Cataphracts, surviving in a world full of mods

"...Things have come to this point, so I won't waste any more words...We definitely can't go back. That red-bearded bastard is notoriously ruthless and he'll never let us go. If we don't want to die, we can't go back. We need to find a way to survive."

"What's so difficult about that?" Liver wiped the sweat from his brow and patted the short sword he always carried at his waist.

"We'll just stay in these mountains for now, and then see if we can pull off a heist, save up some money, and go west to become mercenaries again. That's what we used to do anyway."

The others' expressions changed as they realized what he meant by "hitting a heist"... but Oris immediately shook his head, rejecting his idea:

“Things are different now… I think the Empire is serious this time. It’s too dangerous to do this kind of risk-free business under their noses. We could easily get caught and tortured. It’s risky, and we might not even be able to steal anything valuable. We need to think of another way.”

The others began to frown – they had just thrown away their armor and weapons to escape, and knew nothing but killing…

"Why not go and seek refuge with the Empire?"

All eyes turned to the side, and Paul, who had spoken, scratched his head and repeated himself:

"I think it would be better to join the Empire."

Chapter 463 A Minute Difference (1)

Cities always give people a sense of security. These vast settlements, built of thick soil and solid stone, are symbols of human civilization on earth, wonders that only humans can create, and the most powerful and fundamental way to occupy a piece of land.

Having a city to rely on signifies a significant advantage. When the equipment and quality of both sides are roughly equal, attackers often need two to three times the number of troops to even attempt to breach the city walls, and they frequently suffer more defeats than victories, resulting in a net loss. Often, even with mountains of corpses, it is difficult to gain a foothold on the city walls, and in the end, the only solution is to besiege the city, cut off its water and food supplies, and force the defenders to surrender.

The towering city walls, the uneven battlements, the meticulously designed arrow slits, the commanding towers, the platforms for mounting giant crossbows and catapults... Under normal circumstances, every inch of it would require the blood, entrails, and souls of the attackers to be spilled before it could be occupied.

As long as the will of the resisters is strong enough, even an army with a superior force cannot avoid losses. On the narrow city walls, the attackers, no matter how many people they have, will find it difficult to make a difference. Only so many people can make it up at a time. If they cannot overwhelm the enemy, they will be blocked. Even a veteran who has been through many battles may face the predicament of being outnumbered and lose his life under heavy swords and spears.

It was precisely because attacking the city walls was so difficult and dangerous that the warriors who were the first to scale the walls and survive were naturally more respected and received the greatest rewards and honors. In the imperial legions, they were known as the First Blood...

………………

Diyul took a deep breath to calm himself down, while mocking his own cowardice and panic—he had already slit countless throats and escaped death countless times, yet he was still nervous about fighting on the battlefield.

The chainmail covering his shoulders made a faint sound when he moved, barely louder than the flapping of a fly's wings. The surroundings were incredibly noisy, with the sound of catapult stones shattering stone walls like thunder lashing the earth, almost drowning out everything. Yet he could hear it very clearly, as if the chainmail rings were ingrained in his flesh, and his senses extended to the steel protecting his body.

His helmet was brand new, with splattered oil stains that hadn't been completely wiped off, giving it a strong, metallic smell that almost made it into his mouth. The leather strap under his chin was pulled too tight, leaving a mark on his skin, but he had no chance to adjust it now.

The double-edged sword rested on his shoulder armor. The heavy and sharp blade was polished to a very bright shine, and the just-right edge was exceptionally tough. Even if it was struck hard on an anvil, it would not easily chip. The disc-shaped brass guard was about six-tenths of the way down the blade, and the hilt was densely wrapped with velvet leather, making it as secure as if it were glued to the warrior's hand.

He had little experience with such things, but he used them very well from the start, surpassing all his subordinates. He quickly mastered the key techniques for using this heavy weapon—controlling direction rather than forceful control, letting inertia help him rather than burdening him.

