Cataphracts, surviving in a world full of mods

The psychological pressure on the rebels was multifaceted. Not only their noble generals and elders, but even every soldier was uneasy. At this moment, the words of these cavalrymen had completely torn away their last shred of dignity—they were hostile to the imperial commander, Tersolius; every one of them was a rebel; they were betraying their former glory and duty.

Of course, they already knew this, but knowing it was one thing, being exposed so nakedly and bloodily in broad daylight was something not everyone could bear... Simply put, the deed was done, but they still wanted some semblance of dignity, while Tersolius had already trampled this so-called dignity into the mud and was there mocking them wantonly.

As for the suggestion of sending the leader out to give a reply, that seemed rather malicious... After all, even if they went out, what could they possibly say? Could they possibly persuade Tersolius?! Persuade a military commander who was practically second only to the emperor, who controlled the entire imperial army, a senator standing at the pinnacle of the empire, to surrender to them?! How could what they could offer him compare to what an emperor who completely trusted him could provide? Everyone knew that this was a ridiculous delusion, like trying to exchange a bowl of spoiled porridge for someone else's bowl of rich, savory stew.

Not going out to reply would naturally appear cowardly, and even if everyone understood what was going on, it would inevitably lower their morale slightly... But after considering everything, everyone tacitly chose to play dead. This was partly because they genuinely had nothing to say, and going out would only bring humiliation. And partly because of an inner fear...

No one will forget just how outrageous Tersolius was… He wasn’t just an invincible commander, but also a valiant general skilled in flanking maneuvers, fighting half-blooded and killing countless enemies, cutting through enemy lines as easily as taking candy from a baby. Who would dare to actually stand before him? What if he truly lacked martial ethics and launched a surprise attack, taking their heads?

As if anticipating their choice, after the cavalry shouted six times in succession, the loyalists, stretching to the horizon, suddenly erupted in loud laughter. Soldiers in each square were slapping their shields with swords and striking the ground with spears, mocking the enemy's cowardice and absurdity with the simplest and most unadorned laughter, mocking their cowardice and cowardice, mocking their ambition and treachery... It was in this most direct and purest emotion that anyone could clearly realize that even a new recruit who had just joined the legion was now laughing wildly. Their hearts, their will, their courage had never been so harmonious and unified.

As a result, the loyalists were immediately invigorated, while their opponents began to waver and hesitate. Amidst wave after wave of mockery, their momentum gradually lost its previous high spirits and calm, and they were already at a disadvantage before the battle even began.

This was naturally Tesorus's deliberate act. He held the moral high ground, so of course he had no reason not to use it... And the army's confidence and morale, though intangible and mysterious, were something that any qualified commander had to strive for and ensure. Now, he believed the time was ripe, the enemy's morale had been low, and it was time to engage them in battle.

"Tesorius! The sword that guides us!!"

"Kill! Kill!!"

His warriors cheered, eager for battle. They shouted his name, calling for his guidance. They longed to slaughter the enemy, to win victory and glory. They hoped he would lead them to take these things! To ravage these things!

So he began to respond. The horns sounded three times in succession, like the heavy breathing of some scaly beast, shaking the surrounding fallen leaves. Immediately, horns and drums echoed from every corner of the army, banners waving and conveying commands. The various phalanxes responded instantly, and by the time the horns shook the dust a fourth time, cheers resounded across the earth, and thousands upon thousands of iron boots began to advance—

Iron boots, made of layers of stacked iron plates, crushed the wild grass on the ground. Natamus flicked the parchment in his hand with interest. His warhorse snorted behind him and stretched its neck to nibble on the purple berries on the bushes.

"This surprised me a bit. I was just hoping to demoralize and throw their army into chaos. Who would have thought that Redbeard Yotserro would turn out like this?"

"...Perhaps now is the right time for us to make our move."

The old man beside him hesitated for a moment, as if he wanted to say something, but ultimately said nothing. After a slight pause, he uttered these words, and Natamus nodded in agreement:

"It's almost time. If we wait any longer, we'll be in trouble. It's best to make a move sooner rather than later."

Chapter 488 Battle (5)

A large, twisted snake was struggling desperately, but its life was visibly nearing its end—its brown wings had covered it like clouds, and its sharp claws covered with fine scales and its hook-like beak were tearing at its flesh.

