Armored Cavalry, survive in a world full of mods

"Who cares... Who knows what those guys up there are thinking? If you ask me, this is actually a good thing—you know what's going on up there, those soldiers are risking their lives. If the two of us just look at the drain, we can escape this mess. Where else can you find such a good thing?"

“I’d rather the two of us were up there… For some reason, I have this creepy feeling here, like ice is seeping into my bones, and it even makes me wonder if someone has a knife to my throat from behind…”

"Don't overthink it. Once we get through these next couple of days, we'll be back to eating and drinking well as usual..."

cluster!

Like a bird soaring through the air, an extremely faint, light voice rang in Frigg's ear, abruptly ending his companion's reply and causing him to look up in confusion...

A thin crossbow bolt, no longer than two fingers, was deeply embedded in his companion's throat. The sharp arrowhead, with its vicious barbs, tore through flesh and cartilage, even emerging from the back of his neck. The victim tried to cover his throat, but no sound came out when he opened his mouth. Only a large amount of blood gushed from his throat, mixed with saliva, flowing down his chin and onto his chest, staining his green cloak a dark color.

Seeing his companion struggle twice before collapsing to the ground as if his spine had been ripped out, Frig finally reacted. He opened his mouth to scream, but a hand gripping his jaw and throat forcefully forced it back down. With a swift slide of a dagger across his throat, he followed in his companion's footsteps, collapsing to the ground, coughing up copious amounts of blood and froth, futilely trying to stop the blood from flowing from the gaping wound in his neck. His lungs struggled to produce labored, labored breaths, but after only a few seconds, he ceased moving.

Caledo wiped the mud off his face, drew his sword from his waist. The blade was specially coated with black dye, making it look dull and gloomy, but it was terrifyingly sharp.

After deliberately stabbing the two men lying on the ground in the heart to make sure they wouldn't get up and raise an alarm because their injuries weren't fatal, Calido hurriedly went around to the back. After groping around on the ground for a while, he found an iron ring in the dust, pulled it up hard, and opened a tunnel door that was more than a meter wide. The others followed through the door.

"Don't waste any time! First team, don your armor immediately and get ready to move out!"

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

The castle, which had held out for almost a week, fell today. When the enemy appeared behind them, the morale of the defenders, who were already struggling, immediately plummeted. Under the sudden intensification of the imperial army's offensive, they were able to scale the walls and then suffer a swift and decisive defeat.

Without the cover of the city walls, the Holsian soldiers suffered defeat after defeat, gradually surrendering more and more towers and walls. Their corpses littered the ground, and their morale was rapidly eroding.

As soon as the officer gave the order, the Empire's elite soldiers launched a fierce offensive, clearing a path for themselves with swords, spears, axes, halberds, and crossbows, using the torn corpses and flowing blood as their stepping stones. Soon, their gleaming armor was smeared with the enemy's blood.

After such a crushing defeat, even the most cowardly commander should make his own decision, even if it means staying put and waiting to die...

The nobleman who commanded and managed the castle made his choice without any surprise—he did not intend to die with his castle, and prepared to leave through a secret passage with a few trusted subordinates... He even left behind the most important things here, since those things could not be taken away in a short time.

………………

In the dark underground tunnel, water droplets seeped from the rocks overhead, crystal clear yet exuding a chilling aura, falling downwards with the pull of gravity and crashing onto a blood-stained iron helmet.

The fully armed samurai paid no heed to the drop of water; responsible for covering the rear, he carefully pressed his head against the wall. After listening for a moment and confirming that no one was following behind, he turned and hurriedly gave chase.

The structure here is fairly sturdy. Although you can sometimes step into mud, the sides and the top are reinforced with solid blue bricks and stone slabs to ensure that it will not collapse at will. The height is enough to allow an adult man to walk inside with his head slightly bent, but the width is only enough for two people to walk side by side.

This also means that once attacked, no matter how many people they are outnumbered, only two people can be used at the same time. If they are not careful, they will be trapped here with no way out.

