Cataphracts, surviving in a world full of mods

Not to mention the enormous destruction that war inflicts on production and construction. Areas where armies clash are often turned into scorched earth. In the case of years of war, a country can even become a living hell, with bones exposed in the wilderness and no roosters crowing for miles around.

However, a country cannot become strong without an army. Without an army, even the most prosperous and wealthy country is just a piece of meat that can be slaughtered and anyone can take a bite out of.

A normal country is one where the military protects the nation and the nation supports the military.

Commanding an army is even more of a skill and an art. An army's duty is war, but most of the time it's on the move and resting. All the preparations made before true victory are necessary and indispensable. As Caesar said:

"Victory is achieved by walking on two legs, while the hands merely pick it up."

Being able to organize troop marches effectively, ensuring the troops don't become disorganized or scattered; properly scouting the surrounding environment to guard against enemy attacks; setting up camp during rest periods to prevent night raids and camp bombings; gaining the soldiers' trust and communicating one's will effectively; and making good use of the terrain to gain an advantage...

This is the quality of a qualified general. As long as you can do these things, you will be invincible most of the time.

However, this is only an ideal situation. In reality, the gap between the upper and lower limits is often huge. The worst commanders will futilely sacrifice the lives of thousands of soldiers due to their stupidity. On the other hand, the best commanders can achieve brilliant victories with far fewer troops than the enemy.

Marching is a tedious and lengthy process, but it is an essential prerequisite for war and victory, and a test of an army's organization and discipline.

………………

An endless army marched forward on the road, countless feet treading on the solid stone pavement. Tight leggings allowed them to walk further and more easily. The billowing yellow dust whipped up the fluttering flags, and the continuous thud of their feet sounded like rolling thunder from the horizon.

Half of the cavalry marched at the very front of the column without hesitation, while Arka led the other half to bring up the rear. The entire legion advanced at a suitable pace with overwhelming momentum, with the officers' shouts echoing from time to time, restraining the soldiers' behavior.

The vast majority of armor was carried on the backs of livestock and transported by vehicles. After all, this was within the territory of the empire, and there was no need to consider the possibility of large-scale enemy attacks, so there was no need to wear armor at all times. Most people only wore lined jackets as inner garments.

However, things won't be so easy when you get close to enemy-controlled territory. If an emergency occurs, there won't be enough time to put on armor temporarily, so you have to prepare in advance.

Meanwhile, Thesolius was sorting through his thoughts, preparing for the impending war and other complex situations, while also pondering the intelligence he had received from the emperor the previous day…

Although the Empire does not have an objective world map, there are many maps of the entire Empire, and they come in various versions. Scholars in the capital library are always keen to do this. Whenever a new territory is incorporated into the Empire, a large number of scholars will explore the geographical environment, landform features, and resource distribution of the new territory, and then add it to the map that is updated every five years.

The most detailed maps even marked the rural roads and forests of every province. Large swathes of harsh and barren land in the north and east were occupied by nomadic peoples. The Kiel in the north and the Kuriset in the east would often harass the empire's borders, trying to plunder and run away.

The Hols in the south, relying on the strategic terrain, firmly guarded their territory, while the Asel people further south had many excellent merchants who could be found in every corner of the empire. This red sand kingdom with its vast territory was also not to be underestimated.

The West, on the other hand, consisted of a group of countries far weaker than the empire. These countries were constantly at war, yet their relationships were intricately intertwined, making it a chaotic and complex region. This was also the empire's primary direction of expansion. The immense pressure from the empire constantly forced these smaller nations to form alliances at crucial moments to avoid being swiftly defeated.

His destination this time—a border province in the east of the empire—was a very special place. Although the land there was flat, irrigation was inconvenient, and by general standards, it was not considered fertile land. While it was difficult to develop agriculture on a large scale, it was very suitable for raising horses, and nearly half of the empire's warhorses came from there.

If chaos and war were to erupt here, the entire empire's warhorse supply would be affected. That's why the imperial central government was able to reach a consensus so quickly, dispatching troops just three days after receiving the news. Although the situation will certainly have changed by the time they arrive, it seems to be under control for now.

