Armored Cavalry, survive in a world full of mods

Seeing the pair of dusty footprints at the entrance of the dead-end alley, about two people's height above his head, the old soldier jokingly stepped forward and tied the still trembling man up tightly with a rope, while picking up his own stick and hanging it back on his waist.

"If you hadn't run into me, you really would have gotten away with it..."

376 Another storm breaks out (3)

This guy had some skills, but the veteran had seen much stranger things, so he wasn't surprised at all. He calmly tied the other man's arms with a rope and pulled him up from the ground. The unfortunate fellow was still convulsing from the violent impact on his genitals and was completely unable to resist.

The other boys also rushed over at this time, but they were no longer of any use. They could only help him drag the little thief back to their police station—an abandoned house on the edge of town.

This place is quite large. It used to be where the hunters in the town lived, but since this unlucky fellow joined the lord's army to fight in the north and never returned, the house was left empty. Before anyone else could think about it, the imperial army arrived here again, and in the end, the house was given to them.

The hunter was also the lord's hunting ground keeper, and for that reason, his house was exceptionally grand. It was even possible for ten people to squeeze in and spend the night there together. To this end, he specially fenced off one of the rooms with wooden bars to use as a prison, to hold the petty thieves that he could catch from time to time.

By the time they threw the guy into the cell, it was getting darker and darker. Everyone else was getting ready to go home, but the old man had nowhere to go, so he decided to sleep there, drink some mixed liquor he'd gotten by the burning fireplace, and enjoy a bowl of golden-brown, crispy fried wild boar skin.

The crispy crust, saturated with the aroma of oil, was perfect for drinking with. He also had some bread from the store to fill his stomach, and that was how he got through the night. However, he no longer dared to drink so recklessly, otherwise, if the patrolling officials found out that he had abandoned his post, he would be in big trouble...

The laws of the empire are strict and authoritative, and it is unwise for anyone to challenge the authority of the imperial laws. He naturally dared not be an exception. Moreover, although the damned inspector would come three times a month, the time of his visit was uncertain, which meant he always had to be on guard, fearing that he would mess things up if he let his guard down even slightly.

So this bottle of wine, which wouldn't normally be enough for him to rinse his mouth, he only drank half of it today before gritting his teeth and putting it on the table. After finishing the remaining wild boar skin and bread, he prepared to wrap himself in a blanket and take a nap.

Perhaps it was the lack of alcohol to help him sleep, but he tossed and turned, unable to fall asleep. It felt like his skin was covered in thorns. He tried to adjust his position several times, but couldn't relax. Finally, he gritted his teeth and sat up abruptly. Naturally, his gaze returned to the half-empty bottle of wine.

He was a heavy drinker who had been drinking for years, so how could he possibly give it up? He had forced himself to not drink and sleep, but he couldn't sleep. The next day he was so groggy that he could barely see where he was going.

At his level, it's incredibly difficult for him to control himself, or rather, his normal physiological functions are almost inseparable from alcohol. Drinking is as important to him as eating, and every time he forces himself to put down the bottle before he's had his fill, it feels like his heart is being torn apart.

How about... I have some more?

He licked his lips, his fingers already reaching involuntarily towards the table, already anticipating the hard, rough texture of the wine bottle—this ceramic bottle had been with him for countless years, yet it had never broken. He had always regarded it as his lucky charm, having survived countless brushes with death on the battlefield and rolled in the mud without ever losing it.

Yes, have a little more... We're all old men of this age, what else is there to pursue besides a sip?

He knew that just one sip would be more effective than any magic pill. His body, which felt uncomfortable all over and felt like it was being crawled on and bitten by ants and insects, would immediately relax. Once he was drunk and confused, he would naturally fall asleep without realizing it, and his old injuries would no longer torment him.

The thought was so strong, so tempting, that he was like a man dying of thirst in the desert, constantly licking his lips, his beard trembling... but his fingers could not grasp the bottle, hesitating back and forth, sometimes moving closer and sometimes pulling back.

His body still craved alcohol, still relied on the stimulation of that substance, but inexplicably he wanted to stop himself from continuing his indulgence, and even he himself didn't understand why...

Perhaps it was because of the empire's imposing and terrifying laws, perhaps because of the silver coins he received each month, perhaps because of the power and respect he now held... perhaps because he was unwilling to give up the hope he had just glimpsed.