The cheers from afar pierced the air and reached their ears, making everyone realize that the castle had been completely captured and that their home had now fallen into enemy hands—this darkened the expressions of many, and some even felt a pang of sadness.

Of course, despite the sadness and dejection, they dared not slow down at all, and even walked faster and faster, for fear of falling behind and being caught by the Imperials.

Surrounded by these elite soldiers, a Holstein nobleman with short blond hair, a strong build, and a relatively calm demeanor, and a figure completely draped in a black robe with no skin showing, were the most eye-catching. The surrounding soldiers were clearly following their commands.

The tunnel was dug very long—after all, if it were too short, it would be easy for the besieging enemy to find it. So it extended all the way to an inconspicuous grove outside the castle. Although the leaves had mostly fallen by now, it was enough to obscure their view and prevent the enemy scouts from easily discovering their presence, giving them enough time to make their next plans.

During their escape, no one wanted to speak, and there was very little communication. If it weren't for the fact that they couldn't ride horses here, they probably would have been waving their whips like the wind. After rushing around like this, half an hour after the castle fell, they finally saw their target—an upward entrance blocked by withered branches, fallen leaves, and stone slabs.

The lead explorer pushed aside the obstacles without hesitation and carefully climbed out to scout the situation, while the others waited below.

Not long after, a signal came from above that everything was safe, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

First came the nobleman, then the man in black robes, followed closely by his confidants and soldiers. Everyone crawled out of the cave and, without daring to delay any longer, went to a nearby ravine to find the horses that had been hidden there. After feeding them a little food and salt, they chose a secluded path and fled at full speed.

…………

The needles of a pine tree rustled slightly, and a figure dressed in a gray short coat emerged from it. His clothes fit him perfectly, with leather straps securing his joints to ensure there was no looseness or sag. Two sharp, short daggers with brass hilts were tucked into his waistband. The colors were so dull that they did not reflect any light even when exposed to sunlight.

This was none other than an emperor's hound. He peeked out from among the leaves, letting his gaze pass over the bare branches before him, completely oblivious to the spiderwebs stuck to his forehead and the handfuls of grayish-yellow pine needles. Watching the dust disappear into the distance at the end of the path, he reached into a cage among the branches and pulled out a tiny bird, no bigger than a child's palm, with grayish-blue feathers.

As if wanting to kiss the bird, he brought its grey-blue feathers close to his face and began to speak softly:

"The target has left, the target has left, we can begin."

After he finished speaking, he carefully repeated himself twice, then released his hand and let the little bird flap its wings and fly away from his hand, quickly disappearing into the distant canopy of trees.

………………

The sturdy iron gates were enough to keep out most ill-intentioned individuals—but certainly not a group of elite soldiers with predatory eyes.

After all, although it is called an iron-clad gate, this kind of gate is not actually covered with a layer of iron plate. It is only reinforced with iron bars and nails on the frame and important connecting parts.

As the heavy, sharp battle axe swung up and down, the more fragile wooden parts of the gate quickly splintered, tearing open a fist-sized gash that was rapidly widening with the soldier's movements. The planks gradually collapsed, the iron bars twisted, and the nails began to fall off.

With the final two blows, the heavy wooden door could no longer hold it back and was torn apart into broken wood and iron bars. The soldiers rushed in, those with shields leading the charge, while those with spears and bows provided support from behind, ready to deal with the enemies hiding inside.

—But the place was deserted. What met their eyes were piles and piles of bottles and jars, colorful liquids shimmering with strange light inside, and organs submerged in huge glass jars were still wriggling slightly…

273 Escape (2)

Assale, this land of yellow sand and gold, is never short of scorching sunshine. The sun here is exceptionally generous to its people, full of passion for most of the year, casting its endless heat into every corner.

Apart from the coastal oases, the rest of the country is water-scarce, and only the eastern plains and coastal areas have large tracts of arable land; other areas are mainly used for grazing.

The most striking impression this country leaves is its ubiquitous caravans and glittering colors. All the nobles and wealthy merchants in Asel regard the most prestigious color as the brilliant gold of the sun, with bright blue being slightly less so.