According to the intelligence Clautina received, the main force of the local rebellion was the Iris – a group of displaced and wretched people who, 100 years ago, wandered from the south, offering gold and bread to the emperor and begging for acceptance.

Even though these people were exiled for thousands of miles, they still couldn't bear to part with their wealth, and as a result, they were plundered everywhere, suffering heavy losses. Only about one-fifth of them were able to reach the empire.

However, upon arriving in the Empire, they did not hesitate to exchange all their wealth for a chance to gain asylum. At that time, the eastern border provinces of the Empire were sparsely populated, and the famous mad emperor agreed, allowing the Iris to take root on the eastern border.

And now, only 100 years later, these guys are already starting to get restless? ...They're even plotting to carve out their own territory and establish their own countries?!

When he first heard the news, he almost thought these people were all lunatics… The empire wasn't some chaotic, fragmented place; on the contrary, it was a powerful nation with vast territory and a strong army. A nation that dared to advance so recklessly—no matter how you looked at it, they were throwing eggs against rocks, like a sparrow daring to use its beak to peck at an eagle's feathers—how dare they?

Do they really think that with the support of the Kuriset, they can occupy the empire's provinces? Even the Kuriset themselves have spent so many years trying and failed. Do they really think they can do it with the help of these worthless scoundrels?

He rubbed his temples in frustration, completely baffled by these people's thinking. If this was truly their stated plan... what were they relying on? Were they really that confident, believing they would definitely succeed?

It wasn't until nightfall, when they set up camp, that Tersolius stopped thinking. Not because he had figured things out, but because it was time to eat. He would find out the details once he reached the rebellious area; until then, he just needed to prepare cautiously.

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Tersolius was astonished by what he saw, and for a moment he even wondered if he was dreaming—two huge mine pits had been dug out from the towering mountain and the depression in the middle, and countless slaves and miners were working in them like ants. The miners were doing well, but the slaves were weak and sick like thin, sick oxen, wriggling in the pits like insects.

The number of slaves here is astonishing. They wear tattered clothes and worn-out straw sandals. Under the supervision of soldiers with sharp blades, they repeatedly crawl into the mine to dig and transport ore. Once a certain amount is accumulated, livestock will drive huge cranes to transport the iron ore to the surface. On the other side of the mountain are endless furnaces, and the black smoke from molten iron is dense, like a large swathe of black saplings swaying in the wind.

Slaves mined the ore, transported the ore, herded livestock, added coal... Slaves could be seen everywhere. There were probably tens of thousands of slaves here, plus a garrison of thousands, turning this place into a massive flesh and blood factory, constantly mining ore to smelt steel.

The slaves lived in a large shack on the south side, built with branches and weeds that would be blown away by the wind. Next to it was a military camp ready to suppress the slaves at any time, using whips and swords to force them into obedience and maintain the cruel order here.

To the north lay a permanent camp—the residence of the artisans. The artisans were well-paid; they could live comfortably and accumulate wealth simply by crafting weapons and armor. Furthermore, if they performed well enough, they received additional rewards, allowing them to build up a substantial fortune for themselves within a few years.

The empire possessed numerous high-quality iron mines, some so dilapidated they could barely be called "high-quality" mines; after being mined and smelted, they yielded roughly crude iron. Even the slag from these mines contained more iron than the finest ore from many other places. Mining was easy, transportation was convenient, and coupled with the vast number of slaves acquired through years of war as labor and a large artisan class, the empire's army boasted an astonishingly high rate of armor wear—a feat unmatched by any other nation.

Even auxiliary soldiers in the Imperial army are equipped with breastplates and helmets. When the entire army is ready to march in formation, it is like a surging sea of ​​steel, enough to make any enemy tremble with fear. The most elite legionary infantry are even known as the Iron Men, always tenacious and unstoppable.

