Armored Cavalry, survive in a world full of mods

Some even suggested capturing Faria Castle first, thus cutting off the Kurist's retreat and annihilating them all on Imperial soil. They wanted to make these despicable barbarians pay the price they deserved.

Everyone's suggestions have some merit, but it's impossible to have both. In the current climate of insufficient information, every choice seems to have various problems, which is why many people cannot convince others.

So no matter how much they argued, the final decision rested with Thesolius. As the arguments grew quieter, everyone realized the change in atmosphere, stopped speaking, and focused their attention on Thesolius standing at the table.

"Zarathos".

The tall centurion leaped out from the crowd.

"Get your men ready. They'll set off first thing tomorrow morning to block these two mountain passes. If the Kurist people want to continue their invasion, they'll definitely have to pass through here. You're responsible for guarding this place and receiving any reinforcements that follow. Set up a stronghold here, and don't forget to dig for water to ensure the road remains clear afterward."

The centurion immediately accepted the order, while Tersolius continued to assign tasks without pause.

“Hilnir”.

"After the cavalry have scouted the surrounding area, tomorrow you will lead the vanguard to set up camp for the main force in the town of Torrias, which is 60 gallons away from here. Do nothing else. Anyone who dares to charge will be executed on the spot!"

"As ordered!"

"Yuriedos!"

“Clean up the area around Keryat. If you encounter any wandering refugees, send them home and tell them that the army has arrived and there is no need to worry about the rebels anymore. If you encounter any rebellious Iris, you can kill them and disperse them. Don’t let those mobs gather together.”

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

As orders were issued one after another, the massive military camp was in a flurry of activity, even though it was already completely dark. Soldiers were busy preparing the things they would have to carry when they set off the next day. Although the wagons carrying supplies had not yet been attached to the livestock, the contents on them had already been secured again.

After all preparations were completed, the soldiers, who had already eaten and drunk their fill, took turns resting early in preparation for setting off early the next morning.

In the darkness of the camp, only the lights lit by the patrol squads illuminated the way. The disciplined legionary soldiers had made the defenses impenetrable, so that not even a mouse could sneak in unnoticed.

The vast area surrounding the camp was dotted with countless sentries, both visible and hidden, acting as the eyes of the behemoth that was the army, guarding against the enemy whose base of operations remained unknown.

Even if someone wanted to launch a night attack, they would be discovered early on and would end up in a deadly situation... But nothing happened all night. As the sky began to lighten, after breakfast, the army took advantage of the cool weather and began to move out.

Completely unaffected by the lack of sleep quality, Tersolius rubbed his eyes and began to put on his heavy armor... He already had a guess, but this guess needed more evidence to prove it.

And today, he will witness it with his own eyes.

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

This was originally a large, leafy tree. In this early summer season, it should have had enough green leaves to provide shade for pedestrians. All kinds of insects and small creatures would live and reproduce on it. The leaves would rustle in the breeze, creating a dense and reassuring sound.

But now this once healthy and thriving creature has turned into a charred corpse, and the flames that ignited from its roots have completely ended the life of this great tree.

At its base, twisted, limb-bound objects piled up. If you looked closely, you could see burnt, withered hands and feet and a shrunken tongue in the mouth. The limbs convulsed and curled up in the high temperature of burning, and the face twisted and deformed under the scorching of the flames in extreme pain and fear, eventually turning into a layer of charcoal, revealing the blackened skull.

The twisted, charred hands and feet still bore the marks of being bound; some had even had limbs severed. The remaining charcoal around them clearly came from fuel used in the villagers' homes.

Amidst the burning villages, a group of Iris people were tallying up their loot. Their clothes, though filthy, were spotless. Everything was carefully selected from their haul, resulting in a colorful array of hues.

Although they hadn't slept all night, they were all extremely excited. Men, women, and the elderly alike were excitedly tying up their tattered bundles, their eyes filled with a frenzied look, and their hands were covered in a jumble of pitchforks, axes, and flails, all stained with blood and filth.