There are strict limits on the amount of gold that each noble can use on their armor and clothing. The higher their status, the more they can use. Only the most noble King of Kings, Lord of the Yellow Sands, and master of this country—Fosalah Doleman Kulois Kusah, the sacred and sublime Shah—can adorn himself entirely with pure, magnificent gold.

The Shah resided in the most prosperous city in the very center of the northern coastal region of Assel, a golden-domed city built of white marble, where he enjoyed the ultimate pleasures and authority, projecting his will across the entire southern land.

………………

The clear blue water rippled in the marble-patterned pool. Even though it was scorching hot outside, enough to dry out even lizards, the pool maintained a refreshing coolness and humidity. Every breath brought a refreshing breeze that soothed the lungs. The sweltering heat outside, which seemed to make the air circulate, was merely a rather peculiar sight.

A servant, carrying a heavy bronze jar filled with pale blue sand, lifted its extraordinary weight with a respectful and humble air. Reaching the pool, he poured the sand evenly into it, instantly restoring the slightly warmed temperature to its most comfortable coolness.

A bronze-skinned man was immersing himself in a pool of water. His smooth, muscular body was enveloped in a faint blue light. He had thick, long eyebrows and a pair of eyes as majestic and fierce as those of a lion or tiger.

He wasn't particularly tall, but he was extremely well-proportioned and robust, reminiscent of leopards roaming in desert oases, every inch of him exuding health and powerful vitality. Most of his skin was exposed, except for two arms adorned with five or six gold armlets inlaid with magnificent jewels, which he didn't remove even while immersed in the pool.

With his steady, powerful breathing, the slightly wavy black hair on his strong, muscular chest rose and fell, as thick and shiny as a lion's mane. When he was silent, the dozens of servants and concubines around the clear pool were all trembling with fear, like lambs hiding next to a dragon.

Every decoration here is magnificent and intricate, with not an inch of space appearing superfluous. The designers have done their utmost to add more patterns and elements, and exquisite and ornate carvings can be seen everywhere. The lush and distinctive plants are cultivated by specialists and pruned and adjusted in real time to ensure that these things can be seen around the Shah's palace at all times. Not even a single extra withered leaf is allowed to appear.

Time seemed heavy and slow here. Apart from the servant who often carried sand in a huge bronze jar, no one dared to breathe loudly. Even the women who wore only light gauze, with graceful figures, charming postures, and stunning beauty, often maintained a reserved attitude.

No one dared to disturb the Shah in this state—not even the women who bore him children. This man was never merciful, or rather, he believed more in the lasting effects of bloodshed and pain than in mercy, and that fear and death were more intimidating. He was never stingy in inflicting pain and punishment on others.

This eerie silence lasted until it was shattered by hurried footsteps. Accompanied by a sudden, loud knocking, a tall wooden door covered in gold was pushed open, and a guard covered in gleaming golden scales stepped in.

The man soaking in the pool remained expressionless, only slightly raising his right hand as a silent sign of consent.

"My esteemed master, Lord Ahmed, has arrived and is waiting."

The man in the pool suddenly frowned, a hint of displeasure appearing on his face, causing everyone around him to lower their heads in fear.

"Didn't I say that in this country, no one but me has the right to stop him? Why are you making him wait outside? Or have you become so incompetent?"

The guards, clad in golden scale armor, showed no sign of panic, remaining calmly bowing their heads.

"Lord Ahmed requests that you come out of the bathroom; he is waiting in the side hall."

Shah frowned:

"Is it absolutely necessary to go there?"

"Yes."

He finally opened his eyes, sighed helplessly, and then stood up directly from the bathtub.

"Change my clothes, maids."

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

A large group of servants filed in carrying a dazzling array of delicacies, swiftly and respectfully placing them on a long, gilded, carved table. The carpet beneath was spotless, and cushions and pillows adorned with tassels and intricate embroidery created a comfortable space. At the very center of the table sat a glass of wine chilled with ice, as red as blood and as rich as goat's milk.