There are only eight ways to use this double-edged sword in the army, but each one is direct and effective enough that even a dull boy can learn it quickly. Of course, this does not prevent him from getting his head chopped off as soon as he goes into battle... Those who can truly use it well also need the accumulation of time and talent, and he is very confident that he belongs to the latter.

The sturdy wooden planks were covered with soaked and softened sheepskin. Rockets fired at them could only burn in vain, unable to ignite the behemoth. But this did not mean they were completely without risk. The small catapults and giant crossbows on the city walls could threaten the siege towers protecting them.

boom! !

With a loud crash, the wooden plank in front of him visibly caved in, and splinters flew everywhere, harmlessly scraping across their double-layered iron armor. A few unlucky ones were pierced by the splinters, but they were only minor injuries. Everyone held their breath and lowered their heads when the collision occurred, using their helmets to protect their faces.

Time seemed to stretch on endlessly; he was almost losing track of it, as if he had been inside this siege tower for years, until the archers above shouted that they were approaching the city walls, bringing Diyul back to his senses.

"Get ready! Get ready, make sure your legs are firmly planted on the ground, hold onto the shoulders of the person in front of you, and don't let me down!"

Before the words were even finished, the sound of arrows whizzing overhead more than doubled, and screams and curses mingled together, becoming indistinguishable. They exploded in their ears in an instant. Diyur lowered his head, sheathing his long-handled sword behind his shoulder.

"These aren't newbies on the battlefield! They know what they're supposed to do... Just try not to die. As long as we survive, our contribution will be the highest in the entire thousand-man squad! The reward alone will be enough to make us a fortune!"

The crossbowman, whom he already knew well, signaled to him again, reaching his hand down from the gap in the partition to indicate that he could open the drawbridge. At that moment, the siege tower also returned to stability, and he unhesitatingly cut the rope beside him with a single stroke, causing the drawbridge in front of him to crash into the city wall with a bang, kicking up a cloud of dust. The sound that had just seemed somewhat muffled immediately became clear and sharp.

Of course, there were even more dangerous and bright things that attracted his attention... The enemy was not stupid after all; they had been waiting here for a long time, hiding behind their shields and blocking their way with five or six spears. The archers overhead could not do anything to them for the time being.

Diyul knew very well that they could not hesitate. As the vanguard of the assault on the city walls, they had to create an opening in a short time, or the attack would inevitably be thwarted. Fortunately, both the Imperial Legion's training and their experience as mercenaries gave them the knowledge to handle the situation.

The moment the suspension bridge descended, everyone had already prepared their throwing weapons. Upon seeing the enemy, they immediately swung their arms and threw heavy, sharp steel weapons, creating a dangerous downpour that instantly washed away dense shield fragments and blood screams.

In this way, the originally dangerous and dense gun formation was naturally resolved, and he took the lead, charging in despite the scattered spears and relying on the sturdiness of his armor. His double-edged sword instantly stirred up a bloody storm.

He severed the shaft of a spear along with three fingers, then circled back from the left, cutting deep into the upper part of a helmet. As he pulled it out, the body fell forward with him, having taken four or five blows. Most of the blows were blocked by the double-layered armor, but the tip of one spear grazed his neck, piercing the gap in the neck guard and tearing off a strip of flesh. Hot blood quickly flowed into his neck.

If he were alone, that would be the extent of his achievements. The enemy, once they realized what was happening, would quickly surround and kill him, and he would die a rather reckless death... But fortunately, he had trustworthy comrades-in-arms.

With shouts and curses, heavily armored soldiers charged in with him. Two unlucky men were struck in vital areas by the enemy's wild spear thrusts and collapsed to the ground. But the other seven or eight men had already reached his side, wielding heavy axes and halberds, slicing through armor and tearing flesh, instantly giving them a foothold.

