Armored Cavalry, survive in a world full of mods

I was heartbroken at the time, but now it all seems so worthwhile.

The surrounding area was filled with a forest of armor. Gleaming and gleaming, the dense array of iron armor resembled a shimmering ocean, sweeping in with a chilling aura of steel, sending shivers down one's spine.

The finest armor, which even tribal nobles could only dream of owning a few pieces of, was readily available here. Majestic and orderly military formations surrounded them like an iron wall, with sharp spears densely packed like a forest, magnificent warhorses roaming all around, and fluttering banners forming a continuous expanse.

This was the most elite legion of that vast nation, every member a carefully selected warrior. Under their watchful eyes, even the most ambitious tribal nobles were as docile as quails, not daring to move their feet without permission.

Meanwhile, the renowned Tersolius sat on a hastily erected platform, his entire body covered in scale-like iron armor adorned with intricate and magnificent patterns. A soft and luxurious fur covered the sturdy hardwood chair beneath him. Equally radiant and imposing generals and officers surrounded him, looking down upon the Kurist people who had come to pledge their allegiance.

Faced with such a display, how could any human being not feel fear? He was even more certain that he had made the right move, because when the cow was led out, the other party clearly took a few more glances at it with interest.

"The Empire will not be stingy in helping its subjects. You have made the right choice. Therefore, I accept your submission and declare that you have received the protection of the Empire. From now on, like every citizen of the Empire, you have the right to cultivate, graze, trade, and work on this land, and you also have the corresponding obligations."

"From this day forward, you will be subjects of the Empire!"

The Kurist man immediately breathed a sigh of relief, his shoulders slumped, and his posture became more submissive.

"Thank you for your kindness, it is our greatest honor! Please allow me to formally present our gift."

As he spoke, he waved his hand behind him, and a dozen strong herdsmen grabbed the iron chains and carefully dragged the struggling white bison up, stopping it three meters away from the earthen platform.

At the same time, other gifts, large and small, were also presented, mostly rare furs, precious gems, and gleaming gold... shimmering in the sunlight.

"I've heard that you have a blood oath custom, is that right?"

"Yes, sir, this is a simple custom of us people in this remote area. Please excuse our poor manners..."

"Then let's do it."

Thesolius was no longer as imposing and intimidating as before; in fact, a slight smile even appeared on his lips.

“I have no intention of spending money and manpower to transport such an unruly beast back, so I will use its blood to make a pact with you…”

The Kurist people, of course, had no intention of objecting; after all, the gift had already been given. How the other party dealt with it was their prerogative, and the fact that this powerful and renowned commander was willing to follow their customs surprised many. With the help of soldiers, they secured the large bull to the spot with iron chains and then withdrew.

Seemingly sensing its impending doom, the white bison struggled even more fiercely. Had the chains not been driven into the ground by nails over two feet long and bound tightly, it probably would have already broken free.

Tersolius reached out to the side, and his guard immediately handed him a long-handled, double-edged sword with an iron-clad handle. The gleaming blade reflected a pool of autumn water and seemed to carry a faint scent of blood.

This is a powerful weapon provided by the legion to brave and strong soldiers to kill enemy horses. Skilled soldiers can decapitate horses with a single blow. It is quite effective against cavalry when mixed in with the army formation. When used in conjunction with heavy weapons such as halberds and axes, it can produce a killing efficiency like a meat grinder.

He stepped toward the struggling bison. Even now, this strong creature still possessed a strong will to survive, its eyes bloodshot as it struggled desperately to escape.

Without any declarations or slogans, without any unnecessary words, he simply raised his knife decisively, then swung it in a bright arc, leaving behind a trail of thick, red blood, and a huge head that smashed a crater into the ground.

The headless bison swayed slightly before crashing forward with a loud thud, sending blood-soaked soil and dust flying everywhere.

What a decisive blow! The sound of the blade severing the thick neck was as crisp as splitting a melon, and just hearing it filled one with involuntary joy.

The soldiers erupted in cheers. They beat their shields in unison, slammed their spears into the ground, and chanted the name of their commander.

"Tesolius! Tesolius!..."

Two strong soldiers carried over a huge wooden barrel and pried open the lid with long swords at their waists. The rich aroma of wine wafted out, making one's mouth water just by smelling it.

The bright red liquid was poured into the earthenware bowls one by one, and the scarlet cow blood disappeared in the blink of an eye. Each tribal nobleman who came received his own bowl of blood wine.

Tersolius readily picked up the first bowl, then turned back to the platform, his blood-stained scalpel held in his left hand, the thick blood on it seemingly beginning to congeal.

