Cataphracts, surviving in a world full of mods

The next moment, several arrows fell like raindrops, embedding themselves in the tree trunk. Their tails vibrated like the wings of a male bee, piercing the bark and biting into the tree. Some grazed the trunk and fell to the ground beside it, but thanks to his cautious foresight, he was unharmed.

A whooshing sound came from afar, kicking up clouds of yellow dust as it passed by a hundred paces from their camp. The horses' hooves thundered on the ground, and the cavalry, maintaining an extremely sparse formation, moved like lightning. In the process, they turned sideways to draw their bows and nocked arrows, scattering them into the camp in front of them. They could even turn back and fire arrows as they moved away.

Most people know they should stay hidden behind the wooden fence at this time to avoid being shot. But there are always some fools who don't know their place and run around everywhere... And because of the hot weather, not everyone has the same professional ethics as him. He watched as a guy who had taken off his chainmail was shot into a pincushion. When he fell to the ground, he twitched slightly, some bloody foam came out of his throat, and then he was still.

"What a stupid death," he thought to himself, then hid behind a tree, braced his foot against the trigger ring of the crossbow, and used all his strength to open it, placing a bolt about the length of his forearm on it. He held it down with his thumb to prevent it from falling, then stealthily peeked out from the side of the tree, waiting for an opening. He watched as the cavalry slowed down slightly as they turned, then pulled the string and fired—and naturally, he passed right by his target. The cavalryman was so frightened that he instinctively ducked to avoid the bolt, hanging on the side of his saddle and using his horse's body as cover.

Such skillful horsemanship opened his eyes; it was as nimble as a mouse darting around an oil lamp… but unfortunately, it was all in vain; his arrow had missed its mark. Expecting him to hit a fast-moving cavalryman with a single crossbow bolt was wishful thinking. To achieve an effective strike, at least ten or more crossbows would need to fire simultaneously, covering an area. Of course, if hundreds could fire together, they could easily drive away and severely damage the cavalry, but that wasn't possible now. He figured firing a few arrows by himself was enough to justify the money the king had given him.

Scattered arrows began to fly from the surrounding towers, but the Imperial cavalry maintained extremely wide intervals and a very sparse formation, while their horses never stopped pounding the ground. So only two or three unlucky riders were hit and fell from their horses; the rest continued firing arrows around the camp, seemingly relentless. It appeared to be another routine harassment.

This had become commonplace these past few days. Even in the sweltering heat, they would always find a chance to pop up and cause trouble. Although it was incredibly annoying, he had gotten used to it and wasn't too worried. He figured it would be over soon, and he could continue to hide behind the tree and slack off.

The others shared similar thoughts. They had long since given up on the idea of ​​winning a battle and were now just trying to get by. Even routine patrols had become perfunctory, and they were just waiting for the day when that king, that red-haired bastard, couldn't afford to pay anymore, at which point they would all scatter.

Yes, at least these mercenaries have completely lost any respect or awe for that king... and he sees the other soldiers much the same way. After all, they're not after some damned king, but for real money. In the past, he paid them, so they were willing to follow him; if there were no money, no one would be so foolish as to risk their lives on the battlefield... Now, the term "red-haired bastard" has become completely ubiquitous in the army, and anyone can use it to insult someone... Of course, no one dares to use it too openly.

As Thomas counted his money and the days went by, he silently waited for the two cavalry squads to make a fool of themselves and leave... But just then, he suddenly heard a commotion coming from the side, and he was surprised to peek out again.

"Open the door and let us go out and teach these disgusting flies a lesson!!"

The knight stationed at their camp was currently berating the gatekeepers with a furious expression, followed by more than 50 mounted soldiers, each carrying a long spear and shield, wearing chainmail neck guards and nose guards, and more than 30 mounted archers—almost using up all the horses in the camp.

The guard hesitated before speaking:

"But sir, the king has ordered us not to pursue them without authorization. These guys have been coming every day for the past two days. In a little while, they'll find there's no opening and slink away on their own..."

"I'm just afraid they'll run away!"

Upon hearing the king's command, a look of impatience flashed across the knight's face, but he then spun his horse around and insisted:

"If they keep harassing us like this, when will it ever end! I'm going out to teach them a lesson. Open the door now!"