The archers on the siege tower were still diligently helping them suppress the enemy, and the opponents in front of him were becoming increasingly chaotic. But Diyul knew very well that he had no room to retreat, and neither did the others. They had come here to fight for a future with courage and strength, and they had long been aware of this.

This is a difficult and dangerous opportunity, but at least they now have it... Everything they've dreamed of is no longer as unattainable as a phantom in a dream, so they won't hesitate to shed their blood.

With another roar, he raised his double-edged sword high and brought it down heavily, as if he were chopping wood—but the effect was immediate. Another guy who was so crowded that he couldn't even dodge was hit, his helmet dented, his eyes rolled back and he became dazed, and then his throat was cut by the long halberd extended from the bearded man next to him.

The sun was no longer as scorching as it had been at midday, but the stench of blood still wafted through the air, and the fighting would continue...

Chapter 464 A Minute Difference (2)

Raising a double-edged sword high above one's head is, under normal circumstances, a foolish and reckless move. It exposes one's vital organs, leaving all fatal areas undefended, as if inviting the enemy to pierce those areas with a weapon. Those who do this are often swiftly slaughtered before they can even bring down the blade, paying a heavy price for their whimsical actions.

There is only one exception, and only one situation where this attack method will unleash its greatest power... that is when the person wielding the weapon has sturdy armor protecting them, enough to allow them to ignore most attacks and smash their opponent's head with a powerful and heavy slash.

The instant his arm muscles tensed, Diyul knew what was about to happen. His opponent's thrusting short sword slid futilely off the armor plates at his waist, while his slamming greatsword had already cleaved through the chainmail on the opponent's neck, slicing through half of the protected bone. The gushing hot blood smeared half of his face like viscous mud, wetting the blade firmly.

He raised his right leg and kicked forward forcefully to catch the blow, the impact completing the motion of drawing his sword. During this process, his comrades beside him diligently covered his flanks, allowing him to adjust his posture as quickly as possible, and then repeat the same technique, smashing his opponents' heads from above and severing their necks.

The finest steel produced in the Imperial Factory was forged through countless trials into the weapon in his hand. It was as heavy as a battle axe and as sharp as a razor. Soft armor and chainmail would appear fragile in its presence. Only the same fine steel plates could effectively withstand it, but the impact force was still unavoidable. Even sturdy helmets would be dented by the impact, and those of inferior quality would be torn apart.

He had lost count of how many opponents he had slain. His arms, which had been constantly wielding heavy weapons, were sore and numb as if stone powder had been poured into them. A layer of thick blood plasma had long since stained him crimson. The layer of hot sweat clinging to his skin dried and then became wet again, and now it felt like a damp rag wrapped around him. He felt as uncomfortable as if he were swimming in mud.

If it were the old him, he would have been looking for an opportunity to slip away at this point... After all, mercenaries don't have much loyalty to speak of. Being able to risk his life for his employer to this extent already makes him extremely trustworthy, and he could even be considered one of the most honest and reliable mercenaries, qualified to quote the highest price.

He never hesitated when doing so. Although he wouldn't abandon his employer on the battlefield or even rob him like the worst guys, he would never risk his life. Often, he would have already escaped danger by the time things got out of hand.

They may be used to killing for money, but they are not stupid enough to think it is worth risking their lives for money they cannot get. The hyenas of war come to eat meat, not to gnaw on bones until they are covered in blood.

But now they were all exhausted, covered in blood, and even those who hadn't died were covered in wounds. Yet not one of them felt fear or wavered, and they stood firmly on the city wall like nails.

The hilt of the knife in his hand was so slippery from the blood that he could barely hold it. He practically gritted his teeth, digging his nails into the leather to keep it from slipping. When he used a vicious and despicable angle to probe into the enemy's inner thigh and sever the thick muscles, he could barely control the smile on his lips. He deliberately slowed down the process a little, making the wound tear even more gruesome.