This is an incredibly luxurious feast for anyone, especially since many of the ingredients come from distant regions and require countless resources to transport them here. It cannot be simply bought with gold; it signifies unparalleled power and prestige.

Unfortunately, the person facing these delicacies is an elderly person whose appetite is far less than that of a young person, so most of these luxurious foods will still be left uneaten.

Ahmed's wrinkles had deepened considerably, and his hands and cheeks had become increasingly dry and thin. Even the most oblivious person could see the old man's haggardness and clearly recognize that life was slipping away from his body.

Of course, Fossala wasn't oblivious to this, but precisely because he could see it, his mood instantly soured. He lost all interest in the wine he was about to drink and casually tossed the cup onto the table.

"Cheer up, my friend... This is the most important time of day. If you don't enjoy the food and wine to your heart's content at this moment, the rest of the day will just be wasted... Or have you finally grown tired of me, old man? So you can't even be bothered to greet me with a cheerful attitude?"

Ahmed's expression, a mixture of amusement and exasperation, was profound and composed. This always thoughtful old man waved to the side, asking a servant for a soft cashmere towel. He wiped his face with water, cleaned his hands, and then picked through the large pile of food in front of him, grabbing a lamb chop. He coated it with a thick layer of seasoning powder before beginning to eat.

"As long as you don't mind that this old man is becoming more and more useless, that's fine. After all, at my age, I don't have much time left to live... I really don't know how many more years I can help you..."

Fossala's expression grew increasingly dissatisfied, but anyone who knew him well could see that beneath this dissatisfaction lay not a trace of anger, but rather a subtle undercurrent of unease and sorrow... more like an urgent expression of his attitude.

"Don't say such discouraging things. You will live a long life, old man. With all the doctors you've taught and the people you've saved over the years, God will surely bless you to live for several more decades so that you can pass on all your skills to your students."

"If we really calculate it that way..."

Ahmed tossed away the remaining bones in his hand, and a servant immediately caught them mid-air and cleaned them up.

“I should have died long ago. After all, what sin could be greater than instigating a king to kill all his relatives? Few evils in the world can compare to this. No matter how many people I save, it is not enough to atone for it. The Lord has already set my punishment.”

This statement was almost a provocation, enough to ignite the anger of even a relatively benevolent king, but the Shah laughed:

"What, you old codger, are you regretting it now? Regretful that you were so decisive and clean in doing things with me back then?"

"Of course I don't regret it."

The old man slowly and calmly shook his head:

"Leaving them alive would be the greatest disaster... As long as they live, this country is destined to never have any peace, and we are destined to tear each other apart in civil war, draining each other's lifeblood... My only worry is our future."

“After we set this precedent, those who sit in the position of Shah in this country will probably have to trample over the blood and bones of their own relatives... There will be no room for mercy left.”

"Kindness is a luxury, just as only the wealthy can afford to give alms to beggars. It is something that only the victors and the strong can afford. There will be a way if there is one. We just need to get through our time. The weak should not be in this position."

"...You are as proud as ever, but thankfully, this time we are not facing an internal challenger, but a powerful external opponent."

…………

On the scorching charcoal fire, a large, skinned snake is roasting until it's dripping with oil, its sweet and rich aroma whetting the appetite. In the huge copper vats around it, the blue sand exudes a cool fragrance, keeping the temperature here consistently comfortable.

Fossala did not answer the old man's question, but instead turned his gaze to the large snake that was being roasted. His servant then cut off the roasted parts for him.

"The Turlu people certainly know how to eat. I heard that they just presented this kind of thing to the emperor of the empire last year, and now it's already on our table... It's just a pity that only one of the three that were brought here survived, and the other two have been roasted to a crisp."

"Before seeing it, I didn't believe that anyone would eat snakes... There are only dry and venomous snakes in the desert, where would you find such fat things that are raised and oozing oil... But now it seems pretty good."

