Armored Cavalry, survive in a world full of mods

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A head adorned with a jewel-encrusted, ornate helmet and wrapped in silk fell before him. The cut surface had a rough, torn appearance, not as if it had been severed by a sharp blade, but rather as if it had been forcibly ripped from the neck by some creature with terrifying strength.

But Prusedo knew it wasn't true. He had witnessed firsthand how this horrific scene had unfolded, and he had seen with his own eyes how the long axe, its blade riddled with nicks, had torn through the neck...

Now, it's his turn to face it.

This was another fierce assault launched by the Imperial heavy infantry. He watched helplessly as a hundred-man squad in front of him collapsed. The centurion's head and one shoulder were ripped off his chest, and his deputy was smashed into a bloody pulp by the hammer and his armor... After this unit collapsed, it was his own formation that was left.

He also saw the tall figure whose armor was soaked through with blood and whose golden laurel wreath on his helmet was broken in half. He also saw the energetic and fierce army behind him—they had rested and were now more composed than when they first entered the war.

This horrific scene would be enough to make even a self-proclaimed warrior tremble and turn to flee for his life—after all, in this bloody slaughterhouse where corpses piled up like mountains and blood flowed like rivers, and limbs, organs, and bodily fluids were scattered everywhere, a person's cowardice could be universally acknowledged... unless he had an inescapable duty on his shoulders.

They were the last elite force of the Abatheris family still holding out here, and he knew very well that he no longer had the right to retreat. Whether for honor, for his family, or for his tribe, he had to stand here today.

So he led his troops to meet them without hesitation, and in the blink of an eye, they were plunged into the most bloody and cruel carnage. Their once shiny armor was quickly covered with a layer of blood.

No one knows what this somewhat famous warrior was thinking until the very end, but when his head was impaled on the spear, the patriarch of House Abathris knew that there was no way to save him.

"Do you know what you're saying? I can't back down! If I back down, it's all over. Everyone, get back!"

But the old man still wanted to stick to his last line of defense. His blade was stained with a layer of bright red blood—the mark left by the head of a retreating centurion he had personally cut off. Even though he knew that inevitable defeat was coming, he was still unwilling to accept that terrible humiliation.

He still wanted to persevere, even though he knew deep down that continuing was pointless... but he persisted like a man dying of thirst, clutching a dried-up water bladder, as if expecting something, yet also as if rejecting something...

But the others were far less stubborn than him. A middle-aged man in magnificent armor and silk robes stepped forward and, in a tone that could be described as rude and offensive, bluntly pointed out a cruel truth.

But just that one sentence silenced the furious old man instantly.

“Father, the Imperial armored cavalry are about to charge. This is our last chance to escape the battlefield... There is no hope left here.”

The old man didn't look up. He already had a rough plan in mind, so he knew very well that what his son said was an undeniable fact. It was this terrible fact that made him, as if all his strength had been drained, loosen his grip on the sharp blade, letting the ornate curved knife tip pierce the sand at an angle.

"I swore an oath to him..."

The old man lifted his hair and let out a long sigh. The blood-red gemstone, the size of a pigeon's egg, on his helmet shimmered brilliantly in the sunlight.

The middle-aged man nodded slightly, then stepped forward without hesitation and hugged the old man tightly in his surprised and relieved gaze. He then ordered the soldiers to forcibly take him away, while the surrounding nobles and generals remained silent throughout the process.

………………

At this moment, the heavily armored cavalry, under the black double-headed eagle banner, reorganized their formation for the last time, and then, to the sound of long horns, rolled in with the thunderous sound of hooves like an avalanche...

At this moment, Samir finally made his long-prepared arrangements, ready to meet his opponent's most powerful blow.

349 Breakthrough and Retreat (4)

Human physical strength has its limits, and so does human willpower. Only a very few people can endure bloody and brutal fighting for extended periods with relish. Most soldiers need to rest for a period of time after a long battle to allow their mental and physical strength to recover.

As the officers sounded their whistles and bugles, various commands were issued with specific rhythms and timbres. Soldiers took turns, raising their shields and moving in unison through the gaps in the ranks, replacing their tired and sluggish comrades with energetic replacements, continuing the bloody and brutal carnage with the enemy.