A man was shouting loudly and smugly:

"If I hadn't brought you to this village, you wouldn't have been able to plunder so many good things. According to our sacred covenant, each of you should give me a share!"

"Come on, you shameless bastard! This village isn't far from where we live, and you keep coming here. Everyone knows what's going on. How dare you ask us for a share?"

Immediately, someone stood up to refute his words, and the others also wore unwilling expressions. No one wanted to give up what they had stolen. Greed and resentment appeared in their eyes, as if the man who had brought them to this village yesterday and made a fortune had now become their irreconcilable mortal enemy.

“If I hadn’t discovered that everyone in this village was rich, how would you fools have even thought of coming here? These inferior people don’t deserve so much wealth. We’re just following God’s will to take it back from them. I’ve led you to do all this, shouldn’t you be grateful to me?! A little reward is the generosity you deserve!”

But his generous words had no effect; instead, they instantly aroused public anger. Almost everyone stood up and booed him, and some even grabbed blood-stained mud from the ground and threw it at him... No one wanted to give away what was in their pockets for nothing; it was like cutting off their own flesh.

The man was battered and bruised, especially with several stones sandwiched between him, which made him panic. He frantically tried to dodge, fearing that he might be secretly beaten to death—which was not impossible. He knew all too well what kind of people his compatriots were; if they were to secretly beat him to death here, no one would stand up for justice.

Even in such a wretched state, he didn't forget to string together a string of foul language, so filthy that even the gods would frown, while his feet continued to flee into the distance.

But he was probably doomed today. Before he could run two steps, the blood-soaked mud on the ground reduced the friction between his boots and the ground to a minimum, causing him to fall headfirst without warning.

His entire face was buried in the bloody mud, his nose and mouth were blocked, and even his head was throbbing and making a rustling sound, as if a swarm of poisonous bees was building a nest inside, making him lose consciousness for a moment.

After a long while, he finally caught his breath, desperately spitting out the mud from his mouth and struggling to get up from the ground. At the same time, he kept muttering all sorts of curses and insults, accusing his compatriots of being stingy and shameless for not coming to help him up.

He smeared his face twice, then shook the mud that had splattered into his ears out by tilting his head to the side, before angrily getting up and turning around to curse.

The insults that hadn't even escaped his throat suddenly curled back up like a strangled snake... The bright gleam of the armor instantly sealed his mouth. The chilling aura emanating from the sharp blades could be clearly felt even from several meters away.

The fully armed cavalry on their magnificent warhorses were almost as terrifying as demons, looking down at the disheveled man with cold eyes as if he were an ant beneath their feet. The snorting of their warhorses was like thunder, making the man tremble with fear.

He stood there expressionless, like a frog frozen in fear, but terror quickly surged up like a tide. He let out a scream that sounded inhuman and turned to run, not even forgetting to grab his bag.

But before he could run two steps, a lasso flew out and snagged his neck. A tremendous force pulled him down, and he only had time to reach his hand to grab the rope before being dragged away.

The rough gravel on the ground quickly tore and shredded his clothes, leaving thousands of scratches and countless pains on his skin. Soon, it left trails of blood and flesh on the ground, and his shrill screams and painful howls followed the warhorse into the distance.

After being dragged for only a short distance, by the time the horse's hooves stopped, the man's legs were already raw and bloody, a layer of skin had been peeled off his back, and blood was rapidly spreading and seeping into the black mud on the ground.

The other Iris people all knelt on the ground in fear, throwing aside their tattered weapons, and looked around in panic and terror.

A small cavalry unit had already surrounded them. The silver chainmail on their bodies reflected the sunlight, almost blinding them, but the gleaming swords did not fall on their heads, as if they were waiting for something.

The cavalryman dismounted and kicked the man over, only to find that his stomach had been ripped open, a section of his intestines scraped out by stones, and he was already dead, but his hands were still tightly clutching the package...