He used to rely on alcohol to escape the terrible, dark reality. Having narrowly escaped death three times on the battlefield and toiling away for half his life with nothing to show for it, he had exhausted his last bit of energy. Whenever he had a little spare money, he would definitely buy himself a drink. After all, if he got drunk, he wouldn't have to worry about anything, and nothing would be scary anymore... But now that there was hope for the future, why did he still need this stuff?!

But his body wouldn't listen to him; it was cursing him, every cell in his body was insulting him—"Lydos, you idiot! You need this, drink that wine now, hurry up!"

His hands began to tremble, his body began to rebel, whipping his will, destroying his nerves, and forcing him to quickly replenish his alcohol... As always, as long as he drank, he could immediately gain a moment of peace.

Finally, he began to give in... He finished the remaining half bottle, enough to not completely kill himself, and it shouldn't cause any problems.

The moment his fingers touched the bottle, all his previous resolve and willpower crumbled instantly. Without hesitation, he snatched the bottle, tilted his head back, and took a huge gulp. Before his tongue could even taste it, it was already in his stomach. After a few dozen breaths, the alcohol began to soothe his nerves, making him genuinely relieved.

That feels so damn good...

Click-clack! —

This was almost the moment when he was most careless and relaxed, but even so, his ears faithfully picked up the slightest sound. However, his mind was still in a sluggish state at that moment, his eyes were vacant and his gaze was completely blank, which completely delayed the warning from his ears.

Then, his eyes caught a familiar dark figure—the petty thief they had caught that afternoon. As always, the man had a pointed face and a thin body, wearing a tattered black robe, dressed like a beggar with leprosy, and had even received a good beating from him.

He didn't know how the other person had escaped. The house where he was locked up was made of very good materials, with no gaps or weak points. The wooden fence was made of high-quality oak and was freshly made. The lock on it was also of the best quality. How did this guy manage to get out?

The veteran finally came to his senses and immediately broke out in a cold sweat... He was lying on the ground almost completely unprepared, while his opponent clearly had a sharp blade gleaming in his hand. If the opponent suddenly attacked, he would be at their mercy.

The alcohol he had just drunk seemed to be expelled along with the cold sweat. His mind became incredibly clear amidst the panic and horror. Seeing that the other person seemed to be looking at him with some hesitation, his mind raced for a moment before he suddenly gripped the bottle in his hand and immediately came up with a plan.

Under the other person's sinister gaze, he suddenly let out a groan and lazily lay down on his side. The wine bottle in his hand scraped against the ground with a crisp sound, and the few remaining sips of wine flowed out of the bottle, soaking most of his beard.

He seemed unable to move his hands and feet, and there was no energy in any part of his body. He looked like he was drunk to death in a vat of wine... He didn't even need to act it out. He was more used to acting like this than anyone else, and when he did it on purpose, it was even more lifelike.

A drunk person can instinctively instill fear and keep others away because they are more likely to vent their emotions through violence and are a threat to others. But a person who is half-dead drunk is completely different—they are like a child, powerless to resist, their nerves are numbed by alcohol, their minds are spinning, and if left unattended, they might even choke to death on their own vomit. Anyone could easily stab them in the heart.

He wasn't hoping the other person would let him off the hook, but rather that the guy would lower his guard—he was currently unarmed, but if the other person let his guard down and approached him carelessly, the sturdy bottle in his hand would come in handy, and he could use it to deliver a nasty blow anytime, anywhere.

He knew exactly how to knock a guy down instantly... Just aim for the side of the head near the temple, where the bone is the weakest. If you hit hard enough and accurately, you can kill him in one blow. Even if the guy tries to throw a dagger at him to be safe, he can throw a bottle at his head a moment before he can make a move.

He didn't even know why he had failed, but now he didn't have time to think about anything else... Just like how he had escaped from the battlefield three times in a row, now he had to figure out how to survive.

Come on, crouch down a little, stick your head out, and get ready to stab me in the heart with that knife... Only then can I knock you out with a bottle.

The veteran's breathing remained perfectly normal; he slept soundly, clutching his bottle like a typical drunkard, his snot dripping onto the ground until his face was stuck to it. Just one glance at him was enough to make an ordinary person want to stay away.

But his plan ultimately failed... or rather, it only succeeded halfway. After hesitating for a long time, the other party suddenly turned around, spat at him, and then hurriedly pushed open the door next to him, walked out, and left the drunkard there.