After each war, large numbers of prisoners of war were sent into the empire as slaves. This cheap labor force, in turn, supported the empire's various industries, making the entire country more prosperous. This allowed the empire to maintain a large and elite army for a long time, maintaining a significant advantage even when surrounded by enemies on all sides, and even continuing to advance...

Chapter 117 The Rebellion of Cerison (2)

"Open the armory."

As Tersolius gave the order, the officials in charge of the warehouse unlocked the huge bronze locks and slowly opened the heavy doors, which were covered with iron plates on both sides. An official carrying a book walked in with him.

The cold, metallic smell filled the nostrils, the maintenance oils emitted a strange odor, and piles of limestone for moisture control covered the ground. One after another, gleaming silver chainmail and scale armor were neatly arranged, and sturdy helmets were decorated with polished brass rivets.

The polished weapons, gleaming with a cold, oily sheen, were piled in boxes mixed with straw. Bundles of sharp spears and straight arrows stood upright like haystacks, unharmed by the loose sawdust beneath them. They could easily take a life at any time.

Each weapon has a designated storage area, and each piece of armor bears the craftsman's unique number. Only products that pass inspection are sent here; those that fail to quench or develop cracks are melted down and remade. This ensures that the armor and weapons are sturdy and durable.

The weapons and equipment here are only supplied to the Imperial Legion and are subject to strict control. Any loss of any other item will result in accountability. The warehouse keys must be kept by at least two people, and an inventory is conducted every year, but this still cannot stop some people from embezzling and breaking the law...

Right before Thesolius's eyes, an official was caught and beheaded for stealing weapons from the armory, and two others, for mismanagement that caused the armor to rust and deteriorate, not only lost their jobs but were also stripped of their shirts and whipped. Each lash of the thin leather whip tore at the skin, eliciting sharp and pitiful cries. After the last lash, they collapsed to the ground, unable to stand.

Ignoring the screams beside him, Tersolius nodded slightly:

"Let's start counting. The exact amount should have been delivered long ago."

The clerk bowed to him, and his slave soldiers began to simultaneously enter several warehouses to move their weapons and supplies. They carried out each type of item as it was counted, and during this process, they had to read it out loud so that everyone around could hear it clearly.

"Short chainmail, 547 pieces, rust-free and in acceptable condition..."

"Helmets with chainmail, 378 pieces, no rust, condition acceptable..."

"Heavy infantry spears, 364 shafts, no looseness, no bending, no rust, condition satisfactory..."

"85,000 armor-piercing arrows, each weighing 84 priers, are undamaged and in good condition."

………………

The oiled steel was transported to the open ground outside, and the soldiers who lacked or damaged weapons and armor were immediately re-equipped. Everything proceeded in an orderly and methodical manner, and it was completed in no time. The heavy doors of the armory were closed again, and they made their final preparations to officially leave the Central Province.

On his warhorse, Thesolius glanced back at the spot once more… Several soldiers were using wagons to transport the slave corpses out, throwing them into pre-dug pits to bury them. These pits had been prepared long ago, filled with lime, and were perfectly square.

His expression changed slightly, but he still sighed, turned around, spurred his horse, and led his cavalry into the torrent of iron on the road.

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The rioters' maniacal, greedy laughter was as noisy as crows flying across the night sky, and the flickering firelight seemed like some living creature trying to squeeze into every crevice to find the hidden wealth or people... Gold and silver, of course, are loved by everyone. And the captured victims were a rare form of entertainment for the rioters.

"I knew I shouldn't have made the bet with you. I didn't expect that woman's intestines to be so tough. I actually dragged them around the ground four times before they broke."

A stubble-bearded man complained to his companion with a thick nasal voice. Beside him, another stubble-bearded man, dressed in a dirty robe and looking like a peasant, was blowing his nose and flicking the thick, greenish pus onto the nearby door panel.

"I did this two years ago, so of course I know very well what you're doing. You made a stupid mistake by betting with me, so who else can you blame?"

"Tuyari, you heartless bastard! You even cheat your own people out of their money! I curse you to never touch a single gold coin for the rest of your life!"

The man with the heavy nasal voice suddenly became enraged, and his companion slapped him without hesitation, knocking out two of his teeth.