Thomas immediately saw through the excuse... That knight was no saint willing to serve his country. His current agitated state clearly indicated that he wanted to vent his anger. He probably thought that the reconnaissance squad of only a dozen people was easy prey and wanted to use his numerical superiority to wipe them out.

He almost instinctively felt that something was amiss... but in the end, he said nothing and did nothing. He simply shrank back into the shadow of the tree trunk, full of doubt. After all, even if he spoke, no one would listen, and what did it have to do with him? Just a hot-headed knight, who cared whether he lived or died.

As expected, the guards soon couldn't withstand the knight's shouts and urging and opened the gate. The knight, who was prepared, and his mounted soldiers immediately spurred their horses out and charged straight at the small group of Imperial cavalry that had come to harass them.

Caught off guard, the Imperial cavalry showed obvious signs of panic. Some even frantically scattered arrows from their quivers and turned to flee without hesitation, showing no intention of fighting back. This only fueled the anger of the leading knight, who roared and cursed these cowards in his eyes. He spurred his horse into pursuit without hesitation, and his soldiers followed after him after only a brief hesitation. Clearly, they would not rest until they achieved some success.

Everyone else stood behind the stockade wall, waiting to see when this farce would end... In their view, the knights would most likely return empty-handed; those cavalrymen ran faster than the wind, and trying to catch them was just wishful thinking.

In this chase, the two groups quickly raced towards a distant mountain peak. Several times, the Imperial cavalry seemed to slow down due to their horses' exhaustion, as if a little more effort would be enough to overtake them. This fueled the knight's excitement, driving him to spur his horse on, trying to plunge his lance into his opponent's back… It seemed like this would continue indefinitely, and he felt he would eventually succeed—until he saw his opponent suddenly turn around, revealing a taut shoulder, a drawn hornbow, and a gleaming arrow. Only then did he realize the gravity of the situation and instinctively duck his head.

Ding!

The arrow bounced off his smooth helmet, the steel arrowhead leaving a small hole in the steel. The impact traveled to his neck, causing his head to tilt back, but it didn't penetrate his eye socket. However, it made him feel uneasy.

As if in response to his premonition, a sudden burst of hoofbeats echoed from the nearby forest. Then, to his horror, another troop of Imperial cavalry charged out from the flank, their gleaming steel spears aimed directly at their pursuers! They gave them no chance to react, charging straight at them. Their gleaming helmets and chainmail shone brightly in the sunlight, their feathers fluttering like birds.

Unsurprisingly, the unprepared soldiers suffered heavy losses upon their charge. The entire column was torn to pieces, with countless men having their chests pierced and throats ripped open by spears. Countless others were pushed off their horses and trampled in the impact. In an instant, more than half of the soldiers he had brought with him were lost. The remaining soldiers were being swiftly and systematically slaughtered, cut down by blades, their heads smashed by warhammers, and their arms broken by flails. Those who finally came to their senses turned and fled without hesitation. Only the knights, after charging a few more steps, frantically and bewilderedly reined in their horses, but it was already too late.

The fleeing men were precisely killed by arrows shot from behind, while a lasso flew from behind and looped around their necks, fitting perfectly into the gap between their helmets and chainmail neck guards. The other end of the lasso was already tied to the saddle of their warhorse.

"drive!!"

He only had time to frantically wed his fingers between the rope and the neck guard when a terrifying force came from behind, dragging his heavy, armored body directly off the warhorse and slamming him to the ground. He was then quickly dragged away in the direction he had come from, scraping against the grass and dirt.

At this moment, the distant camp was in an uproar. The soldier standing on the watchtower clearly saw the pursuing cavalry suddenly engulfed by a red vortex and wiped out in no time. Everyone was stunned and speechless, staring at the guy being dragged on the ground screaming in the blazing sun... He had a strong premonition—something big was about to happen.

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"Please forgive my bluntness, Your Majesty, but these so-called bite marks actually look more like abrasions, nothing special. You probably bumped into something by accident..."