After that guy left, he remained lying on the ground pretending to be drunk, waiting for several breaths to make sure the other person wouldn't return before nimbly leaping up and immediately grabbing the sword from the shelf next to him.

And the ceramic wine bottle that he was originally prepared to sacrifice was left intact once again... which made him both amused and exasperated. In the end, he could only helplessly hang it back on his waist.

After doing all that, he didn't even hesitate. He reached for the hard leather armor next to him and put it on, wiped the mess off his beard, and then hurriedly pushed open the door and began searching forward, following the footprints on the ground.

Thanks to the guy's proximity, the spilled liquor on the floor stuck to his shoes. And since the old man's nose was particularly sensitive to alcohol, even though the footprints on the ground stopped two or three times, he didn't completely lose track of him. He continued walking along the streets and alleys of the town.

The further he walked, the more uneasy he felt... He was quite familiar with this town; sometimes, even when he was drunk, he could vaguely find his way home by himself. So he knew very well what was in this direction—it was the town's main well, and most people here relied on that well for their livelihood.

Of course, the other party might have been trying to escape in this direction, but somehow, he almost instinctively felt that the guy's target was the well, which made him quicken his pace. At the same time, he drew his sword, wrapped it in a soft cloth awning he had torn from a nearby shop, ready to fight at any moment.

Of course, the safest decision would be to call over all his buddies so that they could organize a manpower to surround and capture him, and there would be no fear of him escaping. However, a strong sense of foreboding made him dare not delay, fearing that the other party might do something good during this time...

As it turned out, his hunch was indeed correct.

In the bright moonlight, as he cautiously peeked out of the alley, the first thing he saw was the black-robed man standing by the well, and the man's furtive movement as he crouched down.

Immediately, his attention shifted to the figure lying beside the well—he recognized him at a glance as the young man on night patrol! He was now collapsed on the ground, his fate unknown.

An impulse surged within him, but he forced it back, compelling himself to approach cautiously and slowly… The fool was facing away from him, and there could be no better time.

One sword strike, and bones are broken and flesh is sliced. Perhaps another strike will be needed... But no matter what, as long as he can get close, everything will be fine. As long as he is a person, and a person who is not wearing armor, there is no way he can withstand the slashing and cutting of the sharp blade.

And in that short period of time, that guy made another move.

Under the bright moonlight, he could clearly see the other person carefully taking a beautiful, transparent bottle from their pocket. The purple liquid inside reflected shimmering light, just like the night sky above...

377 Another storm breaks out (4)

Beautiful things are not necessarily good... There is a lot of evidence to prove this statement, such as brightly colored mushrooms, beautiful and glossy red fruits, or a beautiful but wicked person. Therefore, bright colors often give people a bad feeling and make them feel that this is not a good thing.

The small bottle in the other person's hand was frighteningly beautiful, like a firefly dancing in the bushes on a quiet summer night, enough to stir the soul. But the extremely alluring purple color made him even more wary, especially since the guy looked like he was about to pour it into the well, which made him even more certain that it was definitely not a good thing.

His original plan was to approach at a slower pace, which would be safer and ensure a successful strike. But now he probably had to be more aggressive. After all, that guy was about to dump those things into the well. Who knew how long it would take for the well water to return to normal after it was contaminated? How would the town with so many people solve its drinking water problem then?

He didn't want things to get to that point, so now it was time to take a risk.

So he quickly turned his head to look around and made a decision in a few breaths. He reached out and grabbed a broken wheel that had been taken off. It was a wheel commonly used in small carriages. It wasn't too heavy, and it wasn't even covered with iron bars. The wood was rotten and probably used for firewood.

Even so, this thing is still a wheel...

He held his breath, lowered his shoulders, and then, with arms poised for a powerful push, seized an opening and sent the wheel rolling rapidly forward along the road.

At the same time, he suddenly sprang up and charged forward with a ferocious expression. Normally, such a violent movement would immediately alert the other party, but before that, the tattered wheel that was rolling forward just happened to knock over a wooden barrel that a family had placed outside their door. The sound it made first diverted the other party's attention. Although the guy immediately came to his senses after he realized that it was a wooden barrel, those two short breaths were enough for him.

The blade gleamed coldly under the moonlight. He used the torn cloth to cover the tip of the sword, gripped the hilt with his other hand, and pounced on his opponent like a leopard, pressing the sharp blade against his neck and pulling it backward with force.

