Cataphracts, surviving in a world full of mods

The growing discontent within the army is a terrifying sign for anyone... because it means that these formidable weapons of the army may be out of control and could even turn against their masters. Any rational king would never easily default on his soldiers' pay.

But Redbeard Yotsero already had a lot of trouble to say... Losing the most fertile southwest region not only made the lords uneasy and quite dissatisfied, but he also lost most of his source of tax revenue. The funds he raised through other means could not be delivered in a short time, and the tigers and wolves he raised only accepted weekly payments, so the depletion of resources in his existing territory was also of limited effect...

In short, he can hardly afford the expenses of this large army now... It's like trying to hold up a wooden frame that's about to fall apart with just two arms, and there are pottery jars on the frame. Just maintaining the status quo is already making him rack his brains.

He had thought he had the resources to maneuver against Natamus and await reinforcements from other countries. But now it seemed... his soldiers would cause chaos even before reinforcements arrived. He now had to find a way to satisfy those ravenous wolves and feed them his meat...

Chapter 458 The Shadow of War (4)

"If that's the case, then we should consider this a final agreement, Your Majesty?"

Yotserlo's face was stiff and disheveled, his red beard, like a bristle brush, trembling along with his lips. His eyes were frighteningly bright, like a terrified wolf hiding in its den. His right hand gripped the armrest of the seat so tightly that his nails dug into the paint. His face was pale, and yellowish-brown spots were particularly noticeable around his eye sockets.

Standing before him was a man dressed in a silk robe, wearing a small embroidered hat, with gorgeous gold iris patterns covering his clothes. His belt was inlaid with gems and pearls, and his boots were even wrapped in gold—which served no purpose, being both easily damaged and adding extra weight; it was merely a display of the owner's extravagance.

The man had a finely trimmed mustache, his chin and cheeks were clean-shaven, his cheeks were thin and even somewhat sunken, his cheekbones were high and his eyes were deep-set, and a hooked nose protruded prominently. His face was sprinkled with a fine layer of white powder, and he was covered in perfume, making him look both luxurious and pretentious. At this moment, he extended his slender, thin hand, which was covered with jeweled rings, and handed over a piece of parchment.

Yotesero fell into a long silence, staring at the other's hand holding the parchment as if it were the claw of a devil, his expression shifting between light and shadow.

This is a fine piece of paper, with gold thread along the edges. The paper is delicate and smooth, and it is obviously not cheap... But no matter what, it is just an ordinary piece of paper. However, for Yotesero at this moment, this piece of paper is more frightening than a red-hot iron plate... or rather, he would rather take the red-hot iron plate.

At least the red-hot iron plate would only burn his muscles temporarily, but this piece of paper would torment his soul day and night from then on... After all, no matter who sells the land passed down from their ancestors to a merchant, it is not something that can be forgiven in a short time.

"So, according to our agreement, Your Majesty, you will use Storelli as collateral to borrow 200,000 gold flav from us... Of course, we will offer the most favorable interest rate, but if you fail to repay on time, we will take over this territory as agreed. At that time, the legal ruler of Storelli will be His Majesty the King of the Kingdom of Winddin. You can consider it carefully. If you think it's okay, please stamp it. The first batch of 60,000 gold flav will be delivered within three days."

The merchant in front of him continued to use sweet talk, but he no longer cared... This guy was a royal merchant of the Kingdom of Winddin. He was trading with a country rather than a merchant... That's why the other party was so calm and composed, not afraid that he would renege on his promise later.

After all, even if he manages to overcome this calamity, Salanod will definitely suffer heavy losses, and it's uncertain how many of his troops will be left... In any case, it certainly won't be the military superpower it once was. If he refuses to give it to them, the army of the Kingdom of Winddin can come and take it themselves, and he can even collect some extra interest.

It could be said that once he stamped his seal, everything would be irreversible, and that land, rich in farmland and minerals, would have to be handed over to someone else... 20 gold fura was a bargain, but he had no other choice.

He controlled the vast majority of Salano's army, which meant he was responsible for feeding them. The more carefree and arrogant he was in normal times, the more wretched he became now that he had lost most of his funding. He had to feed them immediately, otherwise the soldiers' resentment and discontent could easily send him to hell. He would even be willing to cut off his own flesh for that.

Finally, he reached out and took the paper. His rough fingers trembled violently. He gritted his teeth, picked up a quill pen from the table next to him, signed his name on it, and then stamped it heavily, as if he were hitting someone on the head with a warhammer.