"Watch your mouth! If it weren't for me helping you get rich, you'd still be just a thief. How dare you curse me like that? If it happens again, I'll slit your throat! I'll make you bleed alongside those inferior people!"

The man who had been beaten immediately fell silent, nodding listlessly like a dog that had been kicked. A subtle hierarchy was established in the blink of an eye.

After shouting a few insults, a satisfied Tuyari suddenly became interested again, putting his earlier displeasure behind him, and began to chatter on and on about the fun he had had over the past few days:

"...I just used the carpenter's wide-toothed saw next to me to hang him upside down and saw him down. You'd never guess that we sawed all the way down to his chest before the man died. It's a pity his son was already killed by the fall, otherwise there would have been even more fun... But that village was full of poor bastards. I even searched the chicken coop, and I didn't find a penny. Those Kurist people burn down every village they go to, kill everyone, and they run away so fast that we can't find much of anything good! It's unbelievable. If these barbarians weren't our allies, I would have turned against them long ago."

The man, who had become timid and hesitant, suddenly showed a hint of unease. It seemed a thought had been brewing in his mind for a long time; after hesitating two or three times, he finally spoke:

"Won't the Imperial legions come here?... I dare not provoke them. I've heard that the Imperials hang every rebel upside down, skin them alive, and hang them on a tree..."

At this point, he shuddered, realizing he had scared himself half to death.

"What are you worrying about?!"

The burly man slapped him hard on the back of the head, causing him to stumble forward and crash into the table. Although he was in a sorry state, he kept smiling, only a hint of resentment flashing deep in his eyes...

“I knew Mr. Turia that you were the most capable among our compatriots, and you must know something else, right? Unlike me, who is so stupid that I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Turia was clearly pleased with the man's flattery, tilting his nose to the sky while wildly swinging his pitchfork and axe at the wall beside him, as if he were hacking at someone.

"Looking at your pathetic state, you couldn't possibly know... Let me tell you the truth, the Imperials will never return to this land. This place is destined to be our territory, which is why we have to clean up all those inferior people, otherwise they'll just dirty our land."

"There must be some reason, right?... I've never seen the Imperial army lose a battle. Did they just hand over this land to us?"

After the cowardly man asked the question, he belatedly shrank back, afraid of being slapped again. But Turia didn't seem annoyed or angry at his interruption; on the contrary, she seemed to have been waiting for him to say that.

"Hehe! You don't know this, do you?... The Khan of the Kurist has already united most of the tribes in the east. The Imperial army has long been drawn away by those barbarians in the north and south. As long as we and the Kurist completely seize this territory and occupy those cities, the Imperials will never be able to return here again, thanks to that mountain... I'm telling you this, but don't tell anyone else, or I'll rip your tongue out!"

The man nodded hastily. The two men had searched for a long time but hadn't found anything valuable, so they left the wooden house rather dejectedly and threw the torch in through the window.

The raging flames quickly ignited the wooden house, engulfing the blood-soaked corpse on the ground. As the fire grew larger, the entire house became a giant bonfire. The two men, with excited, strange smiles on their faces, stepped back slightly and reached out to warm their hands.

The weather was scorching hot, and the blazing flames soon soaked their dirty, tattered clothes with sweat. Both of them had bundles tied around their bodies with bloodstained clothes, and to prevent them from being taken away, they were tied to the front. They even slept tightly together.

The entire village was ablaze with fire. The thugs, having reaped a bountiful harvest, led their cattle, sheep, chickens, and ducks, but took nothing of the women; most were killed on the spot after their lust was satisfied. Many unseeing heads were still pierced by the pitchforks in their hands—mostly the village militia. They had fought back fiercely earlier, losing a dozen or so men, but ultimately, they were no match for the thugs' numbers and were beheaded with blunt knives.

A thunderous sound of hooves suddenly came from outside, causing the mob to panic for a moment. But when they saw the Kurist men wearing leather armor, they relaxed, and some even waved their blood-stained pitchforks and cleavers at them.