Like forcefully grabbing someone's neck and dragging them backward, the thick fabric prevented his fingers from being cut, while the sharp blade sliced ​​through the flesh and cartilage of the throat without hindrance, stopping only when it got stuck in the hard bone, while also providing him with a foothold to drag the other person away.

This strike was ruthless and steady; even at his strongest, he couldn't have done it any better. His opponent had no chance to resist; the blade had already cut half of his neck open. Anyone should die now... if he were truly a normal person.

Having most of his muscles, cartilage, and carotid artery severed, and even cut to the neck bone with a sharp blade, he should at least be twitching and completely incapacitated, if not immediately unable to move. But this guy, whose head was about to be cut off, suddenly raised his hand and threw the small bottle in his hand without hesitation.

This happened so suddenly that the veteran could only watch helplessly as this bizarre scene, beyond his experience, unfolded before his eyes. He watched as the glass bottle filled with purple liquid flew toward their well, the purple liquid splashing from the bottle's mouth looking eerily like the blood of a ghost under the moonlight.

Snapped!

The bottle shattered against the well wall, making his heart tremble violently. He could no longer care about the dying creature in his hand. He grabbed the hilt of his sword, drew the blade, threw the creature to the ground, and then lunged towards their well.

But it was too late. All he could see was pitch blackness and a small patch of purple residue on the stone. Even without a fire, he knew that the bottle of some unknown substance had flowed into their water source...

"Damn bastard!"

He gritted his teeth and pounded hard on the well wall, but in the end he could only sigh helplessly, stand up, and prepare to wake up everyone in the village that night so that they could work together to empty the well before the strange thing spread completely... He just hoped that the underground water source had not been affected in this short period of time.

Without this well, the nearest place where they could get water would be at least 23 miles away... who knows what kind of trouble that would cause. With such a big blunder, the higher-ups would definitely come after him... He really regretted drinking that bottle of wine. If he hadn't drunk it, he might have stayed sober when the other guy tried to escape and stopped that bastard immediately.

Frustration and annoyance instantly filled his heart, leaving almost no room for anything else. He frantically pulled at his hair, then turned around to knock on the iron plate on the wooden tower in the middle of the town, hoping to wake everyone up and get them ready.

Of course, he didn't forget to check on the young man on the ground. After turning him over a few times, he immediately breathed a sigh of relief—finally, he'd run into something good. The kid must have been hit on the back of the head and was unconscious. He hadn't been seriously injured. Now he should go and call for help...

Then, almost instinctively, he began to swing his sword, using its sharp blade to meet the pale shadow that suddenly appeared before him.

Bang! — Sizzle!

In the darkness, the pale white thing and his sword blade sparked, but as he skillfully deflected the blade in his hand, it slid vertically down along the white shadow, and he clearly felt the sensation of cutting through flesh. Then, something pungent sprayed onto the ground along his cut.

Hiss!

A sharp cry of pain pierced his ears, and he was so surprised that he almost dropped his sword—the thing that had suddenly attacked him was dressed in a tattered black linen robe, like a beggar with leprosy, and his own sword had cut a gash on his neck that almost severed his head.

This man should have been dead. What kind of person would attack him when his head was almost severed? What's more, there was that scythe-like, curved bone blade extending from his right sleeve that he couldn't ignore—it was that thing that had almost killed him.

The scene before him was so bizarre that it had never happened even when he was most confused and disoriented. If he had seen this scene without any warning, he might have slapped himself twice to try to clear his head.

But now, he clearly remembers slitting the neck of the guy opposite him with a sharp blade, and this thing that should have been dead is now standing up and almost disemboweling him.

The neck, still attached by a small section of bone and skin, could barely support the weight of the head. With a toothy grin, it swayed back and forth with the movement of this thing. The scarlet blood vessels and bones on the cut surface were clearly visible in the moonlight. The two broken bones would occasionally rub against each other, making a hard sound.

"This is fucking bizarre..."

As he sighed woodenly, the ghostly thing seemed to find the swaying head inconvenient, and right in front of him, it reached behind it with its sickle-like arms, then accurately hooked off the remaining bit of skin and fascia, completely severing its own head.

With a thud, the bloody head fell to the ground, rolled once, and was immediately covered in dust. With a grimacing expression, it rolled all the way to the boy who had fainted on the ground.

Hopefully, the kid won't be too scared when he wakes up.