The eagle soaring in the sky finally found its prey. Its sharp talons clamped down on the snake, which was as thick as a child's wrist. With its muscles and bones bulging, the eagle squeezed the flesh, making it creak and groan. Every time the snake tried to turn its head to fight back, it was blocked by the thick feathers, tough scales, and sharp beak that swooped down. The snake could only be slaughtered at the eagle's mercy.

Before long, the reptile was already tormented and covered in blood. The hungry eagle, however, was no longer willing to wait. While the reptile was still alive, it began to tear at its flesh, swallow and chew it, using its sharp, curved beak to rip out skin, flesh, intestines, and gallbladder together. Only its twitching and struggling tail still expressed a kind of tragic vitality.

For this eagle, it doesn't care how its prey is eaten, as long as it doesn't resist, it makes no difference. All it has to do is kill and eat it. Other than that, even if there are loud noises and bloody atmospheres around it, it is meaningless to it.

Arrows soaring into the sky use feathers for balance, tracing a long arc before plunging headfirst into the ground. Some pierce flesh, some bounce harmlessly off armor plates, some are buried in the earth, and some are even more cunning and vicious, able to penetrate the armor seams, pierce the skin and enter the flesh, causing continuous screams.

Overall, while crossbows were an indispensable military force in this era, they also had limitations in range. They could only be effective when the enemy got close enough. At this moment, they were just used to hold the line and let both sides know what was going on. They hadn't even started fighting yet, and both sides immediately retreated to avoid the other's range.

The battle between two armies of tens of thousands of men could not be decided overnight, and the astonishing number of armored soldiers on both sides meant that this would be a bitter battle that would not end easily.

For Tersolius, such a situation was rare since he joined the army and went to war... and the reason was obvious: the rebels he was facing were also the Imperial Legion guarding the north, equally well-equipped, well-trained, and battle-hardened. They were not the kind of opponents who could be easily found to have weaknesses.

Objectively speaking, it's hard to say that he has any advantage in terms of the strength he possesses. In fact, many of his subordinates are reserve recruits who have never actually served in the military. Once they enter the legion, they will be immediately thrown into what is arguably the most brutal battlefield of this era, to fight against the army that the empire has honed over many years.

Despite having a clear advantage in both manpower and training, the rebels still opted for an extremely conservative tactic. Their elite infantry formed square formations on the gentle slopes, creating an impenetrable wall of shields and steel, while archers fired under their protection. The surrounding area was filled with the menacing Kiel, who dared not take any risks. It seemed they intended to fight a drawn-out battle, hoping to wait for their opponents to come and suffer a crushing defeat.

This seems like a conservative and safe strategy that leaves no room for argument. Although it essentially loses the initiative on the battlefield, it is unlikely to suffer any major losses. If he were to launch a strong attack, even if he brought all the tens of thousands of elite troops he led in the south here, they would inevitably suffer heavy losses, being strangled and defeated in the array of copper walls, iron ramparts, and crossbows that he was so familiar with.

That's why he didn't rush to send the whole army to tackle such a tough nut to crack. Instead, he had already made preparations at the designated location, and it was time to launch the attack.

Whoosh! Swish! Whoosh!!

The sound of projectiles tearing through the air rang out above his head. In an instant, dozens of stone projectiles, each the size of a head, flew through the air, tracing long arcs before crashing squarely into the line of fire facing them. This immediately caused shields to shatter and screams to erupt. No matter what kind of armor it was, it was inevitably fragile under such kinetic energy. A gap was torn open in the line of fire, and the wounded and dead, with broken arms and legs and bleeding heads, scrambled and struggled within it.

The officers here reacted immediately, ordering men to drag the wounded away to fill the gaps in the formation. They moved quickly through the muddy blood and gore, and at that moment, a sharp whooshing sound swept overhead, then quickly disappeared into the distance, turning into a dozen black dots in the air as they rushed toward the enemy's formation—this was their engineering weapons beginning to unleash their power.

Contrary to their expectations, about half of the dozen or so stone projectiles landed in empty air, kicking up dust and grass clippings before falling silent. Only two or three actually injured anyone... Although it was considered lucky for a first test firing, the unexpected accuracy and sharpness of the opponent immediately widened the gap...

Experienced officers and generals immediately sensed something amiss... but could only console themselves that the enemy had just gotten lucky. They could only urge the craftsmen operating the engineering machinery to immediately calibrate it, preparing to demoralize the enemy.

Whoosh! — Click!

