Cataphracts, surviving in a world full of mods

The quartermaster had only spoken half his sentence when hurried footsteps suddenly came from outside the door, followed by the messenger and the king's guards who had stopped him, offering anxious explanations. This made the quartermaster, who had been calm all along, stiffen his expression.

"Just let that young man in; no need to announce him."

The king impatiently called out towards the door, and soon the heavy oak door was pushed open. A figure dressed in a red shirt, yellow trousers, and brown leather boots appeared before them, with a leather bag slung across his shoulder, a wool hat with a rolled brim adorned with three red feathers, and the royal coat of arms embroidered on his chest.

This is the royal messenger of Salanod, who in most cases has the highest priority right of way. The army and nobles will give way to them, and the messages they convey are always the most important and crucial.

"Alright, tell me now, what's wrong this time? Which idiot is trying to cause me trouble again?"

The king tapped his fingers rapidly twice on the table. The attendant beside him came over again to pour more wine, then, trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible, retreated to a corner and hid behind a tall lamp.

The messenger had clearly arrived in a hurry, still panting heavily, but he didn't dare to stop and reached into his bag to rummage through it. He quickly pulled out a piece of parchment rolled into a tube shape, with the sealing wax stamp intact, firmly securing the binding rope.

"This is urgent intelligence from the rear, Your Majesty, top priority!"

The quartermaster stepped forward and took the letter, then waved for the messenger to leave. He turned and handed the letter to the king, but the red-bearded Yotserlo impatiently tore off the sealing wax and rope the moment he received it, and frowned as he read it.

Time passed minute by minute, but the king's expression grew increasingly stiff, and the muscles in his cheeks tightened taut... yet he remained silent.

The quartermaster involuntarily took a step back—he knew all too well what that meant…

Chapter 422 Fury (2)

Oil was bubbling in a small bowl on the stove, emitting a somewhat pungent smell. Pulgen gripped his longbow, staring resentfully at the damp ground outside. He showed no intention of going out.

His bow was made of elm wood. Although it wasn't the best material, it could still shoot quite good arrows. The ends of deer antlers were inserted to hold the bowstring. Standing on the ground, it was half a foot taller than him. When the bowstring was drawn, it looked like a spear. It was his means of earning a living and making a living.

Longbows like these can withstand changes in climate, provided that the bow is properly maintained, like this: a mixture of animal fat, rosin, and wax is heated in a small bowl on the stove until it boils, then wool is used to apply it and quickly rub it across the longbow and bowstring to form a dense, shiny, hydrophobic layer that prevents cracking and mold.

This is something he does every now and then, but never before has he been so resentful, and the reason is simple—he didn't get the money he expected.

Longbowmen like him were recruited from all over the kingdom, and the king offered them generous pay—six friars a day. To put that in perspective, a skilled bricklayer earns at most three a day, and an unskilled helper earns at most one and a half. It was precisely because of such a considerable reward that they gathered from all over the country to serve the king.

His true loyalty was not to the king but to money, but now, because of the persistent rainy weather, even the wealthy Redbeard Yotsero could no longer afford to pay the stagnant army every day, so he announced that everyone's pay would be halved before setting off.

This was precisely why he gritted his teeth and was full of complaints. He felt that every day that red-haired bastard would reach into his wallet and steal a few shiny coins. Everywhere in the camp, you could see soldiers complaining and cursing. Everyone was full of resentment towards their king.

What's worse is that their food is getting worse and worse. When they first arrived, they were able to eat their fill of bread and drink soup with minced meat every day. But now, because the roads have been washed away by rain and transportation is inconvenient, they can only eat moldy bread infested with insects and drink soup made from potatoes. They huddle in dark and damp houses or tents, complaining about the awful weather and the stingy king.

The oil in the small bowl on the stove had begun to boil. He rolled up a ball of wool, dipped it in to soak up the oil, then placed the longbow on his shoulder and stepped on it to begin maintenance. He reapplied the oil to the areas where it had dried, and at the same time, he soaked the bowstrings, which were woven from long hemp fibers, in the oil.

Raindrops drifted in from outside the door, splashing onto his face. He frowned, grumbled, and shifted his position slightly backward, pulling the small stove back to prevent rainwater from getting into the oil. He tossed aside the longbow he was already oiling, fished the bowstring out of the grease, and carefully squeezed the excess grease back into the bowl with his fingers, letting it solidify so it could be used again later.

He subconsciously pulled on his bowstring to tighten the tangled fibers. This was something he had done countless times. He would do this frequently after the bowstring was braided to prevent it from failing at a crucial moment.

But even he didn't expect that after just two gentle tugs, his hand would feel empty after a brief moment of tension. With a crisp snap, the sturdy bowstring broke, leaving him stunned for a moment.