The man wearing a silk cap wiped the sweat from his forehead as he spoke cautiously. His fingers were intertwined, each finger smooth and white, giving his hands a uniquely delicate appearance, without a single rough spot. Clearly, he had never done heavy physical labor. The bottles and jars beside him further revealed his identity—a physician who served the king.

The man before him was pale, his red hair a tangled mess, like a bird's nest bursting open, his beard spreading wildly like weeds, his clothes wrinkled and dirty, stained with grease, making him look disheveled and slovenly—but the eye that peeked out from under his hair was frighteningly bright, flashing with a fierce light like a hungry wolf, a venomous snake, and a ferocious lion, sending chills down one's spine, and revealing a faint, indescribable madness, yet it was extremely well hidden, like smooth scales gliding through the grass.

The physician who had served the king for many years keenly noticed this and realized that His Majesty's mind was probably on the verge of a complete breakdown. He was even neurotic, believing that a dog had bitten him on the head and left several marks, and insisted that he come to confirm it.

But no matter how he looked at it, it didn't look like the marks left by teeth. It looked more like some rough thing had rubbed against the skin, leaving wounds and scabs with a dotted distribution. No matter how much teeth bit, it certainly wouldn't look like that.

The king's flesh twitched, and he suddenly turned his head, staring fiercely at his physician, who turned pale and broke out in a cold sweat... After a while, he suddenly sighed, turned his head back, and waved for the physician to leave. The physician was overjoyed and rushed out of the tent without even bothering to collect the pile of bottles and jars, leaving the king alone in the tent.

He didn't know what was wrong with him. That damned stray dog ​​kept haunting him. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see that ugly, sickly, crippled dog, which would spout nonsensical nonsense, keeping him awake night after night, his eyes bloodshot, his temples throbbing… The enemy had clearly begun their attack, yet he was still entangled with a stray dog ​​that had appeared out of nowhere!

Chapter 491 Battle (8)

The red glazed tiles have a crystal-clear glaze that is impervious to water and fire, and are sturdy and durable. Even after hundreds or thousands of years, time will not leave many marks on them. But at this moment, they are scorching hot under the sun, to the point that they cannot be touched.

The imperial capital, located on the central plains, while not as hot and humid as the southern countries, was far from mild. At midday, when the sun was at its scorching, anyone walking the streets would be put through a trial. A sweltering wind swept through most corners of the city, leaving one parched and thirsty.

The capital's garrison has already set out with General Tersolius to quell the rebellion. Now, the newly formed garrison is responsible for maintaining order in the city. Compared to their predecessors, they lack experience and are only full of enthusiasm and fervor. They have caused quite a bit of trouble in the city, but overall, it is still within a tolerable range.

The emperor's guards were increasingly appearing in the city, some even serving as officers in the new legions, maintaining strict military control over the city. Even pedestrians were becoming increasingly scarce, not to mention the countless vendors and merchants of the past... Even the most careless and foolish person would become cautious in this atmosphere. Staying home was a safe choice, at least in most cases.

Of course, this situation cannot continue indefinitely. A city of this size needs thriving commercial activity to maintain its vitality. In the long run, it will inevitably have a devastating impact on the prosperity of the capital. People with foresight generally know that such a blockade will soon end.

The only exception to the lockdown was the convoys responsible for transporting food—the residents of the capital, though they produced enormous wealth, could not produce basic necessities and were entirely dependent on external supplies… This was the only thing that could not be stopped for long; if it stopped, there would be shortages, and shortages would immediately trigger unrest.

The pumpkins, still covered in mud and dew, were steamed until tender. After peeling off any tough outer skin, they were mashed into a smooth puree with a spoon. A little salt and butter, along with tender fish that had been steamed long ago, were added. After mixing well, the mixture was left to cool on the table.

This carefully prepared food is not particularly delicious for adults; the sparse seasonings are so little that some people cannot even taste it, making it taste bland. However, it is just right for babies, offering a novel and unique flavor.

Felhitara, sitting in a soft leather-covered chair, stared wide-eyed at the woman in front of her. In her watery, obsidian-like black eyes, there was the purest and cleanest emotion of an infant. Her chubby little hands gripped the soft leather of the chair, as if trying to use it for support to get up, but she could not manage it and could only make anxious babbling sounds.

