Cataphracts, surviving in a world full of mods

Chapter 505 Ending (1)

While a king was being captured by his servants, a thousand miles away, a large army was being ravaged, collapsing like rolling boulders from a mountain, with rivers of blood flowing and screams echoing everywhere, and was completely unable to maintain its strength.

As news of Turials's beheading spread like wildfire, the rebels' precarious lines finally crumbled, utterly destroyed in an instant. The entire formation collapsed, swallowed by the Imperial army. Each assault, each tear, left behind countless drops of blood and severed limbs, a cacophony of swords, axes, spears, and lances. In that brief moment, the dead had already surpassed the casualties inflicted by hours of relentless, grueling fighting, and the death toll was rapidly escalating.

One flees, another pursues; one is cowardly, the other courageous. This naturally creates a scene resembling a one-sided massacre. Those who follow their instincts and turn to run are often the ones who die the fastest, because what lies before them is not an unobstructed road, but a crowded, chaotic mass of people. They often have nowhere to escape, are in complete disarray, and are then calmly slaughtered by the pursuing enemy.

Collapse and scattering on the battlefield have always been a major test of a general's ability. Those who have truly experienced battles know that maintaining an orderly retreat during a defeat is the method with the least casualties and the lowest cost. However, when it comes to this, not everyone can do it. Many people become blank-minded and lose their senses when they collapse, failing to preserve their strength as much as possible, and often suffer a complete defeat.

Witnessing such a horrific scene, the Kiel, who had just been fiercely fighting the Imperial light cavalry, suddenly became hesitant and retreated. They rapidly lost their morale and fighting spirit, no longer taking the initiative to fight. Instead, they began to gather their scouts and hesitated at a distance.

They had fought quite hard before, suffering considerable losses in the process... This was certainly not because they had any loyalty to the empire's rebels, but simply because they hoped to recoup their losses in one fell swoop after a successful operation. Now that the rebels were about to be completely annihilated, why would they be willing to continue scattering the blood and bones of their tribe?

So, not long after, the Kiel people, who had completely lost their morale, also began to retreat. However, since their organization had not yet been broken up, their retreat was quite orderly, and they all rode fast horses, making them much more composed than the rebels.

But with no force to stop the imperial cavalry, the fleeing rebels were immediately pursued and killed by the cavalry. In an instant, blood flowed like rivers, corpses piled up like mountains, broken armor and weapons were everywhere, and the piled-up corpses even formed small hills. Broken and burning flags fluttered in the wind like withered grass, and the still twitching corpses were trampled by horses' hooves and human feet.

Meanwhile, Tersolius continued to lead his cavalry in relentless charges, tearing apart the battle groups that could still barely organize a resistance, impaling their generals on spears, trampling their banners into the mud, killing men and horses covered in blood. Many of their spears had broken from the intense use, but they had no time to go back and replace them, and were chasing after the fleeing enemy with short weapons.

Only the spear in his hand, due to its exceptional quality, remained undamaged. The blade was covered in blood, which he had wiped twice before ignoring it. Upon closer inspection, one could see fragments of flesh and blood stuck in the crevices and carved protrusions, with layers of blood plasma congealing on it, making the spearhead look like a gruesome sight straight out of the Cthulhu Mythos.

With a long exhale, Tersolius twirled the blade of his spear with one hand, causing the bits of flesh to fly off. However, the blood plasma remained on it, solidified like a layer of lacquer, requiring cleaning and polishing afterward.

He thrust his spear into the ground, placed his feet in the stirrups to elevate himself slightly, and looked up at the rebel army's collapsed formation. Watching his own legion wreak havoc and slaughter on all sides, he finally felt completely at ease.

Although he was confident of victory beforehand, the battle was indeed quite arduous. He estimated that both of his legions had suffered considerable losses, but now, in the pursuit, they were all in disarray and it was impossible to take a count.

Throughout, he used rather simple and straightforward tactics, but they were effective enough... However, according to his calculations, to truly bring the enemy to this point of collapse, he needed to add more fuel to the fire, and Turials' death was just the perfect tinder, instantly igniting the situation and causing it to collapse completely.

If his guess was correct, the one who made the move was the head of the henchmen who had been sent out to carry out this mission long ago, and who seized the opportunity perfectly... A combination of factors led to his current victory.

And then, he had to continue killing.