The broken part of the bowstring was the ruptured fiber, the oil and wax used for maintenance had seeped into it, but the bowstring still broke just like that... It broke quite cleanly and decisively, catching him completely off guard, and it reminded him of the gamble that had cost him a month's salary.

"Damn it, all sorts of bad luck have befallen me!"

He grumbled as he tossed the useless bowstring into a corner, then pulled a spare one out of his hat. Bowstrings aren't afraid of moisture; after being coated with wax, they can even be soaked in water for two days before being used. However, they are very afraid of drying out, and his oily hair effectively kept them in top condition.

He strung one end of his longbow on the bowstring, held the other end in his hand, pressed down on the middle with his knee, and at the exact moment the bow reached the desired curvature, he inserted the string loop into the antler-shaped groove. After checking the tightness and the position of the string loop, he grumbled and loosened the string, then angrily leaned his longbow against the wall beside him.

"Shall we place another bet on the dice, Pulgen?"

"Get lost! I've already lost countless times to you, do you think I'd be stupid enough to fall for it again? I'd rather play dice with the king than play with you again, Safya!"

A high-pitched voice, like that of a male duck, came from the side. Without even turning his head, he cursed back and reached into his crotch to catch the lice that were biting everywhere, crushing the vicious bloodsucking creatures under his fingernails.

He couldn't remember how long it had been since he last took a bath. Of course, that wasn't unbearable. What truly made it unbearable for him was that the bustling market in the camp had been driven away by that crazy red-bearded man. All the vendors and merchants had been expelled, and a new market had been set up twelve miles away from the military camp.

Now he can no longer seek out special services or indulge in spending all his military pay, since such a trip would take a whole day and would surely be discovered by that neurotic king.

He had joined the armies of other countries before, but no army here was as strict as this one... Although such an order was only issued a month after his departure, it still made him extremely anxious and constantly complaining.

The roads outside were soaked and rotten by the rain, and your boots would definitely get covered in mud. No one wanted to go out in this kind of weather, but staying indoors all the time made him feel like he was getting moldy along with the house.

Based on past experience, the rainy season is almost over, and they will soon be heading to the battlefield. He sincerely looks forward to that day, hoping to escape this stale and suffocating existence and finally receive his military pay, which was withheld by that red-bearded bastard, according to the previous standards.

Clang clang clang clang!!

A deafening bell suddenly rang out, piercing his ears and pounding on his head, making his heart skip a beat. He was startled by the sudden loud noise.

"What's going on?!"

"That sounds like the assembly bell! Let's hurry and go check it out."

His companion, who shared a shed with him, suddenly stood up from beside the table, grabbed a nail, put a tarpaulin over his head, and rushed out. After a brief hesitation, he followed suit... Of course, this was also because that bastard had taken away the only thing that could keep him dry, and if he didn't follow, he would have to walk in the rain later.

And so they made their way through the messy tents and muddy roads, merging with the crowds from other tents, until they reached the central square of the camp.

At that very moment, in the misty drizzle, a burly man, dressed in armor, was waiting there. Raindrops fell on his curly red hair and beard, wetting his robe embroidered with a yellow lion.

The two of them stopped abruptly, their faces showing fear and surprise... and most of the others around them did the same, hesitating a few dozen steps away from the platform... After all, no matter how much they privately resented the king, his reputation as the Red-Haired Butcher was not unfounded, and no one dared to act recklessly in front of him.

Fortunately, the officers of the army arrived quickly and began to organize the soldiers into ranks. Thousands of feet trampled the mud and water, and before Redbeard Yotserro could get angry, they had organized their ranks and silenced the whispering soldiers.

It was only then that Pulgen noticed that new corpses had been hanging from the pillars on the left side of the square, and the clothes that had not yet been stripped off belonged to the servants.

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

"What do you mean we have to go back?... This is really strange. We don't know how long we've walked or how much we've suffered to get here, and now we have to go back?"

Pack your belongings into a bag and tie it up. The large bag, made of oiled cowhide, is very durable and waterproof. The drawstring with an opening hangs down to the corners so you can carry it on your shoulder. An oiled wool felt is used to protect you from the wind and rain.

Pulgen was baffled by the orders he heard—they were to return the way they came and garrison the city of Busalido, which wasn't even on the border, so what was there to defend? Or was another kingdom deciding to take this opportunity to stab Salano in the back?

"Why do you care so much? Anyway, he raised our pay, so we should just do whatever he says. Isn't that what we came here for?"

Unlike him, his companion was not filled with doubt. Instead, he was excitedly packing his things, eager to set off... The best news he knew today was that their king had increased everyone's pay, and the pay for longbowmen like them had increased from 6 friers per day to 8.

This is a remarkable improvement. It seems like it only increases by two per day, but over a month it adds up to about 60 more. In the past, this price would only be available to archers who could afford to prepare their own good helmets and at least one full set of chainmail, not to poor guys like them who only wear helmets and armor.