120 The Rebellion of Cerison (5)

He took the water pouch from his saddle. The stench of burning corpses nearby made Kross frown. He instinctively spurred his horse, moving it slightly away from the tree piled with corpses, before uncorking the pouch and taking large gulps of water.

The nearby streams were contaminated by corpses. The army found an area with abundant water and dug several deep wells to solve their drinking water problem. As a result, it was difficult for them to replenish their water supply outside, since most of the wells in the village were also contaminated. So they could only conserve the clean water they carried with them.

Of course, this water also carries the flavor of fermented grains, as a certain amount of spirits has been added. This allows the drinking water to remain undisturbed for a relatively long time, and even if it does spoil, it won't have an unpleasant odor.

After finishing his drink, he wiped the water from the corner of his mouth and then looked down at the group of blood-stained mobs in front of his warhorse. Yes, he was certain that these people were mobs who had committed arson, murder, and looting. He could tell just by looking at the corpses next to them and the money and valuables in their bags. In addition, their weapons were stained with blood, so it was obvious where the blood came from.

"Are you Iris?"

Although he used a questioning tone, his expression was icy cold, clearly indicating that he had completely confirmed it, and he looked at these clueless fools with a mocking attitude.

"It's a misunderstanding! Good heavens! Your Excellency, this is a terrible misunderstanding. We are not from Iris! Those thugs were burning, killing, and looting in the north. We were afraid of falling victim to their evil deeds, so we had no choice but to leave our homeland, taking our family's valuables with us. If it weren't for these guys we brought from home, we certainly wouldn't have made it this far!"

"Now that we've seen the Imperial army, we're relieved. Those damned rebels are no match for you, but our crops are probably almost completely ruined..."

At this point, the kind-looking middle-aged man covered his eyes and started crying. Large tears gushed out like a punctured leather water bag, instantly covering half his face.

His weeping was so genuine and heartfelt, the grief and sorrow in his words almost uncontrollable, and it was also perfectly interspersed with some anger and hatred towards the rebels. Anyone who saw it would have to say that he was a kind and honest farmer.

The whip whistled through the air and struck the middle-aged man's face hard, tearing off a piece of flesh. Bruising and bloodstains appeared in the blink of an eye, causing him to scream and roll on the ground.

Before he could even roll twice, another lash struck him precisely in the face, leaving his hand, which he instinctively used to protect his face, a bloody mess. What followed was a relentless beating, like whipping a stubborn donkey, until he screamed in agony, begging for mercy and tumbling endlessly.

The whip danced in his hand, leaving afterimages, and Kross wore a mocking smile, like a child whipping a wooden top, accompanied by screams and pleas for mercy.

He only stopped moving when the middle-aged man no longer had the strength to dodge or roll, and was curled up on the ground, whimpering and sobbing in pain.

"You stupid and cowardly thing, who are you insulting?! You think you can fool me with such a paltry trick?! I'll skin you alive and teach you a lesson you won't forget!"

No sooner had he finished speaking than another lash came, this time ripping off a section of his little finger. The severed finger, still attached to thin fascia, flew more than two meters away. A bloodcurdling scream escaped the middle-aged man's lips as he curled up like a shrimp, every limb trembling.

The fierce cavalry, with their menacing aura, were like a raging lion, making all the people of Iris afraid to look them in the eye or even whisper, lest they anger them.

………………

"Pull down his pants."

Kross spoke with a cruel rage. He gave the order, and soon a cavalryman dismounted, went to the half-dead middle-aged man, and ripped off his coarse cloth trousers.

The Iris people kneeling on the ground cried out in panic, completely unexpected that this imperial man knew how to identify them. They immediately realized that they were in grave danger, especially since they had already handed over the things they were holding.