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

The morning sun always seems weak, only bringing a slight warmth, and is not yet able to dispel the chill of the night. When it emerges from the mountains, it casts countless red rays that illuminate the plains piled high with corpses.

Large flocks of crows and bloodthirsty mosquitoes joined the feast. Even the darkness of night could not hinder their movements. Countless flies, like a black veil, flew up and fell from the pile of corpses, scurrying around with the footsteps of the soldiers clearing the battlefield, crawling all over the sticky blood and the already rotting internal organs and limbs.

On the side of the battlefield, near the forest, several huge pits have been dug, each a hundred paces long and wide, and deeper than a well. They are now filled with corpses, layer upon layer, and the number is still increasing. The pungent smell of blood is making many people feel dizzy and disoriented.

Beside this large pit, the number of corpses continued to increase... Among the captured rebels, all the officers were carefully selected and executed, starting with the captain and above. At this moment, executioners stood by with long axes, mechanically chopping off the heads of the officers being brought up one by one. The moment the heads were severed, they would fall into the pit, and the corpses would be kicked in as well. Before the blood had even cooled, soil would already be covering them.

Most of the rebel officers just knelt down dejectedly, waiting to die. They begged for mercy a few times, but when they realized there was no hope, they stopped. Many of them, on the other hand, were hurling insults and profanities, which did not affect the soldiers' calm and methodical beheading of them one after another.

There was no pardon. No matter how noble their families were or how arrogant they had been, at this moment, their heads fell into the same pit without discrimination. Only those generals who had been esteemed elders were imprisoned in prison carts because they had other uses for them. The massacre continued until the sun was high in the sky before it finally ended. The first two of the several pits of corpses that were dug up had already begun to be filled in.

A faint red mist permeated the air, significantly weakening the sunlight. Tersolius finally opened his eyes, recovering from yesterday's exhaustion.

Chapter 506 Ending (2)

As Thesolius opened his eyes in the blood-soaked morning, he was fully awake by the third time his eyelids closed. His blood-stained armor had only been roughly cleaned, and as expected, it would take a long time to clean. Although the complex and intricately layered armor plates had excellent defensive capabilities, if bloodstains seeped in, it would take considerable effort to clean them properly.

However, it's not good to leave it uncleaned either, as the salt and other components in the blood can easily cause the steel armor plates to rust. If you're careless, you can easily turn a set of precious steel armor into useless rubble.

Fortunately, given his status, he didn't need to worry about it personally. His robes had already been changed and washed. At this moment, he was lying on a reed mat, covered with a wool blanket, and sat up from the bed with his entire upper body bare. Sunlight streamed through the tent's windowpanes, making his skin shine like a fine bronze statue. His jet-black hair stood up in a messy manner.

He lifted the blanket and stepped onto the ground, still covered in grass and mud. Thales got up, ran his fingers through his hair, walked to the brass basin, wet a towel, and wiped his face and upper body. He then changed into the clean robe draped beside him, put on socks and boots, and finally lifted the curtain to go outside.

The pungent stench of blood was inescapable; the putrid smell of rotting corpses mingled with a cacophony of other foul odors, almost suffocating. Beside the massive burial pit, heads were being kicked into the pit like tattered sacks; the thick, dark crimson blood was so dense that not a ray of light could penetrate it, resembling some cruel shroud scattered across the land.

The massive task of clearing this battlefield was destined to last a long time. Not only soldiers from the two legions were mobilized, but also many laborers from nearby villages were conscripted to collect armor and weapons from this vast mountain of corpses and sea of ​​blood, drag corpses, and steal a moment to glance at the commotion beside the mass graves.

After all, although they often saw prisoners being executed, they had never seen a person being beheaded so quiet, as if someone had called him to dinner and he calmly and slowly walked to the table, except that there was an axe above his head waiting to chop off his head.

Of course, most of them remained calm, but a small number still displayed the ugly behavior of ordinary prisoners. Some were furious and cursed, while others wept and begged for mercy on their knees.

But when their heads were chopped off, they all looked pretty much the same—with a shudder, it was as if their souls flew away with their heads, and the gushing blood washed over the ground and grass beneath their feet. Their limbs twitched slightly and then stopped moving.

Just as he stepped out, the execution of the traitorous officers was drawing to a close. Only four men remained, covered in mud and blood, kneeling beside the executioner's axe, awaiting the executioner's blow. The first man in line had already been dragged to the blood-soaked ground. The next executioner immediately raised his axe, the gleaming steel blade flicking away the remaining blood droplets, ready to strike again.