Anyone who takes this hit will have a hard time standing, and this seemingly burly guy was no exception. As he fell to the ground screaming, the man turned his blade around and brought the heavy, sharp, plow-shaped tip of the blade down on his head. The scream stopped immediately, and the tip of his blade was covered in a sticky, reddish-white liquid.

He instinctively spun the blade to retract it, but instead of the expected counterattack, he was met with an eerie, somewhat startling silence from all around him… After a long while, as his thoughts began to race again, he realized he should look up and assess his surroundings…

The city walls were covered in blood, the piled-up corpses were intertwined, the spilled entrails piled up like tree roots, the broken armor gleamed among the flesh and blood, and the arrow shafts stuck in the flesh and blood were as dense as wheat seedlings in a field.

A large hand slammed down on his shoulder. Just as he instinctively wanted to turn around and slash with his knife, he saw a thick, brown beard first...

"They escaped...the city walls are ours now."

The few simple words seemed to possess some kind of magic, instantly draining all his strength. Diyu immediately abandoned his double-edged sword, dragged a corpse from the side, sat on its back, and steadily leaned his body against the city wall.

"call………………"

He let out a long sigh, as if his lungs were being crushed, his eyelids grew heavy, and his whole body went limp.

"That's fine, that's fine..."

"Many of us died, but most of us survived... We were the first to die!"

"That's good, that's good..."

Exhausted, Diyul's mind was blank, and he didn't realize what this meant. He just kept nodding, and as he nodded, his eyes closed, and he was about to fall asleep.

The bearded man finally couldn't bear it any longer, grabbed his collar and shook him hard twice, finally forcing him to open his eyes.

"We succeeded, wake up! You were pretty clear-headed when we went into battle."

Diyur's eyes finally cleared a little. He shook his head, struggled to sit up, and looked at the city wall strewn with corpses. Those who had stepped onto the city wall with him and were still alive were now gathered around him. Their armor was tattered and they were covered in blood mist, but they were all in high spirits, their eyes sparkling with excitement.

Ah...right!

He finally realized—what had all these people gone through so much hardship and struggle for? Wasn't it all for this day?! Wasn't it because they, too, wanted to be superior to others?!

Now, the city walls have been captured, the morale of the city's defenders has collapsed, and they are retreating towards the inner city. The follow-up troops have begun to prepare to launch another attack, and the fall of the city is imminent... And the first city walls they captured survived until the very end... How many merits can compare to this?

It can be said that they have achieved their initial goal; they have finally broken free from their mediocre and laborious past! Now, all they have to face is a future full of hope and light.

From beginning to end, they were willing to fight so hard, and the only reason they dared to fight so hard was this, and only this... Many people may not be able to explain it clearly, but they can calculate this in their hearts, which is why they were willing to fight to the death and not retreat, and why they would not waver.

At this moment, almost everyone's eyes were shining, but they were all focused on him, on the man who had brought them here—

After a long while, Diyur slowly curled the corners of his mouth, took off his helmet and threw it on the ground, letting out a hearty laugh. This section of the city wall was immediately filled with cheers, causing the auxiliary soldiers who were cleaning up the corpses to frequently turn their heads to look.

Moment of Victory: Author's Summary

The author struggled quite a bit during this period... (ε??) It always took a considerable amount of time, but not much was written, and the author ended up feeling dizzy and overwhelmed... Later, the author realized that the information in the book had become quite complex without them realizing it, and it was no longer as easy to work with as it was at the beginning, and the author had not yet done a systematic organization and planning...

So the author is going to take a good rest today and organize the remaining plot properly, otherwise, constantly experiencing writer's block is really frustrating, and I can't keep staying up all night... That's about it (||?_?)

Chapter 465 A Minute Difference (3)

The rough bark doesn't feel pleasant to the touch. These cracked parts have lost most of their moisture, becoming inelastic and rough like stones. If someone were reckless enough to rub their hand on it, they would get more than just a little pain; they would often be rewarded with broken skin and scratches.