"...I hope you can do what you said you would do. If the first batch of money cannot be delivered within three days, then I will have no choice but to declare you a sinner of Salanod."

A subtle threat emanated from his words, but compared to his usual demeanor, it seemed excessively polite and refined, sending a chill down the spine of the logistics supervisor beside him. He knew his king had already entertained the thought of killing… of course, only for a fleeting moment. After all, Redbeard Yotsero was, in any case, a competent king, and a true king knows when to temper his temper.

"You don't need to worry about that at all."

Reaching out to take the parchment, the merchant's face broke into an barely suppressed smile, one might even suspect he was about to grin so wide his mouth would split open, his neatly trimmed mustache swaying like a cat's whiskers.

“In fact, you can get it now… Please allow my servant who is waiting outside to come in.”

Yotesero frowned, instantly realizing what this meant—the other party was clearly quite satisfied with the price, and had even already transported the money over to prevent the deal from falling through, just waiting for him to sign and stamp it, fearing that he might back out.

In fact, he was starting to regret it, but reason forced him to grit his teeth and wave to the side. The guards at the door quickly obeyed and let the people waiting outside in... Just as expected, the servants brought in several large boxes, each with the crisp sound of coins clinking together.

"Here is a full 10 gold flav. The remaining half will be delivered within a month. Moreover, according to the contract, our Chamber of Commerce will fully support Your Majesty. All commercial activities along sea and land routes will be suspended during this period. Finally, I wish us a pleasant cooperation, Your Majesty."

His lips twitched, but he ultimately extended his right hand and shook it forcefully with a strength that seemed to crush the other person's bones.

"I'm not very happy right now, but I don't regret it either... Oh well, it's sold, so be it. We shouldn't be so short-sighted, should we?"

"Of course, of course."

The merchant smiled quite pleasedly, like a fox with a wide grin, ambitiously watching a wounded lion, but already temporarily satisfied.

"We will remember this."

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

A sharp knife is inserted into the upper part of the fish's belly, and then slides down to cut through the skin, flesh, and scales, creating a neat incision. Then, nimble and strong fingers pry open the incision, revealing the internal organs. The hook-like structure on the back of the knife cleverly pulls out the intestines. The smooth, rounded metal surface does not damage the internal organs or allow the unclean contents to contaminate the fish meat.

Next, insert the blade into the fish's gills, and with a slight twist of the wrist, the tip of the knife will pluck out the bright red, multi-layered bristle-like gills. The remaining blood will flow away with a ladle of water, washing away the surface mucus. That completes the processing of the fish.

The wooden bucket next to them was already piled high with these fish. A child with a rough, red face was busy rubbing salt onto the fish meat and then stacking them up layer by layer. The fish scales were not removed, which is a characteristic of the fish pickling method used by the residents of the seaside. The finished product has a very strong flavor and is more appetizing.

The smell during this work was naturally not pleasant; the strong, fishy stench was enough to make people want to stay away. The villagers were used to it, but outsiders would probably find it hard to accept.

But today, the father and son, who were working, kept diverting their attention to one side until they were pricked by a fishbone and then cried out in pain.

A figure that seemed out of place appeared on the beach, drawing curious glances from the villagers. Curious children followed him at a distance, while several elderly people sitting at the village entrance pointed and whispered about him.

This man was indeed quite eye-catching... He was completely wrapped in loose white running clothes, with a simple black belt around his waist. His forehead and face were hairless, and his features appeared exceptionally round. Only his pair of icy blue eyes revealed a chilling rationality and coldness. He was very tall, and his upper body muscles were exceptionally well-developed. Even through his clothes, one could easily see the strong and sculpted lines.

Almost no one could tell who this man was... After all, his attire would have seemed extremely strange to anyone, regardless of their profession or status. Even the most respected priests in the city wouldn't look like this... He looked almost like someone who wasn't an ordinary person.

The man had been on the beach since this morning, silently gazing at the sea. The villagers didn't dare disturb him, carefully going about their business and waiting for him to leave on his own. This might become some interesting gossip for them later, but at least for now, no one would be foolish enough to provoke such an obviously unusual person.

But sometimes, even if you don't provoke others, they'll still provoke you...

"Hello, I'd like to ask you some questions."

The man, busy gutting the fish, suddenly shuddered. He looked up and saw a pair of cold, emotionless eyes. The clear blue was almost entirely pure, sending chills down his spine.

"Ah! What?!..."

In his panic, the man almost blurted out incoherent things, but the other person didn't seem to care and continued speaking, word by word:

"What I want to ask is, when was your village established?... This place must have been an abandoned village before."