A craftsman standing in front of a catapult was using a long rod to turn the gears and press down the launch bar, but the next moment he screamed and fell to the ground, his face covered with splinters, which even blinded his left eye. The catapult he had just been operating was now a pile of broken wood, and a round stone projectile, about the size of a human head, was deeply embedded in the grass below.

The craftsmen around them were all speechless with astonishment. Before they could react, there were several more whooshing sounds in the air, followed by a hail of live bullets that rained down on them. The craftsmen fled in disarray, covering their heads, and the equipment they left behind was immediately destroyed.

The surrounding officers and generals were immediately thrown into panic. They could no longer deny what they had witnessed, yet they simply couldn't comprehend what was happening—how could the enemy's catapults fire so fast and so accurately? Didn't they need to reload?! How did they even aim?!

"Quick! Move faster! Adjust it three quarters to the lower left, it was slightly tilted upwards just now."

At that very moment, an old man wearing a turban stood calmly in the middle of the Empire's catapult position, directing operations. He held a long brass tube in his hand, looking around and shouting something to the side, while two assistants were writing and drawing on parchment, constantly calculating data according to his requirements.

Behind him, two waves of catapults were launching their attacks in shifts, constantly and precisely projecting the shadow of death into the enemy ranks, creating a bloodbath. Once they started, they took turns firing continuously, giving the enemy almost no respite and completely suppressing them from even showing their faces.

Bivis never imagined he would receive such a task, but in any case, his abilities were certainly sufficient to handle it. He hadn't even taught that girl, Talina, this skill, yet it unexpectedly came in handy today.

"Fifth on the left, your angle is off. Adjust it three quarters to the left and two quarters down!" With another precise micro-operation of the catapult's angle, the old man himself didn't even notice the smile that appeared on his lips, as if he had found some rare pleasure in this meticulous command.

"Third on the left! Fourth, sixth, and seventh, adjust upwards by three quarters of an hour to switch targets, hurry up!"

I took another look at the landing points of this round of shots. The old man was confident and spirited... while his opponent was not having such an easy time...

P.S.: I've been thinking about this for a long time, but I'm still not quite satisfied (||?_?) I've been having such a terrible writer's block these past few days.

Chapter 489 Battle (6)

"What do you mean our catapults have been completely destroyed!?"

Turias believed he must have been much calmer to avoid falling off his horse upon hearing the news, but even so, a storm of doubt immediately erupted around him. The rebels gathered here were seasoned soldiers and were certainly not fools; they didn't understand what this news meant.

Because of the wide formation, even though the catapult positions had been completely wiped out, they couldn't have known immediately. They could only see the stones flying back and forth until the messenger brought the news, at which point they realized what major event had happened without their knowledge! — The battle had only been going on for a few hours, and their longest-range and most powerful engineering machinery was already useless! They couldn't even put up a fight.

None of the other military equipment could match the range and power of the catapult. This meant that if they continued to maintain their tight formation, they would become sitting ducks, allowing the enemy to gain a huge advantage with the catapults. They were destined to suffer heavy losses and shake the morale of their troops.

In fact, this scene had already begun to appear... The sound of the stone projectiles whistling through the air could be clearly heard even from their position at this moment. When they landed in the formation, they broke bones and tore livers and brains to the ground, easily sending fully armed soldiers flying.

The shields were easily torn to shreds, and the heavy armor was as laughable as paper in this situation. Every volley of fire from the enemy meant at least dozens of casualties. They were like lambs to the slaughter, powerless to resist. Every time the mechanism was released, a small area of ​​a square was cleared. The unlucky ones inside were at best left with bloodied heads, lying on the ground convulsing.

The dense formation that had been an advantage in close-quarters combat had now become a death knell. Some of the lucky stone projectiles could even tear apart the arms of two or three people before losing momentum. Almost every shot was guaranteed to have an effect. The precious lives of the elite heavy soldiers were now being wasted in vain.

No army can withstand such attrition... This is not to say that they cannot withstand casualties, but that they cannot withstand such pointless casualties, where they can only stand and be beaten, and their deaths are considered meaningless. Even the most resilient morale will collapse under this continuous barrage of fire. It can be said that they have already fallen into a dangerous situation even before they have officially engaged in battle.

At first, the soldiers would quickly fill in the gaps in the formation according to the officers' orders to prevent them from showing any weakness in front of the strong enemy. However, as the formation was breached time and time again, even the officers in command began to hesitate, wondering whether they should send the soldiers to their deaths for an opponent who was still within an arrow's reach. The soldiers, who were originally on high alert, gradually began to waver.