"By order of His Majesty and the General! The people of Iris have rebelled without authorization, are ungrateful, and have committed countless atrocities of burning, killing, plundering, and humiliating! They are not entitled to any pardon and will be killed on sight! No one, young or old, will be protected by the laws of the Empire and will be stripped of all their rights."

As the command was uttered word by word, the kneeling Iris people scattered like bees, fleeing in all directions. Each one wore an expression of despair and terror.

No longer protected by Imperial law!

They all knew what this meant: it meant anyone who killed them would bear no responsibility whatsoever! Just like killing a pig or a sheep…

The cavalrymen roared out, their swords gleaming with a chilling light, easily catching up with the Iris people from behind. They then swung their blades, sending head after head flying more than two meters and rolling on the ground.

The tough swords produced in the central mines are so tough that they can hardly leave any damage even when forcefully cleaving through iron armor, and they can easily cut through flesh and bone.

Using the speed of their steeds, the light cavalry, moving like the wind, charged into the mob and hacked at will. The swords they wielded brought with them a pungent, sticky spray of blood, and the spears they thrust through flesh with ease. Accompanied by the creaking of bowstrings, arrows rained down like locusts, killing the fleeing mob like wheat being harvested.

Although the order was to scatter them—to drive them away with swords—what they had seen along the way had already enraged the cavalrymen. None of them showed any mercy. These strong young men were intense and prolonged in their emotions, venting their anger as if slaughtering pigs and sheep.

When they launched their rebellion, burning, killing, and looting the empire's lands, these people had already lost their identity as imperial citizens. No longer recognized by the empire, they were nothing more than enemies and thugs wreaking havoc on its soil!

Under the relentless pursuit of the cavalry, most of the Iris thugs were killed or wounded in the blink of an eye. Only after they escaped the cavalry's detection range and only a handful of about thirty remained did the cavalry lose interest in slaughtering them any further... After all, they could not disobey the military orders they had received.

After another volley of arrows killed five or six men, the cavalrymen were about to turn back to scout other areas when they suddenly heard angry shouts of battle coming from the nearby ruins...

The elite cavalry, thinking they were under attack, turned their horses around with a whoosh, preparing to create distance before making any further plans.

Before they had gone far, a group of about 60 refugees emerged from the ruins, each carrying a simple weapon, such as a pitchfork, sickle, or axe, as well as a flail for threshing grain.

These disheveled refugees all had unspeakable anger on their faces, their eyes almost melting with rage. Caught off guard, the Iris people were left with only the bundles they were clutching in their arms, and in their panic, they were surrounded...

With each swing of pitchforks, axes, and flails, thick blood quickly smeared these tools, which were originally used for production. It was as if they were trying to turn these Iris people into mincemeat. Even though the screams of the other people had long since ceased, no one was willing to stop. Their eyes were bloodshot. They swung their weapons, creating gusts of vicious wind, and the sticky, heavy sound of the blows never stopped.

Their leader was a middle-aged man with a full beard, almost bald except for the back of his head and sideburns. He wielded a flail as thick as a goose egg with great force, as if he were threshing wheat in a field. Soon, all that remained in front of him was a bloody mess, with tiny bones and sticky flesh that were indistinguishable from its original state.

They were all wearing the short robes most commonly worn by commoners in the empire, but they were tattered and smoky, with a hemp rope tied around their waists to hold the loose robes together, and small round hats on their heads.

It is noteworthy that there were few young people among them; most were frail elderly people and women, and a few children...

At this moment, a group of old, weak, sick, and disabled people rushed out and slaughtered the fleeing Iris people. After that, they didn't even glance at the coins and valuables scattered on the ground, and turned around to charge at the cavalry.

The cavalrymen became alert, and several of them had already drawn their bows from their waists, nocked a few light arrows, and prepared to deal with these agitated, unidentified men.

But their captain, Kross, raised his hand to stop them... Despite some doubt, they stopped drawing their short bows and did not kill the men dozens of meters away with a volley of arrows.