The group of Kurist men swept in like a gust of wind. Most of them wore cloth hats, and their leather armor was made of small pieces of hard cowhide woven together with rope. Although it was not enough to withstand strong bows and heavy spears, it was sufficient to defend against a few ordinary swords.

The blazing firelight cast a reddish glow on the faces of the Kurist people, whose prominent cheekbones, roughened by years of harsh, barren land, were covered in dust. Thin braids hung from the edges of their hats, stained with black grease. Almost every rider carried a relatively short bow on their saddle, a long arrow quiver on their back, and long knives, maces, and flail-shaped clubs made of rough iron hanging from their waists. Many also wielded short spears nearly two meters long, allowing for more agile and swift handling.

This was a group of Kurist light cavalry who had come to plunder, but now their target had become the raging ruins. Many of them seemed somewhat dejected, and unconsciously whispered among themselves, complaining in hushed tones.

The mob, having made a good haul, were already setting up their huts nearby, clearly ready to sleep after a good meal. They ignored the Kurist people next to them. Most of the Iris people didn't understand the Kurist language, and few bothered to. After all, the Kurist were now their friends and accomplices in the robbery, so there was no need to worry too much.

The leader of the Kurist people squinted at the bulging bundles of the Iris people, and his followers quickly noticed as well. Their whispers abruptly ceased, and a greedy, cold glint began to appear in their eyes…

Without much hesitation, the leader of the Kurist people made his decision.

There were no shouts of battle, no cries of battle. The warriors of the Kurist tribe, with an unspoken understanding, spread out in the blink of an eye, their swift warhorses charging into the unsuspecting mob of Iris. They wielded their weapons like chopping grass, hacking and slashing one unsuspecting Iris after another. Others drew their bows and began firing arrows at the panicked mob, killing those clad only in tattered cloth and perhaps a worn leather armor, beside the burning village.

The neighing of warhorses and the cries of panic rang out once again, but this time the perpetrators had become the victims of slaughter. Faced with the swift and unpredictable Kurist light cavalry, these unsuspecting mobs were more vulnerable than rice seedlings in a field, and in the blink of an eye, they were dead and wounded, their blood flowing like a river.

The greedy Kurist people had no intention of letting anyone escape. Their warhorses could easily catch up with each person, and their arrows, like deadly poison needles, struck down one after another until the last mob, who was running around like a headless fly, was beheaded. Only then did the Kurist people begin to clean up the battlefield, rummaging through packages stained with even more blood, picking out the valuables inside, and carefully pulling out each arrow embedded in the corpse. If the arrowhead was stuck inside, they would simply cut open the body and rummage through the bloody entrails to retrieve the precious arrowhead.

After doing all this, they threw the corpses onto the fire, swiftly cleaning up the mess, and then roared away as they had come, without uttering a single word. Only a jumble of hoofprints and scattered horse manure remained as proof that they had been there, and the houses, burning like giant bonfires, seemed to watch them disappear into the distance…

Chapter 118 The Rebellion of Cerison (3)

The lush green grassland stretched as far as the eye could see, reaching the horizon where it met the sky. The gentle slopes and vast plains offered little obstruction of view, and the few scattered trees provided only shade for the shepherds. The abundant pasture grasses and alfalfa interspersed among them grew vigorously, their verdant foliage stretching freely, tempting even the mighty warhorses to lower their heads and graze on the finest tender grass.

The roads here are also wide and flat, but they are not the neat and beautiful stone-paved roads near the capital. Although they are still flat and wide and easy to walk on, they are just wide dirt roads worn out by large groups of people. If there is a lot of rain, they will quickly become muddy and difficult to walk on.

A few clouds drifted across the azure sky, occasionally offering a partial shade, but most of the time the scorching sun relentlessly baked the earth. This vast army was forced to camp and rest during the hottest part of the day, only setting off again in the cooler early morning. Furthermore, having entered rebellious territory, the soldiers wore only basic armor, and although they wore short-sleeved shirts for sun protection, these offered little protection from the increasingly intense sun, making rest all the more crucial.