This was his last thought before the other party suddenly pounced on him. Gritting his teeth and mustering his remaining courage, he also went to meet the attack.

………………

Lydos was originally a country boy who would never have held a sword in his life, but after the lord confiscated most of his family's grain and a great flood occurred, he had no choice but to find a way to survive on his own.

To survive, he did everything, accepting any job, no matter how hard, dirty, or degrading. He was practically a scoundrel, prolonging his life. In his most desperate moments, he even questioned why he should continue. Wouldn't it be better to just end it all? Why make himself suffer?

He didn't know why. Maybe it was just to avoid wasting the moldy black bread his mother had given him, or maybe it was because of the bloody bones his father had been gnawed on by wolves... He had to keep living, and preferably live a decent life. He had to try to do it, otherwise he felt he didn't deserve to die.

And so he drifted along until he joined the lord's army, and was unwittingly sent to the battlefield to fight two battles. He also unwittingly survived, just like his broken wine bottle, which inexplicably continued to live. He killed a few people and naturally figured out a way to use a sword.

He swung his sword horizontally to press down on the opponent's claws, and at the same time stepped forward and used the weighted ball at the end of the sword hilt to deliver a vicious blow to the opponent's chest—since he couldn't find a head to use, the effect of this blow was greatly reduced.

This sword belonged to his first master. The man fell off his horse while fleeing for his life and broke his neck, so the master took advantage of the situation, pried off the gemstones, and then roughly polished the brass, making it a rather ordinary-looking sword.

With a snap, he forcefully slapped the claw away, then spun the blade downwards, cutting into the opponent's side ribs—human ribs grow diagonally downwards, making it easier to cut into the gaps between bones at this angle.

But this thing is not hindered by pain, so he had to take the hit. In the instant he withdrew his sword and retreated, he was stabbed hard in the chest by the opponent's claws. The lacquered leather armor was torn open with a small tear, the clothes were ripped, and finally a bloody mark was left on his chest.

This was nothing, and it didn't even pause his movements for a moment. The blade spun as it cut into the other man's shoulder from top to bottom, making a teeth-grinding sound, prying at the gaps in the bones, and then he skillfully pulled it out without damaging the most delicate tip of the blade.

He continued sword strike after sword strike, without anger, fear, or any other chaotic emotions. He simply chopped at the thing as if it were a wooden stake, almost instinctively using the simplest footwork to dodge its wild tearing and grabbing.

He had already struck three potentially fatal blows, but the thing was still moving, so he was now slowly severing its tendons and bones, dismembering its limbs.

slam-la-

A sword ripped open his belly from bottom to top, and slimy internal organs and juices splattered everywhere, but they had already cooled down, bringing a cool, room-temperature sensation when they splashed onto his face.

This person is dead! — In an instant, he realized that this person was dead, and something else was supporting this body and fighting against him.

A long string of intestines dragged on the ground, quickly covered in dust, and became a burden, making the monster's movements slightly sluggish. His eyes also keenly spotted the black flesh wriggling inside the torn belly.

Lydos took a light step back, his movements as swift as if he were dancing with a girl, but his sword was resting on his shoulder, his whole body taut like a drawn bow. Then, the moment the thing rushed at him, he slashed down with all his might, the hilt of the sword creaking under his grip.

The pale blade continued to penetrate deeper into the cut. This time, with one less bone to obstruct it, it directly severed the shoulder and half of the chest. The monster finally collapsed to the ground as if its power had been cut off, with only its sword still dripping blood that was almost congealed.

He finally breathed a long sigh of relief, and at the same time, he dared not be careless and reversed his grip on the sword to stab the corpse forcefully. He stabbed it more than a dozen times before he felt at ease and put the sword back. He didn't even bother to wipe it before he sat down on the well next to him, panting heavily.

He's an old man... not to mention, he's never had a healthy body, it's a miracle he's still alive.

But at least he hadn't forgotten how to use a sword. This was perhaps the only thing he had left after a lifetime of wandering and toil, and it had come in handy today—truly useful—to kill a monster that intended to harm people.

He didn't know what it was, but he decided to report it the next day and leave it to the big shots above him to worry about. He was only responsible for this town.

"Uh... um... ah?! Ouch! Ah!!—"

With a thud, the young man on the ground finally woke up. After rubbing his head for a while, he finally regained his senses and the first thing he saw was the bloody head covered in dust. As expected, he opened his mouth and screamed.

378 Surge (1)