At that very moment, the officer, who was waiting to die, suddenly caught a glimpse of a tall and imposing figure out of the corner of his eye. Instantly, he felt a jolt of inspiration, and a sharp idea burst forth in his mind, instantly breaking through his previous despondency. He subconsciously turned his head to say something... But this dodge caused him a great deal of suffering—the executioner's axe grazed his ear, slicing open half of his jaw, leaving half of his face a bloody mess, and also cutting off a piece of flesh from his shoulder.

This injury would normally render someone incapacitated on the spot, but at this moment he couldn't care less about that—a chance to survive had appeared before him, and he had to seize it regardless of whether he succeeded or not.

In that instant, his limbs, which had been utterly exhausted, suddenly burst forth with unimaginable strength, allowing him to leap up from the ground using only his two legs, kicking up a cloud of mud, and then shouting something at the top of his lungs.

But the blood plasma that had already been poured into his throat stopped him from moving. His tongue, which had been cut open, was also in excruciating pain. He mustered all his strength, but could only cough up a few mouthfuls of blood. Meanwhile, the soldier in charge of the execution pounced on him, grabbed his hair, and slammed him to the ground like a pig being dragged to slaughter.

The wound on his face was excruciatingly painful. Enraged, the executioner stepped forward with his axe, beckoning to his two henchmen to hold him down, preparing to behead him right there.

Having finally grasped a glimmer of hope, how could he possibly give up? He forcefully swallowed the blood in his throat, then stretched his neck and shouted forward:

"My lord! Lord Teresolius!! I have important military intelligence, I have crucial intelligence regarding the Holy Order of Knowledge and the rebels!!"

The executioner, wielding his axe, paid no heed. Of the dozens of heads he'd chopped off that day, at least two had said the same thing: important military intelligence was like rats running around everywhere; even a centurion could pick up a few.

So he raised the axe high, ready to chop off the head of this once high-ranking and powerful man.

Even the officer was in despair at this moment. The axe would fall in an instant, and his life would only last for that instant.

But after staring at it for a long time, the axe did not fall. Then it was lowered, and his arms were grabbed. He was lifted off the ground and pulled in one direction.

He was initially bewildered, but then immediately realized what was happening. His entire body relaxed to the point that he could barely walk, and he felt so relieved that his mind became foggy.

Although he didn't know what would happen next, he had at least escaped death, and if he could, he definitely didn't want to go through it again...

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"The combined death toll of the two legions has exceeded 1,500, with three times that number of wounded, but thanks to our effective medical methods, the vast majority of them will survive."

"Our arrow reserves are down to about 20%, and we need to replenish them as soon as possible if we are to continue fighting."

"The spoils have not yet been fully tallied, but only a small portion of the three rebel legions managed to escape. The number of prisoners captured, excluding the officers who were beheaded, is over four thousand. The rebel leader, Turiars, was executed in public, and we also captured four other rebellious nobles from the Senate."

Finally, when her master regained consciousness, Talina hurried over to report, while Tersolius listened as he continued forward to the long table where his army was engaged in battle. He pulled out a stool and sat down, and then brought one for Talina as well.

The table has a very simple design, consisting of several sturdy oak planks pieced together, plus two sets of four legs that cross each other, secured with iron plates and steel bars. It is easy to disassemble and can often be set up immediately upon setting up camp.

After a bloody battle, the distinctive stench of corpses mixed with other smells was everywhere, but Talina was quite used to it. At this moment, she was expressionless as she flipped through her parchment book, occasionally writing and drawing on it with a brass pen.

"Let's stop for a moment, Talina. I overheard something interesting when I came over. Those esteemed elders must know quite a bit, and I need your wisdom."

Reaching out, he grabbed the other's wrist, causing the girl to stiffen as if she had been electrocuted. Tersolius smiled and made her sit on the stool in front of him. Talina, who was already somewhat used to this kind of close contact, simply covered her face with her parchment book, keeping her head down and remaining silent.

Chapter 507 Ending (3)

Failure, an incredibly bitter word... and a person often encounters it more than once in their life, and has to bear the consequences it brings. Some are insignificant, while others are unforgettable. Experiencing it just once is enough.

When Pusriel opened his eyes for the third time from a half-asleep state, it was night. The cool wind blowing from the north blew through the wooden prison cart without any obstruction, scraping his muscles like steel brushes, making him shiver and curl up.