Everyone was overjoyed and their morale was high, but only Pulgen remained full of doubts... The king's unexpected generosity could perhaps be explained by the desire to stabilize the army, but he always felt that something was amiss, that there was something suspicious about the whole thing.

In the end, however, he had no choice but to give up thinking about it. After all, he was just an ordinary longbowman, and if he wanted to earn that money, he had no choice but to obey the king's orders.

Just like his roommate said, as long as that red-haired guy really gives them money, they don't care if they have to shoot birds, since they'll have the money in their hands anyway.

The entire camp outside was in an uproar. Tents, houses, and shacks were being dismantled everywhere. Useful items were loaded onto wagons and transported out along the road one after another. Unused items were simply dumped here. Piles of garbage rotted and became unbearably smelly after being washed by the rain. The sheds above the already overflowing toilets were also dismantled.

Bugles sounded one after another on the plain outside the camp, urging the soldiers to hurry on and reach their next encampment while the rain stopped.

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

While fine rain won't obstruct your vision, it will constantly take away your body temperature and leave you with dampness. Without protective measures, you can easily be susceptible to illness.

Sometimes, this light drizzle can bring unexpected benefits—such as rinsing blood off a knife blade.

The long, slightly curved military knife, stained with crimson marks from slicing through bone and flesh, was gradually fading under the continuous drizzle, slowly being replaced by fine water droplets. The steel, polished to a mirror-like smoothness, was as cold as ice.

Below the hillside, a steel river stretched into the distance, exuding a suffocating oppression and power. Footsteps kicked up countless muds. Horse-drawn wagons and oxcarts carrying supplies traveled in the middle, covered with rainproof felt. Soldiers around them were also covered with oiled felt to protect themselves from the rain. Even the flags were rolled up and carefully put into leather tubes.

Natamus wiped the blood from his blade with a soft cotton cloth, gazing into the distance at the mountains and dense forests hidden in the clouds, his eyes flickering with inexplicable emotions. His adjutant beside him had just rolled up a parchment map and put it into the tube he carried with him.

From now on, he has already gained most of the advantages he could from the first move. He believes that even if his opponent is slow to react, he should be able to do so. However, he probably can't find a way to remedy or counter his advance. In the end, he can only make a conservative plan and send his troops to the key cities that must be defended in an attempt to block his advance.

This is indeed the most correct decision for that king at present. After all, there is more than just Salanod in the West. As long as we can delay, troops will come to our aid sooner or later, and then we will have the possibility of launching a counterattack... if we really do receive aid.

Chapter 423 Emerges (1)

Victory, an incomparably sweet word. Just seeing it makes you feel relaxed and happy, because it means that you have overwhelmed your opponent in some way, and thus gained something from this sweet victory. It may be wealth, it may be slavery... Even if you take a step back, at least you can get the honor of defeating the enemy. This is a spoil of war that only the victor can enjoy. The loser can only swallow this bitter fruit, hide in the shadows to lick his wounds, or perish.

As for Tersolius, he had grown accustomed to the sweetness of victory. Although the pain of his previous defeat was still etched in his memory, it seemed distant now. No longer bleeding, he had become accustomed to driving his legions to defeat enemies, conquer lands, destroy armies, and seize cities time and time again. He was used to stirring up everything on this land with his own will. After all, his current position itself endowed him with this power, a power that could be described as unparalleled in the world. As long as he remained in the army, it seemed that he could solve any problem.

The Empire's transformation of the south has begun to show results. Lands previously held by lords now all fall under the Empire's banner. Previously impassable roads of varying specifications and in poor condition have been uniformly repaired. Scattered villages and settlements have been reconnected. Roads, like the blood vessels of a person, are rapidly expanding thanks to the efforts of countless workers and prisoners of war, connecting lands never before reached. While still far from the extensive and developed roads of the Empire's provinces, they are already far more convenient and safer than before.

Only on such roads can the imperial army achieve its expected marching speed. After all, no matter how disciplined an army is, you cannot expect it to reach its maximum speed on uneven, rugged dirt roads; that would be nothing short of wishful thinking. Once the imperial soldiers set foot on the wide, cobblestone roads of the provinces, they can often advance at a speed that leaves other countries speechless, making every ambitious person who attempts to divide the imperial territory tremble with fear, dreading the sharp blade of the legion falling on their head, thus ensuring the integrity, unity, and efficiency of the country.

Only on this path could he be confident in devising some rather unique plans... but before that, he needed to confirm one issue, a rather fatal one.

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

"You go down first."

The parchment envelope in his hand was exceptionally smooth, with gold and silver threads inlaid along the edges outlining the shape of intertwined grapevines. It felt thick and sturdy, and various anti-counterfeiting measures were employed in those fine details—this was a letter sent from the Emperor's palace, written by the Emperor himself, and delivered to the south by hawks and hounds day and night at top speed. The means of transportation were also top secret, and if the opening method was slightly off or if the person reading the letter was not the true recipient, the letter would spontaneously combust to ensure that the information inside was not leaked.