They are undoubtedly elite professional soldiers, but they are still human and will eventually waver and hesitate. If the situation continues to develop in this way, they will undoubtedly face a crushing defeat, a defeat in which they have no chance of fighting back.

"We can't just wait here in comfort! If we wait any longer, morale will definitely plummet!"

A tall general emerged from among the rebels, clad in heavy armor with gilded decorations on his helmet. However, the plume on his helmet was a striking black, a stark contrast to the imperial legions—almost all the rebel legions wore this style to distinguish themselves from the imperial army. His face now betrayed his growing impatience.

"We originally planned to wait for them to come up on their own and then calmly inflict casualties, relying on our strong defensive formation to wear them down. That would have been foolproof. But if we continue like this now, we'll only be courting death. Without the cover of the catapults, we can only passively take hits. If we expose an opening and they charge in, we'll be completely finished. It's better to take advantage of our numerical superiority and push forward now. Maybe we still have a chance!"

Before the words were finished, another volley of stones flew past, landing in the infantry formation not far away. This time, however, the stones scattered upon impact! A tattered iron net flew far away, and the flying debris instantly knocked down a large section of the formation, causing a corner of the formation to collapse.

These are stone fragments specifically designed to kill personnel. A single shot can cause combat casualties that are unparalleled in the past. Although they are not as likely to be fatal as live ammunition, they can easily cause injuries that render people unable to move. Being hit in the chest by a stone shot from hundreds of paces away would be excruciating even if you were wearing armor and lining. Forget about fighting, even walking would be a luxury.

Having confirmed that there were no fortifications or equipment to destroy, the catapult troops did not hesitate to switch to shrapnel shells to kill personnel, which immediately increased their efficiency. A military formation in front, which was being bombarded by dense fire, began to waver and panic, and was about to collapse. The dead and wounded could not even be properly transported to the rear.

No one knows why the Empire's catapults are so accurate—as if every stone projectile had eyes! Often, a single volley of fire would destroy several catapults, leaving them utterly helpless. Even the craftsmen who operated the catapults suffered heavy losses, leaving only shattered wood behind.

What chilled them even more was that this almost divine accuracy had not diminished in the slightest. Almost every shot hit its mark, relentlessly ravaging their formation and causing them, who had initially been quite confident, to panic.

Almost everyone knew that the general was telling the truth. After all, they were not incompetent fools who knew nothing about military affairs, or rather, such fools would not have the courage to do such a thing. Therefore, they all realized the seriousness of the problem and knew that they should make a decision immediately... but no one dared to actually do it.

The opponent, Thesolius, oppressed them all equally, creating immense psychological pressure on each of them. They all knew that his goal was to force them to take the initiative and engage in battle, thereby losing their advantage of being well-rested and prepared. If they actually did that, they would be playing right into the opponent's hands. To fight according to the opponent's plan would undoubtedly be the most foolish and terrifying thing...

Having reached this point, there was no turning back; failure would mean utter ruin. Therefore, almost no one could make that decision… or rather, there wasn't a single person among them who could truly unite everyone, suppress dissent, and make a real decision, not even Turials, the one they nominally intended to enthrone as emperor.

After all, there was no hierarchy among them; they were just a group of people gathered together for the sake of interests and ambitions. Although they had been closely connected before, when it came to the crucial moment, none of them could make a decision with absolute certainty. It would take a lot of persuasion to actually make a decision.

But at this moment, they are required to make a decision immediately. Every moment of hesitation means incurring further losses, forcing them to act hastily.

For a moment, the dozen or so people there were in an uproar, some in agreement and some against, each with their own reasons, and they argued heatedly, their faces flushed, due to some inexplicable panic... But fortunately, they did not continue arguing indefinitely. In the end, it was Turials, the emperor who nominally commanded them, who reluctantly made a decision. At this time, a quarter of an hour had passed since they received the news of the catapult position being destroyed...

Thus, less than half a day into the battle, the rebels could no longer maintain their composure, began to reorganize their formation, and had no choice but to launch an offensive.

Fortunately, they remain confident in today's victory. After all, they are far from being the decisive force in this war, and even if they suffer a temporary setback here, there is still much they can do.

Thesolius, standing on a high hill, immediately noticed this sign and knew that the opportunity for battle had appeared. He raised his right hand and waved it to the left, and his attendants immediately obeyed, waving flags, blowing horns, and beating war drums.