Chapter 459 The Shadow of War (5)

The man in front of me was really strange... After all, a normal person wouldn't shave off all their hair, eyebrows, and beard, making their head look like a bald hard-boiled egg, nor would their facial features look like they'd been pressed down by something, making them exceptionally round and smooth, even making one wonder if they could stick their head into a jar and then pull it out without any problem.

The clothes he was wearing also looked strange, as there were no seams at all, as if they were woven from a single piece of fabric—he only noticed this when he got closer.

What's even stranger is that on this rocky beach covered with pebbles, shell fragments, and gravel, the other person was walking barefoot without any signs of being cut... Many fishermen living by the sea don't wear shoes, but that's only if their feet have developed thick calluses and most of the ground they're walking on is soft sand, not if they're walking barefoot on sharp pebbles with feet that look like they haven't been through much hardship.

For some inexplicable reason, as if it were an intuition bursting forth from the depths of his heart... he realized that the person in front of him was extremely dangerous, just like when he was floating in the sea and saw a shark's fin coming towards him. His whole body was covered in goosebumps, and cold sweat instantly soaked through his vest.

“...We came here thirteen years ago...We used to be herders from Jitu. We couldn’t make a living in the north, so we kept heading south and came here...When we arrived, all we saw were a pile of rotten bones and a bunch of dilapidated houses. It took us a lot of effort to clear them all.”

“...herdsmen...I see that you are very skilled at fishing, not like herdsmen who only know how to herd sheep.”

This sounded like a question, but the other person remained expressionless, seemingly not expecting an answer, or perhaps already having the answer in mind.

"At first, we didn't know how either... We suffered a lot before we learned, and we even drowned a lot of people in the sea. The reason we were able to survive was entirely thanks to an old man here."

"Old man?"

This time, the strange man finally showed a hint of emotion, a mixture of surprise and curiosity, and with a sense of entitlement, ordered him to continue.

"Yes, an old man. When we arrived here, he lived alone in a thatched hut next to a dilapidated house. He was not very clear-headed and was crazy all the time, but he would be lucid sometimes. When he was lucid, he would teach us how to survive by the sea, how to build boats, how to go out to sea to fish, and how to process our catch."

“That old man died three years ago. We buried him on the mountain next to us. He was unusually lucid when he died, and he kept talking to us... It seemed like he wanted to see his son.”

"Okay, that's all I wanted to know."

His cold blue eyes flickered for a fleeting moment, but then returned to their indifference. He lost interest in everything around him, simply nodded to the fishermen, and turned to leave. Leaving the entire village behind, he didn't look back once more, quickly disappearing into the distance. The man who was butchering the fish and his son breathed a sigh of relief, feeling a sense of relief at having escaped a disaster.

The fish in his hand was still struggling violently. He subconsciously turned the knife and tapped the fish's head twice with the back of the blade. Then, relying on muscle memory, he completed the next action. Only after the cut fish was thrown into the wooden basin next to him did he seem to come back to his senses, shake his head, wipe the cold sweat from his forehead, and almost instinctively make up his mind to keep what had just happened to himself.

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

The dense bushes were parted by his legs, futilely draped over the soft, thick white fabric, without even causing the fibers to become disheveled. His bare feet stepped carelessly into the bushes full of thorns and brambles, yet not a drop of blood flowed. The barbs that could tear the flesh of an ordinary person to shreds could only leave futile, pale scratches on his skin.

The weeds and shrubs here intertwined, forming a dense barrier like a wall, impenetrable to the eye. Various kinds of thorns coiled within like dangerous venomous snakes, ready to harm any creature that passed by with their vicious barbs. An ordinary person would have to hack their way through with a knife to move forward, but for him, he only needed to rely on the strength and resilience of his body to simply walk through. He didn't even need to stop.

He kept darting back and forth, like a monster rampaging through the undergrowth and weeds, clearing away the obstructions of branches and leaves, until suddenly the view opened up before him—a small hill covered in weeds, completely out of place with the flat terrain. A rotten wooden stake stood in front of him, the wooden sign nailed to it blurred and illegible, its original meaning lost to time.

This is a very simple grave. Perhaps in a few years, when the wooden stake has completely rotted away, this place will become as ordinary and indistinguishable as a wasteland. The bones buried inside will eventually merge into the earth and become nutrients for this forest.

Right next to this hill, there is a very lush elm tree. Its dense branches and leaves block most of the sunlight, making the place exceptionally shady and a good place to sleep.