This is a simple yet sturdy wooden prison cart. The cages, made of solid oak, are placed on the carriage. Each cage is as thick as a man's arm and no more than a hand's width apart. Not even a fox could escape. However, the cages are also hard and rough, with no place to rest and no shelter from the wind or rain.

His once magnificent armor had been stripped away, leaving only a blood-stained cloth robe. The night wind blew through it, and he felt a chill that was almost unbearable.

Because of the lack of food, he also lacked enough heat to maintain his body temperature, and could only shiver in the night wind like a destitute beggar, huddled in a corner, afraid to move.

Although he already knew that his failure would not bring him any favors... after all, participating in a rebellion against the emperor was a capital offense. If he succeeded, he would be rewarded handsomely, but if he failed, he would be doomed... he still did not expect that Tersolius would not even leave him the slightest bit of basic dignity.

His legion formed the left wing of the rebels, which was under less pressure than the right wing, which was repeatedly ravaged and used as a breakthrough point. However, it also suffered heavy losses in the subsequent catastrophic defeat. After the weak Kiel turned and fled, they completely lost the cover of the cavalry and were instantly destroyed by the ensuing chaos, unable to even retreat in an organized manner.

From beginning to end, Thesolius firmly maintained the initiative on the battlefield... He never acted according to the enemy's ideas, but instead forced his opponents into a dead end when they could not resist, crushing and tearing them apart with the sharpest and heaviest weapons, until they were turned into dust and could no longer resist.

In the middle of the battle, he realized this terrible trend... but was ultimately powerless to stop it. Theosaurus's control of the battlefield and command of his soldiers were far beyond the reach of any of them. From beginning to end, he was tearing their army apart like a butcher slaughtering cattle and sheep.

He knew his legion was completely finished... More than a hundred officers had been executed in front of him, many of whom were his trusted family members and the foundation of his control over the legion. Their deaths alone meant the destruction of the legion, not to mention that most of the soldiers in the legion had already been slaughtered.

Just yesterday morning, they had set up a magnificent array on this plain, but by sunset, it was littered with corpses and rivers of blood. Even crows and wild dogs searching for flesh and blood had to carefully choose where to land. The hard work and power of him and his entire family had also nourished the grassland along with this flesh and blood. The terrible destruction and bloodshed had gripped his soul.

He realized, almost desperately, that Tersolius's plan was not just to quell the rebellion, but to completely eradicate the rebels' roots from the country, to utterly destroy the source of the rebellion, and to ravage and trample all the traitors.

He could tell with his toes that the enemy would seize the momentum of their victory and wipe out the province they were based in, using blood and fire to cleanse the entire country of its chronic problems, and everything he relied on in this world would inevitably be destroyed.

From a respected elder statesman wielding state power to a despised and ignored prisoner, the difference is immense. However, the torment of the biting cold and hunger pales in comparison to the agony in his heart. The screams of his elite troops being slaughtered are like steel knives slowly tearing at his heart... For someone like him, nothing could be more humiliating and despairing.

This defeat had ripped the last bit of arrogance and delusion from his bones and crushed it to pieces... Now, the last thought that could still keep him going was that faint glimmer of hope—since he hadn't been executed, it meant he must still be of use, so there was still a sliver of hope for him.

Suddenly, two points of light appeared in the darkness in the distance, glowing green and shimmering, swaying as they approached him. The soldier guarding him glanced at them and then paid them no further attention, recognizing them as a coyote that had been feasting on carrion for the past few days.

Although this creature is a carnivore, it would never dare to attack a human alone, let alone a strong soldier clad in iron armor and wielding a spear. At this moment, the pungent stench of blood on the battlefield had already attracted carnivores from within a hundred miles. It's just strange how things are like this.

He was the only one who stared intently at the coyote, as if bewitched. He watched as the wolf staggered past and disappeared into the nearby bushes, its mouth still smeared with thick blood, its four paws soaked and dripping with blood.

How many more creatures like this, satiated with human flesh, are left on this battlefield? And how much of the flesh and blood inside them belonged to the soldiers he once led? ... In that instant, he felt as if he had been hit on the head with a hammer, and his whole body slumped down. He stared blankly at the bright stars in the sky until they were gradually covered by a layer of clouds.