This was an invitation that the emperor could not refuse, so she almost immediately smiled and took the child out of the chair, carefully kneading the small, soft body and pressing her face against the chubby cheeks. Ferhitara showed no sign of resistance or discomfort, but simply watched her with curious eyes.

Her brother, on the other hand, was a completely different story—he was also in a round-backed soft leather chair, which firmly surrounded him like a fence, but the little guy was still resisting in his own way. Whenever a spoon was put into his mouth with soft pumpkin puree, he would swallow some of it and then spit out the rest with a pout, making his mouth all over with it, and then laugh happily.

Christina was already used to the boy's mischief, so she simply scraped the pumpkin puree off his mouth with a spoon and fed it back into his mouth. The noisy tug-of-war between mother and son eventually ended with Ikosoya's defeat, and he had no choice but to eat his meal obediently.

In no time, the small bowl of pumpkin puree was all gone into the baby's belly, and the servants brought another bowl kept warm in a hood. The emperor also moved his chair forward two steps and stood right next to Ristina to feed the already well-behaved Felsitara.

The servants were cleaning up the splattered pumpkin puree on the chair next to them, while the mischievous boy was being picked up and teased by the experienced lady-in-waiting. Watching her daughter eat as soon as she was fed, Christina said with a hint of helplessness:

“Ikosoya is full of energy, but perhaps a little too much. This kid is always going against me. When he gets a little older, he’ll definitely get beaten up every day.”

"It's okay for the boy to be a little naughty; at least it proves he's healthy, and he'll definitely become an excellent general in the future."

The emperor held the little girl's wrist, which was only as thick as two of his fingers, feeling its soft texture. Every movement of her little hand brought an unexpected and vibrant joy, making the emperor not want to let the little girl go at all.

Another spoonful of pumpkin puree was fed to the little guy, who opened his mouth and bit the spoon along with it, but because he didn't have many teeth, he couldn't hold it in place and only left the puree in his mouth.

"You're already hoping he'll grow up to be a general?"

"Otherwise what? You're a family of generals."

The emperor smiled and hugged the child in his arms tighter, raising an eyebrow at Christina:

“I believe he is no worse than his father and Tersolius… Even if he is not as good as them, even half of their abilities would be enough to make any emperor take notice of him. They will become pillars of the country… I believe this from the bottom of my heart.”

"Who can say what the future holds..." After feeding her daughter the last bite of pumpkin puree, Christina placed the porcelain bowl on the table beside her. A servant immediately took it away and brought a soft cotton towel for cleaning. Christina wiped her daughter's mouth with a somewhat disappointed expression.

“I have only seen my two children’s father a few times since they were born. I know there’s nothing I can do about it, but I still feel a little regretful… What’s the situation with the war in the West? I haven’t heard anything about it for a long time.”

"Everything is going smoothly." The emperor smiled, his eyes narrowing.

"Don't you know how capable those brothers are? Stop worrying about all this nonsense. The reinforcements are arriving one after another, and everything will be alright."

"I understand."

Ristina nodded solemnly, then reached out and took her daughter. Ferncitara was somewhat reluctant, stubbornly trying to turn her head away, still staring straight at the emperor.

“Your responsibility is great, Your Majesty… I also believe that you will continue to solve problems as always, but if necessary, do not forget that I can also be of use.”

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

"Military intelligence from the West, Your Majesty."

The man in black handed over the parchment scroll with both hands. The emperor took it, then waved it away. After hesitating for three breaths, he finally untied the ribbon on it... and then breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thank goodness, it's about what I expected... In that case—"

A faint crimson glint flashed in the emperor's eyes, silently transforming those lava-colored pupils into something dangerous:

"Then there's nothing to wait for."

Chapter 492 Battle (9)

He took two deep breaths to calm his heart and pursed his lips tightly, trying to get rid of the dryness in his mouth. Although his view was constantly moving forward, he could not clearly feel the sensation of each step he took. He only felt stiff all over and dazed.

He knew what was wrong with him... just like those classic cases he used to ridicule, he was tense and afraid at this moment.

Realizing this, his shame burned like wildfire in his heart, his cheeks, covered by armor, were burning hot. He tried to force himself back to normal, but found that the more he forced himself, the more counterproductive it was.