He silently placed his hand on the rotten wooden plaque, and with just a little force, easily broke off the once-thick piece of wood. Small fragments fell into the soil beneath his feet, and the remaining parts continued to break and fall away.

His eyes remained cold, but they never left the grave mound. He stared at it for a long time, like a statue, unwavering. The sun slowly passed over the treetops above him, and the light gradually dimmed until night began to fall, at which point he finally made his next move.

Reach out and grab the top of the wooden pole, then push it forcefully to the side—

click!

The wood, hollowed out by insects, was utterly sturdy and broke off at the root. He then tossed it down the hillside like trash, leaving only a bare, low hill... which looked like the dwelling place of some kind of ants.

"Worthless..."

A cold sigh, like a snake, slithered into the bushes, coiling around someone's throat.

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

Being constantly jostled on a galloping warhorse... especially being strapped to a horse's back like an object is definitely not a comfortable experience, especially on roads in the Western countries where conditions are generally poor. Once the horse gets fast, the stomach will be repeatedly squeezed like a water bag, and over time, it often causes vomiting and diarrhea, making one suffer terribly.

Magias had never imagined he'd be this unlucky... Now, his hands and feet were tightly bound with leather straps. With the help of his horse, he was like prey caught in a trap, strapped to its back. As the warhorse galloped at breakneck speed, the bushes and branches on either side of the road constantly brushed against his face. The road flashing past him made him dizzy, and the constant pressure on his abdomen left him with almost no strength to scream.

Even worse, the knight riding the horse would often tease him, saying things he couldn't understand, and occasionally turning around to slap his head as if he were hitting a warhorse, followed by a strange laugh. The people around him would laugh along, and he would be like a little girl who had accidentally wandered into a bandit's den, trembling with fear and unable to speak.

Of course, he wasn't really a little girl... but he felt his bad luck was no less. He was just taking a few people to a nearby village to "collect" some grain and have some fun when he unexpectedly ran into this group of plague gods... Although these imperial light cavalry from the East always appeared and disappeared mysteriously, he had no idea how these guys had appeared in the territory behind their defense line!

In a single encounter, the entire unsuspecting squad was slaughtered, leaving only the captain, who was spared. He was now tied to one of the soldiers' horses and being carried along the road by the constant jolting.

They ran for dozens of miles, and he felt half-dead. If they continued running, it wouldn't be impossible for him to die on horseback. Moreover, these guys specifically chose to travel along mountain paths with dense bushes, and they were even more familiar with the terrain than the locals.

After a sharp thorn scraped a bit of flesh off his face for the twenty-third time, he let out a weak groan, and then he was surprised to find that the horse seemed to have slowed down and was not jolting as much as before.

"Ah, Tuo Moyi, you did a good job, you came back so quickly."

A more rapid clatter of hooves, like drumbeats, instantly engulfed the forest path, kicking up a cloud of dust, before coming to a steady stop ahead of them. A cheerful voice offered a friendly greeting, which the leader of his squad immediately responded in the Imperial language:

"Ah, that's right. Thanks to figuring out the shortcut beforehand, it was easy to catch them. This guy's armor looks pretty good, so he probably knows a lot. I'm about to take him back."

"Then hurry up, we've already cleared the road, don't delay the orders."

"Okay, okay, we got it. We didn't delay at all. The horses' hooves never even touched the ground the whole way; they were so clean they could be used as plates. Let's go!"

After exchanging a few more playful insults, the two teams passed each other again, but his heart remained ice-cold... He realized with a profound understanding that he was about to be in deep trouble.

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

Click!

The fresh wood was easily chopped in half, the cut surface exhibiting an inexplicable regularity. The white bone scraped against it, cutting into the stake and squeezing out the moisture it contained.

Last night's light rain left the entire campsite damp. If the stored firewood wasn't covered in time, it would easily become difficult to burn, making breakfast preparation quite challenging.

Fresh wood needs to be dried before it can be burned. To speed up the process, it needs to be broken into small pieces to accelerate the evaporation of moisture. This step is usually done by auxiliary soldiers and servants, but Natamus likes the clean and crisp feeling of splitting wood with an axe. Each swing of the axe makes his mind clearer.

Click!

Another log was neatly split in the middle. In the process, the knots growing on the log did not play any role. They were torn apart by the sturdy axe blade, revealing the white wood fibers inside, which rolled down the sides of the stump to the ground.

Nathamus was sifting through the mountain of wood with great interest when, just as he was about to swing his axe again, a guard stepped through the pile of wood scraps he had chopped and came to his side.