He cut his fingertip and dripped a few drops of blood onto the inconspicuous grape-shaped pattern in the lower left corner. Accompanied by a golden light, the hidden clues left in the letter confirmed his identity.

Unlike their usual conversations, this was the first time he had received a letter of this caliber… This also meant that the emperor even thought that having a dedicated escort by hounds was not safe enough, which was why he had resorted to such measures.

This kind of envelope cannot be opened casually as usual; it must be handled by a specialized scholar… To be more precise, opening it is like unraveling a complex spell, and no mistakes can be made during this process… But the emperor did not send any scholars to her side.

The hesitation lasted only a moment before Teresolus cursed himself for being foolish and sent for Talina.

Talina arrived quickly, though she hesitated and appeared shy as she entered his tent, even somewhat hesitant to look him in the eye… Talina had undoubtedly been brave that day, but in his presence, that bravery seemed to have faded quickly… but it was perfectly timed, like a cavalry charge launched at its most powerful moment. However, he didn't have such reservations, especially since it was time to attend to business, so he simply beckoned:

"Come here quickly, doctor, I have a problem that only you can solve."

"Hmm?...What is it, sir?"

Talina quickened her pace, slightly curious, and, like herself, took the ornate envelope from his hand. Almost the instant her fingers touched it, a look of surprise appeared on her face:

"What an exquisite spell structure... It will certainly take some effort to decipher this. Please wait a moment, sir."

Tersolius smiled and stood up, giving up the only seat in the room. He then forcefully pressed the still hesitant Tarina down onto the seat, while he stood behind the girl.

"Is there anything else needed? I'll have someone prepare it."

"No need for that, the basic medium I'm used to will be fine."

As she spoke, Tarina took out a silver knife from her bag—she had rarely used this medium, which she had used since childhood, since she had gotten herself a silver short staff, but it was perfect for this occasion.

"as, eq, ty, ml".

The four syllables, which were difficult to pronounce, were spoken quickly. A blue light rippled at the tip of the knife. As the blade pointed forward, it slowly lifted the sealing wax seal at the mouth of the envelope. Instantly, a complex pattern like a spider web appeared on the paper. They overlapped and interlocked, almost dazzling the eye and making it impossible to find the beginning or end. But overall, it was the double-headed eagle emblem that was the symbol of the empire.

The tip of the knife carefully and slowly touched one of the lines, then, like scooping up noodles from the water, it lifted it up, bringing out a shimmering thread, which was then pulled and pushed forward along the incredibly complex lines... After an unknown amount of time, until she was covered in sweat, Talina finally unraveled the first thread.

The tent curtains had been drawn back on both sides, allowing the sunlight to stream in. The skylight in the ceiling and the windows on the sides were all supported by removable tarpaulin, which could be used to let in light on sunny days. There wasn't much decoration, but it was practical and sturdy enough. The 12 strong pillars were enough to withstand the fiercest winds and snowstorms, making it suitable for the northern grasslands. When it got too hot, the lower part of the tarpaulin could be removed, allowing a gentle breeze to blow in and out without obstruction, carrying away the oppressive heat.

Even in the south, today's weather was exceptionally hot. Soon, Tersolius felt sweat beading on his forehead. The wind blowing from around the tent carried an unpleasant heat, and the ground outside was scorching hot. The guards on duty had already rotated three times… In this season, the only option was to begin the march in the coolest time of day, before setting up camp to rest before the scorching midday sun. Forcing a march during the hottest part of the day would only subject the soldiers to the torment of thirst and intense heat—a situation so dire it could easily destroy an army… And if there was a lack of water along the way, it would be utterly foolish.

They have been camping and resting for some time now, and there is plenty of water nearby to provide for the entire army to recover their strength for tomorrow's march. In the forest outside, auxiliary soldiers and laborers are still busy cutting down thick tree trunks to replenish the camp stakes that were previously damaged.

The water jug ​​next to them contained fruit chilled with well water, but most of it had become less fresh due to the journey. They were still some distance from the next town, and they would have to wait to get fresh vegetables and fruits, but it was enough to cool them off for now.

Reaching in, he rummaged around inside for a bit, pulled out an apple, shook off the water droplets, and deliberately took a few steps back before taking a bite, trying to limit the crisp cracking sound to his surroundings so as not to affect Talina.

The sun was slowly moving across the sky, sharing its scorching rays equally with everything on earth, baking everything that lacked moisture until it was dry. As he finished his third apple, Talina, who was sitting at the table, finally completed her last action, collapsing into her chair, wiping the sweat from her forehead, and beginning to pant heavily.

"Try this, and rest for a while first."