He recalled how he had boasted to his drinking buddies with such arrogance... Back then, it seemed that if he had just one chance, he could immediately achieve great things, lead his legion to defeat the barbarians, and become famous.

But now, he has finally gotten his wish, but he is so stiff that he has almost forgotten how to walk. It is only because of his strict training that he dares not stop and relies on instinct to keep up with the drumbeats so as not to disrupt the formation.

He was acutely aware that he might die here today… Just now, a comrade-in-arms he had only known for a few days, but who had also drunk with him, was incredibly unlucky to have his throat pierced by a stray arrow… His misfortune was somewhat dramatic, but there was nothing he could say about it.

The sound of the marching drum was deep and clear, each beat almost piercing his internal organs. Although his mind was completely blank, the instinct ingrained in his bones since childhood still made him follow the drumbeat and take steps. Despite his anxiety, he knew very well that as long as he stood here, he had no other choice.

So despite his stiff limbs, he did not hesitate at all; despite his dazed state, he did not procrastinate. At this moment, he was more like a meticulously crafted machine than a human being, operating in an orderly manner according to a predetermined program. His slightest wavering was only allowed to be hidden in his heart.

He stepped forward, and continued forward. He had to execute orders decisively before receiving them. The leather end of the iron staff in his right hand, meant to prevent slipping, was soaked with sweat from his palms. The shield in his left hand concealed his body according to standard tactical movements. His skirt armor rubbed against his inner lining with each step. The shadow cast by his helmet obscured his view from above and to the sides, but his front remained wide and clear enough.

Forward, keep forward, swallowing his fear and wavering like bitter wine. The chaos continued, leading to emptiness, until finally his mind was almost blank, thinking of nothing, only knowing to keep moving forward.

And so, he finally saw the enemy he was about to face, and together with his comrades, they charged forward and engaged them in battle.

In an instant, the steel forest of halberds and spears clashed violently, steel against steel, flesh against flesh, creating a bloody storm in a flash.

…………，…………

Step forward to lure your opponent into a reckless attack, then retreat slightly at just the right moment to dodge the axe that comes crashing down. Seize the opportunity to strike the opponent's wrist with your shield, causing their weapon to fall off. Then swing your iron staff and hammer the side of the helmet. With a piercing sound of metal clashing, the sturdy spikes are instantly embedded.

With a successful strike, the already battered Steel could no longer withstand the terrifying power of the warhammer. He could clearly feel his bones breaking under the pressure of the steel, and his opponent rolled his eyes and fell forward, his eyeballs almost popping out of their sockets.

Before his opponent fell, he had already begun to retreat, making sure he did not stray outside the formation. He used his comrades' cover to engage the enemy, skillfully and ruthlessly slaughtering his opponents, crushing their bones with refined and cunning movements.

A warhammer, or rather an iron staff... a weapon of immense power and easy to master. If you strike it with all your might, anyone would have to be careful. However, because of its forward center of gravity, its length is far less than that of a sword or blade to ensure proper handling. To use it well requires a lot of hard work and practice... but for him, it was as nimble as a finger.

Luca once served in the Northern Third Army Corps. As a heavy infantryman who was the backbone of the corps, he made outstanding contributions and won considerable rewards. When he retired, he not only received a large sum of money for resettlement, but also a generous position.

And so, he calmly established himself in the empire's capital, later marrying, having children, and settling down with some property. While not extremely wealthy, he was content to live a carefree life and lay a solid foundation for his good-for-nothing son's future.

He no longer had any reason to fight, and his contributions to the country were beyond reproach. He had achieved all his life's goals, and he could now enjoy a life of unparalleled happiness.

But after receiving General Tersolius's summons and hearing the news, he still set off... He silently cleaned his shield, polished his warhammer, which he had used for more than ten years, replaced it with a sturdy oak handle, and even went to a blacksmith he knew to nail reinforced steel bars on it to prevent it from being cut by swords.

And so he bid farewell to his wife and children. The no-longer-young Luca was just as simple as when he first left the village as a blacksmith's apprentice, except that back then he was carrying a hammer for forging iron and wearing worn-out shoes with exposed toes.