No soldier in the world is as skilled in such brutal combat as the soldiers of the Empire. They are like a well-organized, efficient, and fast machine made of steel, slaughtering every opponent with ruthless efficiency, grinding their enemies into a bloody mess, constantly pressuring their space, restricting their movements, until they completely collapse and are left to be slaughtered at will.

Meanwhile, behind the army lines, in areas heavily protected by armored vehicles, medics had already begun treating their wounded comrades—stitching up wounds with needles and thread, amputating shattered limbs, cleaning bloodstains and dirt with medicine, and relieving pain and stopping bleeding through topical application and oral administration.

The vast majority of them survive—thanks to timely and proper treatment and a clean, dry environment. Most of the factors that would have caused the injured to die in agony are removed from them. They may lack the weakness of severe limb injuries, but they will not die in agony from being neglected.

Bloodstained gauze was washed and disinfected in boiling water. Fresh or dried herbs were used in various ways, such as boiling, grinding, and soaking. White tents blocked out the sun, and dust on the ground was suppressed by repeated splashes of water to ensure that it would not drift to other places.

But everything here has nothing to do with gentleness and tranquility... This is not a pharmacy or clinic where one can deal with things calmly, but a medical camp where every second counts in snatching lives from blood and death. Everything is for efficiency, even suturing wounds is simple and crude, but they will make sure that nothing gets on the stitches.

Once it was ensured that the wounded lying on the platform would not die and that their wounds would not bleed or worsen, they would be immediately moved to the clean barracks that had already been set up behind them, giving up their original positions to another guy who was being carried in while groaning.

Everything was so orderly, and the doctors' movements were so calm and skilled, reminiscent of the Imperial Legion's impregnable formation. One would wonder what kind of command they were under... But in fact, the commander's real focus was not on this at all; he only spared a small portion of his attention to check on them from time to time.

………………

My mind has never been so active. Every thought is like a lightning bolt, colliding and flowing with each other, integrating every bit of trivial information into a comprehensive analysis, and finally converging into a major conclusion.

Tarina couldn't see much; she could only see a small corner of the massive army formation before her. All her judgments were based on the information she had gathered, like the blind men and the elephant, relying purely on her mind and thoughts to construct her understanding. Amidst the rapid hoofbeats, she gleaned one piece of information after another.

The situation on the battlefield is constantly changing. Individually, these changes are not enough to change the overall situation, but when they come together, they are enough to make a decisive change in the battle. What she has to do is to accurately see that decisive moment among these changes!

The generals had already gone into their respective legions to command, while these battle-hardened and renowned soldiers awaited her signal...

This is a heavy yet glorious duty... and it should have been the duty of Thesolius.

Such overstepping of authority can only be tolerated under one circumstance: when the legion commander personally grants her this right, allowing her to command the troops in coordination while he leads the cavalry into battle.

As always, the man liked to entrust such momentous matters to her with absolute trust, and naturally believed that she could do her best... This trust made her apprehensive, surprised, and also joyful, a heartfelt joy as exuberant as a lark.

A firm resolve had long been present in her—she had never disappointed him in the past, and she would not this time either, just as she would not allow the injured to die helplessly in front of her.

Talina had no illusions about winning by surprise. The girl simply carried out the tactics she had prepared before the battle, weaving the iron wall of the Imperial Legion into a terrifying net of blades. While trapping her prey, she was also repeatedly crushing the enemy's flesh and blood, compressing their space, and gradually encroaching, suppressing, tearing apart, and flanking them.

The scales of war have begun to tip in their favor, so there is no need to do anything superfluous at this moment. All they need to do is crush them with stronger discipline, more elite soldiers, and a stronger will and morale... Just as with the right dosage and experience, it is difficult to make a potion that is not effective enough.

Then came the rapid sound of four or five more hooves. Messengers, their bodies covered in blood and dust, relayed information through shouts and responses, delivering accurate information to the commander in the simplest and most direct way.

After a brief analysis, the girl stood up, a firm and serious expression on her face, and pursed her somewhat dry lips.

Now, Tarina is certain that the time has come.

"Issue orders to the generals of each legion to launch a general offensive! The reserve forces on the flanks must immediately encircle and suppress the enemy, and the archers must concentrate their firepower to destroy the enemy's flanks immediately, in coordination with the cavalry and assault troops!"

The messengers around her immediately obeyed the order and quickly left along the path specially left in the army formation. Talina's legs went weak and she sat back down, feeling a strange emptiness all over her body—she had temporarily unloaded a huge burden, and what happened next depended on the armored warriors...

Now, she must prepare herself—prepare for a potential large number of wounded and ensure that the majority of them survive.

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

As the first bugle call sounded, the cavalry left the prepared hillside and entered the battlefield from the side.

The horn sounded a second time, and amidst the furious neighing of warhorses, and from the forest of spears and banners, ranks were formed to tear apart and trample formations. The sun shone brilliantly and cruelly on their armor.

Now, everyone is waiting for their commander's orders, ready to plunge into the bloody war at any moment, to trample and ravage their opponents, to stain their flags with blood, and to tear their bodies apart.

The Assele had committed their reserve forces, making their already formidable formation even more impenetrable, stretching as far as the eye could see. They had formed a vast, imposing net of tens of thousands of lives, their flesh and blood, swords and armor ready to capture these dangerous beasts at any moment.

No one knew whether the commander of the Assele was confident of this. But the cavalrymen simply mocked their opponents' weakness, firmly believing that they would tear their formation apart as always, using their flesh and blood to pave the way for their horses' hooves.

But no one would let their warhorse take a step forward until Tersolius gave the order, restraining themselves with a kind of ruthless discipline, letting a cold fire burn in their hearts, waiting for the inevitable moment.

Meanwhile, Thesolius scooped up a handful of dust from the ground, held it in the air, and slowly let it fall, watching the fine dust particles being blown away by the wind, leisurely enjoying what could be described as a luxurious leisure.

A feeling of relaxation that made his entire shoulder relax made him sigh, feeling smug about this rare ease, as if this were not a battlefield where the legions of two countries were fighting each other, but a pleasant hunting ground, with plump birds and beasts passing by.

Until one instant, his back straightened again, like a long, sharp spear, and something dangerous and grand awakened within him, revealing its sharpness once more.

He calmly fastened his helmet, ignoring the dust on it, stepped one foot into the stirrup next to the saddle, and with a slight effort, flipped himself up. He gently patted the strong neck of the horse, now covered in iron scales, to soothe his powerful mount, and slowly raised his right hand.

Sunlight shone on his palms, which were covered in gilded steel, giving them a blinding, cold gleam, like a battle axe raised high, symbolizing power and majesty... until his palms fell heavily forward, and the third horn finally sounded, its desolate and long sound spreading far and wide.

As the first hoof took a step forward, almost everyone began to urge their mounts on at the same time, tightening the reins from time to time to adjust their speed, ensuring that the formation was neat and orderly. The sound of iron hooves pounding the ground and the scraping of armor plates spread like a tide, becoming more and more uniform in the gale.

First they walked slowly, then quickly... until the distance was closed to a suitable range. Then, with the fourth blast of the horn, the cavalrymen simultaneously began to whip their warhorses, causing these agile beasts to gallop forward, carrying heavy armor and knights, rolling forward like molten iron pouring down from the sky, unstoppable and devastating!

At that very moment, thousands of horns sounded simultaneously within the empire's army ranks. Thousands of war drums were struck by heavy hammers at the same time, and countless banners began to flutter in response. An unstoppable and terrifying sound, like thunder, soared into the sky and instantly spread in all directions.

The Empire's formidable heavy infantry began their advance, abandoning the defensive strategy that had previously left the Aselans battered and bruised. The seemingly endless iron wall advanced simultaneously, creating an atmosphere that felt like the sky was falling and the earth was collapsing. At the same time, a dense swarm of arrows descended upon them.

Under the blood-tinged sunlight, the war finally came to an end…

350 Breakthrough and Retreat (5)

Thunder roared down upon the earth, crushing everything in its path into fine dust, engulfing and trampling everything in an instant...

Samir had seen such a description on an ancient parchment scroll, the text of which was strange, obscure, and incomprehensible. The description itself was also ethereal, as elusive as mist... He studied the scroll from beginning to end for several days, but ultimately still could not understand its contents.

He spent a long time doing this seemingly pointless thing, simply because this piece of paper—this tattered, old, and seemingly inexplicable parchment scroll—had appeared in the scabbard his father had left him, firmly stuck to the inside.

He had consulted the wisest elders in the entire country, but no one could give him an answer. However, he was unwilling to believe that what his father had left him was a meaningless piece of trash, so he never threw it away. Even now, that parchment is still pasted inside his scabbard.

And now, at this very moment, on this battlefield filled with the aura of bloodshed, he felt as if he had finally come to understand the strange scene described on that parchment…

...His final defeat seemed both sudden and inevitable—the left wing of the legion collapsed first, and the fresh troops that the Empire had committed completely crushed the troops that were still resisting there. Before that, the elite of the Abatheris family and their banners had already abandoned everything and fled westward.

The flight of those nobles did not surprise him too much... Although they had made a common oath before the war began, it seemed too fragile in the face of the rolling iron cavalry and the collapse of the sky. Especially now that the situation could no longer give them hope, what was so surprising about such a thing happening?

But he still felt sorrow, still felt resentment... From beginning to end, he never truly took control of this army, never allowed the powerful force gathered by the nation to play its true value. No matter what efforts he made, the situation continued to deteriorate, developing to its current state...

Perhaps he had foreseen this scene long before the war began, and had anticipated such a defeat—after all, a warrior with one arm that was not under his control fighting the enemy meant that the shadow of defeat had already loomed over him... and the retreat of that part of the nobles completely destroyed his last efforts.

This fatal flaw was unsurprisingly seized upon ruthlessly and accurately by the enemy. His soldiers lost their morale and courage amidst doubt and fear, and no longer had any confidence in the war... Then, in his calm yet sorrowful gaze, they were pierced through by the rolling iron cavalry.

His last reserve force was of no use, collapsing completely under the earth-shattering charge of the enemy. The silver torrent of iron easily broke through the no-longer-firm defenses, trampling countless lives under the hooves of horses, tearing his soldiers apart with lances, and cutting them to pieces with swords, hammers, and axes. Limbs and severed arms were trampled into the mud while they were still convulsing and twitching, and their internal organs were mixed with hair and clothes while they were still steaming.

What followed was, predictably, a massive collapse.

………………

Samir closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then slowly exhaled... He knew he had lost control of the army, had lost command of the vast majority of the troops, and the situation was completely ruined, like a boulder rolling down a mountain, beyond repair.

Everything descended into chaos. No formation could maintain its integrity, and no army retained its will. Yet, the gleaming silver cavalry, still flanking the black double-headed eagle banner, pressed forward relentlessly, destroying everything that dared to stand in their way like mercury washing away sand.

The panicked crowd huddled together, screaming, cursing, wailing and crying. In the trampling and shoving, they caused heavy casualties. They even attacked others who blocked their way without hesitation. Many soldiers did not die at the hands of the Imperials, but died under the hammers and axes swung in the chaos. A terrible bloody aura floated over the entire plain, almost dyeing the clouds crimson.

Meanwhile, the Imperial cavalry began to reap the rewards of their victory—the infantry, even in heavy armor, who had lost their will to fight were now nothing more than targets for slaughter, and most of them were destined to meet their doom in the pursuit of the light cavalry.

This is no longer a battle; this is a massacre.

Samir didn't know how many people would survive, but he dared not harbor any illusions. Their escape route had long been cut off, and this last gamble had ended in utter failure... They had nowhere to retreat and nowhere to go.

He touched his forehead with his burning hands, and before he knew it, his gaze had been fixed on the raging torrent of iron in the distance, or more precisely, on the magnificent double-headed eagle banner. A bloodthirsty impulse urged him to do something... to die.

Yes, when a general suffers such a defeat, his shame should be washed away with blood, whether it be the enemy's or his own, even if he is torn to pieces in the blink of an eye, it is better than facing the bitter defeat and shame.