But as these people drew closer, they quietly grasped the reins of their warhorses to prevent themselves from being surrounded and unable to escape.

Leading the charge was the middle-aged man with a flail. When they were still ten paces away, he threw down the flail and practically tumbled and crawled towards them. Amidst the startled neighing of the warhorse, he grabbed the captain's leg and burst into tears.

The sudden surge of these men caught the cavalry off guard, and each of them was extremely nervous—in such a crowded situation, the cavalry's advantage could turn into a disadvantage; if these men harbored ill intentions, each cavalryman would have to face five or six enemies simultaneously…

But what they feared did not happen. The most intense thing these refugees did was to hug them and cry loudly, wiping their tears and snot on their shiny chainmail and brand-new jackets.

Some people couldn't get a spot, so they even grabbed the hooves of the warhorses, which startled these well-trained and brave creatures. But in the end, they didn't kick randomly after being calmed down by their owners. Otherwise, these mighty warhorses could easily have kicked the old, weak, sick and disabled to death.

Such heart-wrenching cries had a piercing power; it seemed as if these refugees wanted to pour out all the grievances, pain, and fear they had suffered throughout their lives, crying until their eyes were red and swollen and they were out of breath, yet they still refused to stop.

The only one who could utter two sentences was the middle-aged man who was leading the group. He looked to be over 50 years old and his body was already in a state of decline, but he was still strong and had powerful arms.

And even when he uttered those two sentences, they were the only ones he said:

"Goddess, Goddess, you've finally come!... You've finally come! The Imperial army has finally come! You've finally come! Thank goodness, thank goodness!..."

The children timidly reached out to touch the strong warhorse, startled by the twitching of the powerful muscles beneath its skin, but then reached out again to touch it.

The women wept and tugged at the hem of their chainmail, their fingers, roughened by years of labor, even bleeding from the friction, as they incoherently recounted their ordeal.

The men stared with gleaming eyes at their fine armor, exquisite longswords adorned with brass, thick leather quivers, straight spears, sharp arrows, and gleaming helmets. They were so excited that they could barely speak, gesturing wildly with their hands.

Kross raised his hand, signaling his cavalry to wait a moment. He knew what these people needed... Looking at these refugees who were crying and thanking him, the usually decisive cavalry captain suddenly felt a strange emotion, making him indecisive.

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

"Please have some water, sir. Don't worry, our village's well has not been polluted. I smashed the heads of three bastards to keep them away from our well."

The old man, with a serious expression and red eyes, placed a bowl of water in front of Kross, which was the only intact vessel in the room.

"Just as I told you, the Imperial Legion has arrived, so you don't need to worry. You can live well in your homeland... These rebels and the barbarians of Kurist are doomed to extinction. We will leave them all on this land as fertilizer."

"Next, our general will lead the legion to garrison near Kolyat, and this area will be safe."

Following his orders, Kross delivered these words to the displaced people who had lost their homes. Although Cherisonas was famous for producing high-quality horses, the imperial people living there also had to grow their own food—after all, food from outside could not always be delivered. If they did not want to go hungry during famines, they had to cultivate some land to grow food crops.

The old man nodded hurriedly, his eyes shining with hope, and even the wrinkles on his face softened as he listened carefully to every word Kross said.

"By the way, did none of the young people in your village survive?"

Finally, Kross couldn't help but ask the question that had been bothering him all along. There were very few able-bodied men in the village, and it wasn't yet time for them to serve in the military.

The old man's face immediately fell, and he sighed deeply.

“How could there be no young people? And they’re all alive… It’s just that the governor has summoned them to the big cities, leaving only us old, weak, sick, and disabled. Otherwise, how could these damned bastards be so rampant here!”

121 The Rebellion of Cerison (6)

Without a moment's hesitation, Kross stood up and galloped towards his warhorse. He realized he had received very important information... and he had to inform General Tesolis immediately.

The cavalrymen mounted their horses one by one, and before setting off, he turned back and shouted: