Armored Cavalry, survive in a world full of mods

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A large bowl of meat sauce beans was steaming hot, and the person eating it was enjoying it immensely, quickly scooping the beans into their mouth with a large wooden spoon, while also tearing off pieces of soft bread to accompany the meal.

The old man in charge of the food was exceptionally generous today. Before the man had even taken a few bites, he had already poured more food into his bowl, making it seem as if the food in the bowl would never run out—this was an appreciation for the brave and the hero, just like the gazes cast upon him by the people around him.

Saratag didn't think what he did was anything special, but everyone else knew exactly how difficult it was to kill four fully armed routs with his bare hands, not to mention that the time it took this man to do it wasn't even enough for a normal person to eat a piece of bread.

"Those guys were deserters who survived the battlefield. They fled all the way from the south and were starving, so they planned to steal some food from us. They were really lucky to have managed to evade the patrols and get here."

Saratag nodded, then scooped up another large spoonful of meat sauce and stuffed it into his mouth.

"No wonder they were still wearing armor. It's just a pity their skill level was too low... Well, no, it should be that they were too unlucky. If I hadn't just ducked down, they would have hit me."

"Oh, right, the one who's still alive said there were six of them... They must have gone to search in another direction. I've already sent Little Harlogan to find the nearby patrols. They should be able to catch them soon, and then I'll report it to you! Saratag, you've done a great service this time."

"Great achievement? What great achievement? They're just a few defeated soldiers. Those guys will probably end up as bandits... I don't even know how many of these have I killed."

The person opposite him fell silent for a moment, then revealed a subtle expression after a long while:

"...I was just about to ask that question, who exactly are you? Saratag, is that really your name? You're not some retired legion veteran who came here, no, you're not old enough to retire yet... As long as these guys haven't really become bandits, they're enemy soldiers, and killing them is a meritorious act."

“Many people don’t even get this opportunity, especially in logistics conscription units like ours, where we’re not even real soldiers… The chance to earn merit is even further away for us. The fact that you were able to earn merit under these circumstances is beyond just being lucky… To be honest, I’m quite jealous of you.”

"Anyway, this is definitely a good thing and won't harm you. Just cooperate when someone comes to ask you later."

364 Desperate Situation (3)

At this moment, Saratag hadn't yet realized what his captain meant by those words, but he didn't care too much either—after all, whether in their former hometown or where they lived now, they had encountered many villains who tried to kill. In their mountainous environment, transportation was inconvenient, and villages were separated by vast forests. Anyone with a little ambition could easily set their sights on such people, especially in years when prey was scarce and barren. Many villages had their share of people who tried to block roads, rob, and kill.

Because of him, his daughter, and several skilled hunters, their village always had decent harvests and found it easier to do business with the locals. Overall, they lived a fairly good life, which often aroused the jealousy of others. In general, the number of heads he chopped off was no less than the number of jackals, wolves, tigers, and leopards he slaughtered. Tribal feuds were not uncommon there and had even become a part of their lives, so they naturally didn't care.

Even if there is merit and reward, it's probably just that. Giving him a few extra coins is an extra bonus, since he didn't do this for the so-called merit. It was those desperate, defeated soldiers who provoked him first.

As he ate, he mentally calculated his next gains and estimated the travel and accommodation costs on the way back... He finally concluded that it would be most cost-effective to return with the logistics troops after the war ended, since food and lodging would be provided along the way, saving him a lot of money.

His fellow villagers who came with him have already left, and he is the only one who plans to save some more money here. So far, it seems like a wise choice, but he doesn't know how to proceed.

To be honest, he wasn't short of money at all. That girl had already sent money home several times, leaving him nothing. He didn't even know how to spend so much money. He bought all the things he had never dared to dream of before, and still had most of it left. In the end, after much thought, all he could do was buy a strong, blue mule... But his constant idleness and a strange sense of urgency always drove him to do something. It was under the impetus of this sense of urgency that he brought two fellow villagers all the way south to this place.

Although I don't know what to do in the future, I know that making more money is definitely the right thing to do.

A large piece of bone-in smoked meat was brought out and placed in front of him. It looked like a pig's hind leg, with a dark color from smoking, but once you cut it open, you could see the still tempting interior. Good smoked meat is not too salty; it only stimulates the tongue with a just-right amount of intense flavor. It is extremely delicious until your stomach and tongue are satisfied with this rich oil.

This large piece of smoked meat, which would normally be finely chopped and added to porridge so that everyone could have a bite, was now given to him all to himself. No one present objected; everyone assumed Saratag was entitled to this sumptuous lunch, as if he were the officer who had just led everyone to victory.

This left the simple yet fierce man somewhat bewildered, so he didn't even savor the rare delicacy, eating with little relish, quickly tearing the last bit of meat from the bone. He hastily wiped his greasy mouth, preparing to jump up and finish moving the remaining sacks—the blood from those men hadn't contaminated the grain; it was still clean and required no further washing or processing.

But he ultimately failed to accomplish it. A sudden sound of hooves interrupted everyone's movements, and yellow dust billowed up from the road in the distance. Red uniforms and silver armor flashed among them. A small troop of cavalry arrived with lightning speed, carrying no banners, traveling light, their horses drenched in sweat.

Saratag had an urge to turn and run away. He instinctively knew he was about to get into some serious trouble... But after weighing the pros and cons, he decided to stay put and watch the cavalry arrive.

Their captain immediately went to greet him, and after a few brief exchanges, turned and walked towards him with a smirk—the situation was exactly as he had predicted. Saratag now sincerely hoped that the girl wouldn't blame him. It wasn't that he had insisted on getting involved; who knew the situation would turn out this way?

As his captain drew closer, he noticed not just joy in the man's eyes, but also a profound, deep-seated astonishment. His mouth was agape, and his face trembled.

“You may not believe it, Saratag… someone wants to see you, and it’s a very important person. You should get going quickly and don’t delay.”

"Ah... okay, okay, I understand."

He could only sigh helplessly, then draped the towel he used to wipe his sweat over his shoulder, and walked towards the cavalry without preparing or taking anything with him.

"I should have expected this to happen."

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Climbing mountains is a tough task. Especially when climbing in rugged terrain with narrow paths, and if the slope is steep, it becomes a dangerous place. It is unwise for anyone to go through this unless they have a compelling reason to do so, and they must exercise sufficient care and caution on their feet to pass safely.

Blatchet was beginning to wonder if he had taken the wrong path… because what lay before him could hardly be called a path—it was a sloping hillside, so steep that one could only lie prone to avoid falling, covered in small white pebbles, the soil loose and crumbly. A force slightly greater than moving a head-sized boulder would be enough to crack and crumble the topsoil, and the only passable path was a narrow, protruding ridge, barely wide enough for a slightly larger bird to stand on.

He could only pray that the road below was made of hard stone, not loose soil, otherwise he would tumble down and join the rubble below. And those stones would certainly not welcome him; they would only use their hardness and sharpness to cut him bloody and leave him as a pile of minced meat to feed the wolves.

Of course, just to be on the safe side, he did his best to take some safety precautions—a wooden stake about the thickness of a calf, which he had cut and chopped out from the nearby woods. If he buried it at his starting point, it would at least be able to save his life if he fell, giving him a chance to start over.

After eating something to replenish his strength and prevent himself from being plagued by hunger, he tied the rope he was carrying to a wooden stake. Then, he pressed himself against the steep slope and slowly moved to the other side, using only a small portion of his toes to grip the barely wide enough space to stand on, moving his legs alternately at an extremely slow pace.

Fortunately, the so-called road is indeed built on solid stone, not a gully formed by weathering and rain erosion, so it can support its weight. This also proves that it is indeed a road, even though it looks rather unconvincing.

As he moved along, he suddenly noticed a patch of dry grass roots in front of him... These drought-resistant plants had well-developed root systems, but now they had been dried out by the sun, and there were small clumps of them scattered on the hillside next to him.

After a moment's thought, he immediately understood the reason—the road here wasn't originally this narrow, causing the top layer of soil to collapse and cover it up like this. These uprooted grass roots originally grew on another layer of soil, which is why old Pete said he had driven mules this way when he was young.

But no matter what, he was now left with only these conditions and had no choice but to grit his teeth and continue moving to the side, praying that there wouldn't be any loose ground under his feet.

This perilous process could make anyone feel like they were living through an eternity. Under extreme tension, he was drenched in sweat… After all, with just a slight glance down, he could see the jagged rocks in the deep canyon, all broken and tumbled down from the slopes on either side. There wasn't a trace of soft soil left; only wormwood and shrubs grew in the cracks between the rocks. If he were to fall from where he was now…

A sudden surge of panic gripped his heart once more. His fingers tightened involuntarily, his legs went weak, and he even lost his balance for a moment. He couldn't help but curse himself for being so weak, and finally forced himself to keep his gaze fixed upwards, refusing to look down at the dangerous valley below.

Finally, halfway through the afternoon, exhausted, he crossed the path and pulled hard on the rope, freeing the slipknot on the other end of the stake. He then put away the precious rope.

He didn't even want to look at the road again. He propped himself up, caught his breath, and hurried on his way. It was the hot, bright afternoon sun, and there was no shade at all. The sunlight made the surrounding soil look white and shiny. No normal person would want to sit there idly. He needed to keep going, find a shady grove of trees at the foot of the mountain to rest for the night, and then continue his journey the next day.

Now, he is quite close to his destination and should figure out how to accomplish the task that will bring them all great success.

He wasn't actually very familiar with the empire. However, he was the most trustworthy, which was why this task fell to him. Now he had to figure out how to communicate with people and how to meet that high-ranking official.

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The mighty Natamus, the glorious Natamus, this battle-hardened, fiercely renowned imperial general should have been like his brother, lashing out at the empire's enemies, commanding legions to destroy enemy cities, his name echoing in every corner, striking fear into the hearts of any dared to defy him... But now, he could only spend his days surrounded by piles of documents, like a tiger lurking menacingly in the southeast of the empire, ensuring the conquest of the south would not be hindered or sabotaged by any internal interference.

This kind of thing was nothing new to him. Having a wife like Christina meant that he could never escape politics, so he knew exactly how to use such means to achieve his goals or to completely shatter someone's delusions.

But being good at this kind of thing doesn't mean he enjoys it. After all, he is still a general at heart, and leading troops into battle is his most ardent pursuit... But at the same time, he is also aware of how important his current responsibilities are, so he will not relax in the slightest. He will not allow anyone to use despicable means to murder his brothers again! Once is enough, enough to make him feel ashamed. He will not hesitate to use the most ruthless and vicious methods to deal with such treacherous people. For this, he is willing to bury himself in parchment all day thinking about those headache-inducing problems and scheming against certain people.

His brother continued to achieve victories. As far as he knew, the Hols kingdom was nearing its end, and the Asler legion had been completely defeated. They would surely return victorious soon, and those with ulterior motives would naturally covet the newly conquered fertile land. They still had much to do for him.

Of course, his nature would not change, and he could not stand sitting still all day long. So whenever he had the chance, he would take his attendants and guards to the forest to hunt, using this rare opportunity to relax his nerves and make sure he did not forget these basic skills.

………………

The wild boar, running desperately, was panting heavily, but what it coughed up was no longer air, but a thick, bubbly bloody foam, a glaring crimson color, flowing down its hairy, thick jaw. An arrow had pierced its chest from the side, viciously and cruelly tearing its lungs apart. Any experienced hunter could easily see that this big guy was doomed—just a little more pursuit and its lungs would be completely filled with blood, then it would convulse and die, leaving the hunter to slaughter it at will, with the hunting dogs running and barking around it like whips driving it.

Finally, as they passed a mud pit, the wild boar's hoof got stuck in it, but it had no strength to pull it out. It fell headfirst into the mud, twitched a few times, and then stopped moving. The hunting dogs surrounded it and barked fiercely, hoping for some kind of dying struggle. But the huge creature remained motionless and died completely.

365 Desperate Situation (4)

Well-trained and skilled hunting dogs do not test the life or death of their prey with fierce bites. They simply hold the prey's flesh steadily and carefully, and then tear and pull. This ensures that they do not bite too deeply and be affected by the prey's counterattack before it dies, and also prevents damage to the truly valuable fur.

These are the marks left by the excellent training these hounds have undergone, enough to please and satisfy any discerning owner, and naturally, they come with a hefty price tag.

The cost of training each of them is no less than five gold coins—they are carefully selected from a large number of puppies, choosing those with slender waists, broad chests, long legs, pointed muzzles, and boldness and composure. After years of careful training from puppyhood to adulthood, the best of the best are selected, so the selling price is naturally more outrageous. However, they are very popular among the military nobles of the empire and never have to worry about sales.

The best among them can even take on a strong wild boar single-handedly. With the help of these hunting dogs, even a novice has a high probability of getting satisfactory prey. They are also often used as military dogs for elite legions or officers and generals.

This time, however, these loyal and brave creatures were not expected to exert any effort—the prey had indeed been shot in a vital spot and had exhausted its last bit of life while running. Only its flesh and blood were still warm, and it remained motionless after being torn apart for a while.

Following closely behind, the hunters on horseback quickly spotted the prey surrounded by the hounds and cheered and laughed. Some of them dismounted and came to the mud pit, preparing to use ropes to pull the huge prey out.

A single wild boar is a decent catch, but it's not uncommon. These creatures reproduce remarkably well, and if left unchecked, they can quickly proliferate within a few years, no longer content with grazing on grass roots and insects in the jungle, but beginning to invade farmland in droves to devour crops.

For this reason, in addition to cities and towns regularly organizing people to hunt them, nobles and officers were also happy to challenge these ferocious beasts. Among them, hunting them without bows and crossbows, but by wielding a spear alone, was the most praised... Of course, this was not a rational decision, but many people still hoped to use it to show their bravery.

But for Natamus, killing a wild boar was hardly a matter of bravery; any experienced hunter or warrior could do it. This hunt was merely a pastime, a way to clear his mind.

Shooting that wild boar was less difficult for him than killing a rabbit; at least a rabbit could jump and dart around, much more agile than this big guy.

But the others were happy to cheer for their general, their voices almost shaking every leaf in the woods, while the heavy, blood-drained boar was tied to a wagon behind a strong draft horse.

Sunlight filters through the gaps in the trees, casting patches of light, some continuous, some fragmented, making the woods feel less gloomy and more like a pleasant feast under the grapevines. But as the sun begins to set in the west, he must end this rare moment of relaxation and bury himself once again in the almost endless affairs of state.

After a slight hesitation, Natamus chose to continue deeper into the jungle... After all, the next opportunity like this wouldn't come for at least half a month, and he didn't want to end his hunt so soon.

As for the prey that had already been hunted, apart from some that were prepared for cooking later, all the rest were sent back to prevent slowing down the team.

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The birds on the branches uttered clear, melodious sounds that would be considered pleasant to the ears of an ordinary person. After all, these sounds were neither sharp nor frequent, but rather carried a gentle rhythm that could easily soothe the mind.

But for Blatche, the crisp, melodious birdsong sounded like sharp awls piercing his eardrums, causing him to break out in a cold sweat. The sweat from his back had even soaked through his rag shirt, making the fabric cling tightly to his skin.

It wasn't because of the heat; after all, he was hiding in the forest, where he wouldn't be bothered by the sun, and he was only wearing a thin shirt, so he shouldn't have felt hot at all.

What truly made him sweat profusely, tremble, and turn pale was what he was about to do... something that would be considered a sign of insanity.

He learned that the important figure would come to this forest to hunt every now and then, so he thought this was a pretty good opportunity to deliver the information in person and ensure that nothing went wrong—provided, of course, that he, the uninvited guest, wouldn't be hacked to pieces by the general's guards...

To a normal person, this is obviously something only a fool would do: recklessly charging into a general's guard. Even if he had no malicious intent, the guards would kill him without hesitation because of their duty. It has nothing to do with right or wrong; they are just fulfilling their duties. Even if he were a bodyguard, he would do the same.

But he couldn't think of any better way. How could someone of his lowly status possibly meet the top nobles of the empire? He didn't think he could get the imperial soldiers to bring him to their general with just a few words. More likely, he would be driven away as a madman, or worse—immediately arrested as a spy and imprisoned.

So he racked his brains and came up with this idea... He built a hut in the forest, settled down there, and waited for the day when that important person would come. He would then appear directly in front of him, talk to him, and show his sincerity to him.

Although it seemed like courting death, he believed he still had a good chance of success... After all, he had long heard about the Empire's expertise and enthusiasm for war, and as long as the other party was a qualified general, they would not give up such an opportunity. At the very least, he could try to explain himself.

This very morning, he keenly noticed a change in the situation—the birds and beasts in the forest were always fleeing in one direction, as if a large group of predators were driving them away from the other side.

Adding to the rising dust in the distance, and the faint sound of horses' hooves, he was certain that his target had arrived, so he anxiously went to wait by the main road leading in and out of the forest.

He lay there in the grass for a while, then suddenly realized he'd lost his mind—wasn't this sneaking around like an assassin? Was he afraid of not dying fast enough?!

So he quickly stood up and stretched his limbs, then gritted his teeth and walked to the middle of the road—to ensure his safety, he didn't even wear his outer robe, making sure there was nowhere on his body to hide weapons. Now he could only gamble that the big shot opposite him wouldn't kill him casually.

Probably not...

He frowned, forcing a smile that looked more like a grimace, while subconsciously touching his neck... He could only hope that this place would still be connected tonight.

………………

As the sound of horses' hooves grew closer, the laughter and chatter became clearer. Silver armor and fluttering eagle banners appeared faintly through the gaps in the trees. The magnificent warhorses neighed occasionally as their masters tightened the reins. The ranks were orderly and their imposing presence was extraordinary, like a pride of lions slowly advancing.

The fact that a force of less than a hundred men could possess such imposing presence truly startled Blatche, but it also inexplicably reassured him and gave him more confidence in their plan... He was afraid that the Imperial general was a cowardly and mediocre man, and he was only worried that the Imperial army was not strong enough.

Soon, the scouts ahead spotted him, standing abruptly in the middle of the road. One of them spurred his horse forward, charging towards him. His gleaming helmet was adorned with beautiful red feathers, and his whip lashed out at the man's face, stopping just half a finger's width away, leaving only a sharp crack in the air.

"Who are you? How dare you block my way like this?!"

The whip struck so close that he almost thought his nose was about to be scraped off. He even took a step back, his face pale, and cold sweat instantly soaked his hair... In the blink of an eye, he was surrounded by four armored cavalrymen. They were all tall and strong, staring at him with hostile expressions. The swords, hammers, and axes in their hands seemed to still have some kind of indelible bloodstain on them.

Fear gripped his heart for a moment, but was quickly banished, replaced by a ecstatic joy that made him grit his teeth—he had finally gambled correctly! Being unarmed and dressed only in thin clothing prevented the guards from immediately attacking, and he finally had a chance to speak.

He immediately knelt down and, with extremely slow movements, pulled a rolled-up parchment from his robes, while grimacing in fear that a sharp blade would fall on his head.

"I possess crucial intelligence here, enough to cripple Fortress Sosas, and I offer it to you, sir!"

As soon as he finished speaking, the room fell silent. He simply kept his head down, not daring to look up, gritting his teeth as he awaited his fate.

This was the biggest loss he had ever made, second only to the day he lost his house and barn... and now, he was going to earn even more for himself.

He didn't know how long this silence lasted, but it felt incredibly long to him. It felt so long that he inexplicably felt hungry, and the sun seemed to have already set. All the bones in his body felt stiff and sore.

The silence was finally broken by an exceptionally heavy thud of hooves, thunderous and crushing the earth, before stopping five or six meters away. This was followed by a low, howling sound, like a storm's roar.

"You mean, Sosas Fortress?"

"Yes, Your Excellency! Please pass this message on to the General. This is an opportunity that will come once in a lifetime, and I dare not conceal anything."

"Keep your head up."

This was the first response he received, and then, as if someone had grabbed him by the neck, he instinctively looked up and was shocked by what he saw in that instant.

Before him stood a magnificent horse, tall and imposing beyond imagination. Its coat was as smooth as silk made of gold, and its heavy breathing, like a whirlwind, blew his hair away, forming a wall that almost completely obscured his entire body.

But compared to his master, this strong and powerful steed seemed to complement him perfectly. In that instant, he almost subconsciously lowered his head to avoid the other's gaze, afraid that the terrifying gaze would peel him away bit by bit.

The man on horseback possessed a handsome and dignified presence as hard and solid as rock. He wore no armor, yet he still commanded respect, as if he were born to lead others.

“I am the highest military commander of the southern province of the empire, and it is up to me to judge whether your so-called intelligence is valuable.”

In that instant, Blatche finally relaxed completely, a smile he couldn't suppress creeping onto his lips... He knew all his hard work had paid off; he knew he had achieved his goal. After all, the intelligence he brought was genuine, and as long as someone believed it, everything was foolproof.

“I have absolute confidence in this, sir.”

Natamus sized up the man, his gaze lingering on the scratches and abrasions on his skin. After a while, he came to his conclusion—an ambitious man who was willing to pay a heavy price for his ambition and had already paid some of the price.

At least in this case, the word ambition doesn't seem bad; it also implies a possibility, a possibility that makes his blood boil.

“I will not rashly punish anyone, but I will not tolerate anyone trying to fool me on this matter. That would mean you are trying to harm the Empire through conspiracy... If you are full of lies, then there will naturally be no good outcome for you.”

"Of course, sir! Of course."

He forced himself to his feet, not losing his composure despite the overwhelming ecstasy within him; his eyes burned like embers, brimming with a passionate fervor.

“We have no other way out, so please believe in the desperate struggle of a group of people who have reached the end of their rope. Trying to harm you will do us no good. What we are pursuing is clear and we will not hide it.”

Natamus remained noncommittal, turned his horse, and rode away.