But in the end, he forcibly suppressed this impulse—his duty would not allow it, his heart would not allow it, he had to retreat, he had to leave this place, only in this way would there be a slight chance of turning the tide in this war, even if that chance was extremely slim.

He wanted to rally the troops, to gather the remnants of the defeated army, even if it was likely pointless.

………………

The blonde girl frowned, clicked her tongue, and reluctantly tossed aside the long axe, which was covered in chips and cracks. Then she reached out and vigorously rubbed her head, which was covered in a layer of scabs, spreading the semi-congealed, viscous blood evenly across her hair, turning the originally dazzling gold into a glaring color.

The pain in my body has become numb, and the once hard and shiny armor plates have become broken and twisted. However, due to their excellent quality, they can still maintain a certain degree of defense and shimmer like dragon scales in the gradually sinking sunset.

Karila never imagined she would be this exhausted one day—so exhausted she didn't want to move a finger, but her knees were too stiff to sit down, leaving her standing there like a wooden stake amidst the mountains of corpses and seas of blood.

The sky was gradually darkening, making the blood on the ground appear darker. The broken flags and piles of human and horse corpses stretched to the horizon, and the smoke from the burning, mixed with the smell of blood and all sorts of stench, filled the air.

What should we do next?

She raised her head somewhat dazedly, licked her sharp teeth with her tongue, then wiped the blood from her nose with her sleeve. Bored, she stretched her hips, making her aching and numb bones crack.

Go back and get a good night's sleep. Oh, and have a big meal...

Pulling her boots out of the sticky blood, Carila finally knew what she was going to do next... Then, she was startled by a black wall that suddenly appeared in front of her, and took two steps back before realizing that it was Tersolius's magnificent black horse.

Almost instinctively, as if her heart had been squeezed hard, after several rapid beats, and after her gaze swept across the empty saddle, she began to search around. Before a strange panic could intensify, she finally saw a familiar figure standing on a distant hillside, surrounded by heavily armored soldiers and guards.

"call…………"

Carila breathed a sigh of relief.

Another busy day ahead.

Another elderly person passed away here today, and it just so happens to be a relative of mine. I have to go help them for a day... This has happened three times this month already (||?_?). I really don't know what's going on. It's only right after the New Year, and elderly people are passing away one after another.

Due to unforeseen circumstances, I'll have to take another day off today... I'm so sorry o_O

351 Closing (1)

The finest leather boots were tightly stitched and then carefully coated with a layer of oil wax, so that even water couldn't penetrate them. But now, due to intense use, gaps had appeared, allowing blood to seep in.

The fine boots, embroidered with gold and silver, were now completely ruined, causing Thesolius to sigh with regret. He stretched his ankles, looked at the crimson mud seeping from the shoes, and then looked up at the gradually darkening sky.

A guard was wiping his spear with a piece of cotton cloth torn from a corpse—the weapon remained tough and shiny after piercing the chests and armor of hundreds of people, leaving only a few small scratches filled with thick, scarlet blood.

Four servants were about to clean his armor, but he waved them away, leaving him standing alone, gazing with a strange sense of melancholy at the setting sun sinking below the horizon, and at the crimson, distorted mountains of corpses and seas of blood bathed in its light.

The Assele people left behind more than 2 corpses. The remaining remnants scattered and fled, and most of them were no longer a threat. Only the largest group maintained its organization and retreated to the south.

He almost instinctively realized that in such a cataclysmic situation, the only one who could still organize this army was probably his adversary, the commander of the Assele, the man who, through his elaborate schemes, could still unite the army.

To be honest, even with his henchmen having completely infiltrated the south, he had a firm grasp on every move of the enemy army, and even his own lords were divided and at odds, he hadn't expected that the enemy would still be able to unite a large army and fight him head-on... The country of Asele still had some merit.

It will take a long time to clean up the bloodshed on this plain, and the blood of tens of thousands of people will inevitably change this place. Whether it can be cultivated as before is still unknown, but they can no longer stay here.

The next step was to march south and bring this conquest of the south to a close.