"The Turlu people sent three to the emperor of the empire, and then sent three to us. Their land is fertile, but their people are weak and submissive, so their nobles have a lot of free time to study these things. However, they dare not disobey the will of the great power, and in the end, they still have to send them to us."

"Have you made a decision yet?"

The old man sighed, and the question he asked seemed completely unrelated. Fossala nodded slightly.

“I’ve made up my mind, old man… If those guys hadn’t been holding me back, this would have been decided much sooner. We have to get involved. We can’t just rely on a few bland diplomatic words to deal with any country anymore… Rather, when did we become so weak? Facing an opponent, we don’t even dare to try, and we’re already thinking of backing down?”

"Are you planning to come from the east or the west?"

"In the east, the army has already begun to assemble there. Only there can support our large army, and we can also get naval cover. We don't have to worry about supplies, which is much more convenient than for the Empire."

"The Hols are too incompetent. At the current rate, this country will be recorded in history books in a few months at most... We cannot risk exposing the coastal oasis to them. The situation has developed to this point and it was unavoidable."

Snake oil dripped continuously from the charcoal fire, and conversations continued beside it. The sun outside the window was setting in the west, and night was about to fall, destined to paint the sky with a clear, somber hue.

--------

Warhorses that run at high speeds expend a great deal of energy and are more likely to trip over potholes and obstacles. Their unique physical structure also means that once they fall, they are unlikely to get up again.

A horse that can't stand up has significantly reduced value to humans. It's also a terrible waste. So, under normal circumstances, riders in such complex terrain will try to control their speed and maintain a smooth and stable ride to minimize the possibility of falling.

Of course, there are exceptions—for example, when fleeing for their lives, no one cares about their own, so naturally no one cares about the life of their warhorse. They might even wish they could detach their own legs and attach them to the warhorse's belly to increase its speed and help it escape faster.

As dusk fell, the sun gradually sank below the western horizon, soon to disappear behind the mountains, casting its crimson light across every corner. For the fleeing refugees, however, tonight would be even longer and more agonizing…

274 Escape (3)

The fugitives were exhausted, about to drain their last bit of strength... Contrary to popular belief, horseback riding is also an activity that consumes physical energy. It's not that you can sit on the horse and relax. Controlling a horse to run or walk for a long time can also make you feel exhausted... especially when there may be enemies chasing you from behind.

Whenever their warhorses became unusable and exhausted, unable to move forward, they would not hesitate to replace them with another one—this was also a result of their foresight in preparing a large number of spare horses in areas accessible by nearby tunnels, so that they could escape as quickly as possible in case the situation collapsed.

They fled from the bright sunshine of midday until the cold, damp midday evening. Because they dared not keep the torches lit for long, many people fell and were injured, and several horses were crippled in the flickering firelight. Finally, the fleeing people, who could no longer move forward on the dark road, were allowed by their leader to rest for a while.

After tying their horses up, they didn't care about the ground being wet from the melting snow. Everyone sat down with a thud. Under the immense psychological pressure, their physical strength was being depleted very quickly, and some people were so weak that they couldn't get up after sitting down.

When they first escaped, in order to avoid being hunted down, they even deliberately chose those remote and difficult paths... Now they are finally reaping the bitter fruit, feeling their bones ache and go weak.

The servants and soldiers were also responsible for feeding the horses and ensuring that these vital vehicles would not break down due to fatigue. The nobles and officers had begun to consciously gather to discuss their next steps.

The Holstein nobleman with short blond hair also looked exhausted, but he forced himself to maintain the composure and dignity befitting a superior. Sweat clung to his slightly curly blond hair. A gust of cold wind in the early winter chilled his head, and he shivered involuntarily.

Upon seeing this, a middle-aged man who had lost most of his hair quickly pulled a thick, plush blanket from behind his horse's saddlebag and draped it over the Holstein nobleman's body, protecting his master from the cold and damp weather.

Seeing this, those who had blankets immediately followed suit, while those who didn't squeezed together with their companions and began to recover their strength with dry, hard bread and cold stream water fetched from nearby. After a brief silence, the oppressive meeting finally began.