These are scars left by time, formed by the cracks and attachments of the parts that died during the growth process. It also means that there is tough wood under this bark. Young trunks with smooth bark are often not very useful and will not even be given a second glance by craftsmen. Only those woodcutters who are eager for quick success will favor them.

Such large trees are destined to be lush and leafy, enough to block out large areas of sunlight. Even the sharpest-eyed eagle cannot penetrate their barrier. Once they form a forest, they can be enough to hide an army in them, turning the place into a dangerous trap.

A large army was advancing on the road, their armor rubbing together with a fine rustling sound, the shields on their backs clashing against the armor plates, the tips of their spears swaying like seedlings in the wind, forming a dangerous forest of spears, swords, hammers, axes slapping against their thighs, and their sturdy leather boots pounding the ground like the beating of war drums.

They were marching in armor... which meant the area was a threat to them and needed to be guarded against. Even the archers in the ranks had their bows and crossbows strung, ready to fire at any moment and fulfill their duties.

Any commander with a sound mind would send out a large number of scouts when the army passes through such dense jungles to thoroughly explore the surrounding terrain. After all, the army is bound to be very long on such roads, and if it is ambushed, even if it manages to turn the tide, it will inevitably suffer heavy losses. The scouts responsible for reconnaissance bear an unimaginable responsibility—it is not only a matter of their own lives, but also of the safety of the entire army. If they are not careful, the annihilation of the whole army is not out of the question.

Standing on a nearby hilltop, Bosdo wiped the sweat from his brow, reached out and took the water bag handed to him by his comrade, drank half of it in one gulp, and then relaxed. He took off his helmet and used the large leaves of a nearby plant to fan himself.

He was glad that he hadn't forgotten everything he had learned in the past. The horse assigned to him wasn't the best, but it was strong and stamina-rich enough, and not very tall, which allowed him to easily navigate through narrow and cluttered places. He searched the entire forest, and even managed to shoot down a wolf that had fled in panic along with his comrades.

He was quite certain that he had done a good enough job... After so many years, taking on such an important task again had made his heart pound for a long time, but once he actually went into the forest to explore the places where he could hide, he relaxed and quickly realized that he was doing something familiar.

Those places that novices easily overlook or neglect are as conspicuous to him as torches in the dark. He also knows very well how to hide and protect himself when the situation is unclear, and how to escape cunningly and calmly if he is discovered by the other party. These experiences are difficult to pass on verbally, and those who have not experienced them firsthand cannot truly understand the details.

It was precisely because of his skillful and superb scout skills that Bosdor was able to lead a scout squad as soon as he joined the legion... Although most of them were clever men selected from the greenhorns, it was the first time in his life that he was not taking orders from others, but giving orders to others.

He was initially somewhat apprehensive, but the salary, which was half again as high as that of an ordinary scout, quickly dispelled his concerns. Not to mention that becoming a captain would give him more opportunities to earn merit, so he had no reason to refuse.

Just like when he served in the legion, his goal has always been very clear, and he will continue to work towards that goal without being easily distracted.

"...Damn it! What did this beast eat? Its stomach stinks so badly."

A curse came from the side. He turned around and saw a tall, thin middle-aged man, who looked like a standing piece of dry wood, cursing as he skinned a wolf with a dagger. At this moment, because he used too much force, the sharp blade cut open the wolf's belly and internal organs, and the contents were already flowing out along the cut.

His name was Sother, and he was the second person in the squad, besides Bosdor himself, to have military service experience. Just over a month ago, he was a shoemaker who made a living repairing shoes for others. He didn't have a fixed shop and lived a very hard life. The reason he had fallen to such a state was not worthy of any sympathy at all—after receiving the resettlement allowance provided to retired veterans, he spent one-fifth of it on brothels and gambled away the rest in casinos within just a few months.

Having no relatives and no intention of marrying anyone, he only knew how to enjoy life. If he hadn't had a little money left to buy a set of tools for self-reliance, he probably would have starved to death in that corner long ago.