and time again.

His actions might be called reckless, or they might be called brave... but at this moment he was destined not to give up easily—this was a rare, god-given opportunity, and the enemy had penetrated too deep; what samurai could let such an opportunity pass?

Courage or sheer brute force are not important; what matters is that he achieves this result!

The battlefield was in such chaos that the enemy was completely unaware of his approach; this was the perfect opportunity to achieve a great feat.

In the blink of an eye, the iron cavalry was upon him, their sharp spears aimed directly at the most vulnerable point of his opponent's chainmail throat. With the immense force of the charging warhorses, Alphas knew he would see blood splatter in the next moment.

*Snap!* *Pfft!* *Sizzle!* *Thud!*

A flash of cold light, and the spear snapped in two, splattering blood staining his helmet. The severed head of the warhorse flew a long way through the air. Before the crowned Imperial Champion could even get up, still dazed from the fall, he swung his long axe again, sending the head severing from his shoulder. The brass helmet, wrapped in a blue silk scarf, was quickly covered in blood and stained, seemingly kicked away somewhere...

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The massive carcass of the warhorse was still convulsing, and massive amounts of blood were still spraying out. Karila was too lazy to wipe her face, and simply swung her axe, restoring the still sharp and sturdy blade to its gleam.

How many people have died by my own hand now? ...Forget it, I can't even remember. Who has the time to care about that...

She tentatively moved her right leg, then slowed down slightly due to the intense pain, reducing the distance she had originally taken a long stride. She could only shake her leg somewhat to hide it, causing her shimmering silver armor to rustle.

She was in pain in five places all over her body, and her limbs were sore and twitching from the fatigue accumulated from the long battle, but she still stubbornly commanded her legs to keep walking and continued to hack and chisel with the long axe in her hand.

I'm very tired, but not so tired that I can't move. It hurts quite a bit, but it doesn't have a big impact for now, so I can continue fighting.

And judging by the time, it should be about time...

Rumble, rumble, rumble...!

Karila seemed to sense something, raised her head, and then let out a muffled laugh from inside her helmet in front of everyone. She slightly turned and tossed the axe over her shoulder, and slowly pointed her left hand forward.

The next moment, a cloud of dust suddenly rose from the west. A terrifying, massive tremor and roar rolled in.

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

Attorney Teso adjusted his helmet until he was sure everything was secure before looking up into the distance.

The Assele's formation was completely distorted. They retreated repeatedly in the direction of the attack, their phalanxes were torn apart time and time again, their formations were crushed time and time again, and their morale was being squeezed and trampled. Now, he was certain that his opponents had reached their limit.

A long, sturdy spear was handed to him. Its paint had a deep, intense color like a burning sunset, and the steel was inlaid with ornate patterns in gold, with beautiful and delicate feather-like textures.

He raised his left hand, his fingers, encased in steel, slowly clenched into a fist, and then swung it forward...

The copper-clad horn was blown loudly, its deep and penetrating sound carrying a powerful force. The armored cavalry, who had been conserving their strength until now, finally started slowly from the hillside. Accompanied by the rolling sound of hooves like muffled thunder and the swishing sound of iron armor rubbing against each other, they surged down the mountain, appearing from afar like a rolling iron torrent, carrying unimaginable power.

The sword of Damocles that had been hanging over their heads finally fell. The commander of the Assele people finally stopped hesitating and committed his reserves… but now, he had completely lost his initial confidence…