The prey has been forced into the hunting grounds; now it's time to bleed it and skin it.

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The scorching sun beat down mercilessly on every inch of the ground, causing the tips of the wild grasses to curl up and making it almost impossible to breathe.

Thomas, panting, took off his helmet, and after thinking for a moment, simply removed the hood underneath as well, letting his curly flaxen hair steam in the shade of the tree—the sweat inside his hair was evaporating.

He wasn't a native of Salanod, so he found it hard to get used to the hot and humid climate... His hometown was near the north, where it was cold and dry for most of the year, and even in the hottest weather, he dared to wear a cotton armor... But here, he had an urge to strip naked and jump into the water.

Of course, he couldn't do that. After all, he was a mercenary who was paid to do things. He couldn't take off his armor in such a dangerous situation. Just like a blacksmith can't pick up a red-hot iron without pliers, doing something so stupid would make him a laughingstock even if he died.

Someone like him, who makes a living from war, naturally has to understand the rules of war. Therefore, he is also very clear that war is inherently a difficult thing, and it has never been easy. Many times, one has to endure it.

A swarm of buzzing greenbottle flies buzzed around him, then swarmed over and landed on a bone that had been gnawed clean. They stretched out their long mouths to suck up any remaining oil or grease. At the same time, a wave of intense heat hit him. He could almost feel the sweat pouring from the pores of his scalp and being absorbed into his hair. The lining of his clothes was already stuck to his skin, damp and wrinkled, making him feel incredibly uncomfortable.

"Damn king, damn middleman, and damn Kurist barbarians!..."

He gritted his teeth and muttered a curse under his breath, trying several times to reach up and pull open the collar of his armor—mercenary crossbowmen like him had a good set of chainmail, while the less fortunate ones only had armor, made of cotton cloth, soft and close-fitting, which could serve as a lining for armor and could also block arrows of weak force or ordinary sword slashes, but that was all.

After several attempts, Thomas finally gave up, even though he was sweating profusely and almost unable to breathe... He wasn't unfamiliar with hot places, but none were as hot and dangerous as this. His fellow countryman, who had come with him, had been pierced through the throat by an arrow shot from afar just yesterday... Those elusive Imperial cavalry hadn't stopped harassing them for the past two days, and after seeing the price of carelessness, he was willing to endure the heat a little longer, since he could lie down in a cool place tonight anyway.

Mercenaries like him who survive the first year quickly become afraid of death. After all, those reckless young men who are not afraid of death cannot survive to this point. This armor can at least save his life from arrows shot from horse archers when he is caught off guard. He does not want to regret not being more cautious when he is shot through.

His crossbow lay beside him, along with his enormous shield—when loading the crossbow, he would turn his back to the shield behind him to protect himself from stray arrows. Sometimes he would also stand it upright on the ground as a proper shield. Although it was heavy and massive, it had saved his life more than once.

The small leather pouch at his waist contained 25 crossbow bolts, five of which were unusable and damaged, awaiting repair at the army craftsman's. He, meanwhile, had managed to steal a moment to rest in the shade of a large tree… if all went well, he could slack off there until the afternoon sun weakened… if all went well…

Whoosh! —Thump…

A lacquered arrow grazed his ear and embedded itself in a tree trunk, its tip still trembling. The feathers on it were perfectly intact, as if it were sighing with regret, grieving that it had not drunk any blood.

He froze for a moment, then, noticing the massive black shadow appearing on the distant horizon, he shuddered. Even the sweat that was beading on his skin seemed to evaporate. He sprang to his feet like a flea, grabbed his crossbow and shield, and scrambled behind a tree, shouting at the top of his lungs:

"Those bastards are coming again! Get ready, get ready!!"

The camp immediately erupted in a commotion. The soldiers, already dizzy from the sun, forced themselves to stay alert and prepared to give the cavalry a good beating... But then they realized that the situation was not quite what they had expected... The commotion was a bit too big!

Chapter 490 Battle (7)

A layer of white sweat quickly broke out on his body, as cold as well water, making him shudder uncontrollably. He shivered two or three times before calming down... Recalling the arrow that had just grazed his face, how could he not understand that he had unknowingly escaped with his life again?

Of course, the arrow might have been blocked by the brim of his helmet, but it was more likely that it grazed the helmet and pierced his eye. After all, he had his head tilted back, making him more vulnerable to being shot in the face. At that moment, he could only feel lucky and then carefully hid his head behind the tree trunk.