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

The cave, which should have been gloomy, now had a majestic and grand atmosphere. The finely carved granite pillars stretched all the way to the top, supporting a vast space. The ground, which was hundreds of steps long and wide, was also made of a single smooth granite block, covered with all kinds of intricate carvings, serving as luxurious anti-slip patterns.

To the north of this vast square is a towering wall with 13 windows on its front, but no light can pass through. Only one after another, exquisitely carved and lifelike sculptures are dimly illuminated by candles below. Even the thin gauze on the fabric seems to sway with the air currents, and the gleaming swords seem capable of cutting into flesh.

The window in the very center is the tallest, with elaborate and exquisite carvings on both sides depicting dragons and warriors fighting, and all living beings bowing to the sun... And within this magnificent sculpture is a figure who is five zhang tall, whose entire body is covered by a black robe, with only his thin and long hands hanging down from his sleeves to his knees, and a broken goat skull hanging from the top of his long wooden staff.

At this very moment, the hall was brightly lit, with countless braziers and candles illuminating most of its corners. Thousands of people dressed in black robes knelt fervently on the ornately decorated floor, bowing deeply to the figure standing before the statue of a god, calling out in unison to the Patriarch…

Chapter 508 Ending (4)

It's hard to imagine how much manpower and time it would take to carve out such a space underground, or how much blood and sweat would be poured into it to create such a spectacle. If you ignore the magnificent decorations, it is comparable to the Pantheon in the central hall of the empire. Anyone standing under this high wall would only feel their own insignificance.

The sinister image of the god worshipped by all has never appeared on any sunny spot on this land, yet it is still full of the creator's painstaking efforts. Every texture of the clothing, every fold, and every sharp protrusion is just right, so vivid that one might suspect that He will step down from that high platform at any moment.

The long wooden staff held between the withered fingers, which resembled the limbs of an insect, was woven from rough thorns. Withered flowers hung listlessly from it like rotting worms. The goat skull at the top was cracked like real weathered bone, while the two horns twisted and pointed upwards like intestines.

The burning candle flames danced wildly in the absence of airflow, and the cheers of the men in black rose in waves. With each cheer, they kowtowed heavily to the ground, even if their heads bled and their throats became hoarse, they were unwilling to relax for a moment, like a group of neatly arranged kowtowing insects, banging their heads together with a loud clang.

The only one qualified to stand was this lean, bald man. He had clear, deep blue eyes, but his entire head was bald, without a single hair, not even eyelashes. He was as smooth as a freshly peeled egg. He wore a black robe that completely covered his body, and there were overlapping gold decorations on his shoulders. Something indescribable was wriggling beneath his robe.

A curved, sharp bone, like an iron hook, gleamed palely between his fingers. The inward-curving blade was incredibly sharp, while the handle, forged from gold, was coiled around it like a snake. The tip was now stained with blood, and on the long table in front of him, a body was struggling and writhing in terror.

This was a young man with smooth, fair skin, short, reddish-brown hair, and pale golden eyes. At this moment, he was only covered by a white cloth at the bottom of his body, and the curved bone blade had already cut a bloody gash in the center of his chest, with streaks of blood flowing down his muscles.

The scene before him was hell for anyone, and just by looking at his unscathed skin, it was clear he was no ordinary citizen among the thousands of others of this era… And indeed, it was. Anyone who fell asleep on a soft bed and woke up to find themselves trapped on a cold stone table, surrounded by a large group of cryptic, black-robed figures, and facing a tall, sinister, and utterly unsettling statue would certainly not be in a good mood.

Especially since the bone blade had already made a cut in his flesh, the slight pain brought him no comfort whatsoever; instead, it terrified him completely, because he had no idea how this strange thing in front of him was going to treat him!

Looking at the scene before him, he would not doubt it even if they said they would skin him alive.

Unfortunately, his mouth was firmly sealed by a strange, wriggling thing, preventing him from even closing his teeth. Let alone making a sound, he could only try to tug at his limbs in a futile and laughable struggle.

Although he wasn't of high status, as the son of a merchant, he was well-off and had a promising future. So, even though the scene before him terrified him, he wasn't going to close his eyes and wait for death. He was anxiously hoping for some kind of turnaround that would allow him to escape this miserable predicament.

But miracles always seem precious and extravagant, and at least they didn't happen to him at this moment—the instant after slicing through his flesh, the other party had already put the bone blade aside, then reached out and grabbed an open octagonal glass bottle from the side, the purple liquid inside shimmering with starlight, just like the stars in the sky.