All the nobles raised their bowls and looked up at Thesolius on the high platform:

"This is the covenant between the Empire and you, with the blood of this white bull as proof—we acknowledge you as subjects of the Empire. As long as you offer your loyalty and fulfill your obligations, you will be protected by the nation for all eternity, within our shield and behind our blade!"

"The sun and the grassland, the sky and the earth bear witness, all the people here bear witness, and here we solemnly and gloriously establish this covenant!"

As soon as he finished speaking, he picked up the wine in his hand and drank it all in one gulp. A trickle of bright red liquid flowed down the corner of his mouth, making it impossible to tell whether it was wine or blood.

No one else dared to be negligent and drank it all in one gulp... Putting everything else aside, the Empire's finest wine was a rare luxury... Moreover, after taking a sip, many of the nobles who had been harboring doubts relaxed considerably—although it was just a verbal vow, the fact that the other party was still willing to show such benevolence and goodwill despite having an absolute advantage was enough to reassure them, and even moved some of the younger ones quite a bit—after all, how many of the Empire's high and mighty officials would bother to understand their customs?

After the blood wine was drunk, the atmosphere became increasingly harmonious. Just as this scene was about to end peacefully, Thesolius, who had just been in high spirits and amiable, suddenly changed the subject:

"Go back and gather your men, have them mount their horses, prepare their weapons, and come here to collect rations and supplies. We'll be setting off soon."

Most of the Kurist people hadn't even reacted yet, but the few who did realize what was happening immediately changed their expressions:

"My lord, what do you mean...?"

“Since they won’t submit, then they have no choice but to die…” A smile appeared on Thesolius’s face.

"Do you still think you have any other choice?"

"You can take half of their people, livestock, and property, so hurry up and prepare, lest you fail my orders."

The Kurist people around them were startled and their hair stood on end, but then they felt a sudden surge of joy. With a mixture of respect and awe, they bowed and nodded in agreement, and hurriedly went back to prepare.

178 Cleaning (2)

This is an endless grassland, flat and open, with very gentle undulations in the ground. The wind encounters almost no resistance here, blowing smoothly across the swaying grass at top speed, causing long-legged mosquitoes and butterflies lurking among the damp roots to flutter about like shimmering fragments in the sunlight.

Places with abundant water resources are always highly valued. These places not only irrigate the land for growing precious grains and vegetables, but also provide convenient drinking water for cattle and sheep. Every aspect of daily life is inseparable from these precious water resources.

But in this vast land, places as fertile as this are always very rare. If one tribe takes it, the others who can't get it suffer from hunger and hardship. In the struggle for these areas, bloody feuds of all sizes are endless. The tribes plunder each other's people, wealth, cattle and sheep, set fire to each other's tents, and kill each other's men. The hatred between them is like a tangled spider web, which no one can untangle.

The only chance they could unite was to rob their western neighbor when life was hard and difficult. At that time, even two tribes with a blood feud would no longer clash. They would gather the men of their tribes, unite under the Khan's banner, and in order to survive one barren winter after another, they would tacitly set aside their past grievances and fight together.

Although the Imperial army was formidable, it dared not easily set foot on this vast grassland. One reason was that the Kurists, who were born on horseback, were difficult to annihilate. After all, if the situation turned unfavorable, they could run away at any time, and they could also drive their means of production—those large herds of cattle and sheep—along with them. Moreover, they would look for weaknesses in the enemy's defenses during the process, and they might turn around and bite at any moment.

On the other hand, the resources they plundered were far too inefficient compared to deploying a large army. Moreover, even if they did send a legion, it would likely be a fruitless endeavor. This made raiding their western neighbors a highly feasible way to get rich. As soon as the Khan issued his order, almost every tribe eagerly participated, vying to be the first to act.

But now everything is different. The crushing defeat not long ago left almost half the tents on the grasslands empty of men, and desperate cries and wails echoed everywhere. Every tribe was terrified and filled with dread.

The defeat was devastating... Very few escaped; many died along the way from injuries, illness, hunger, and thirst. Those who made it back to their tents were the truly lucky ones. Those brave enough to investigate were horrified by the thousands of corpses lying in the riverbed, watching helplessly as the Imperial soldiers pulled the bodies from the water with long-handled iron hooks, like retrieving driftwood, and then buried them on the spot with lime.

For a period of time, the water of the entire river turned a light red color. The nearby tribes who made a living by fishing dared not take out their small boats. They were all terrified and looked like stray dogs.

Moreover, the Khan had died in battle and his whereabouts were unknown. The core followers of Tolidu Khan had also suffered heavy casualties, which aroused other people's ulterior motives. The entire Kurist Steppe was plunged into chaos, with no leader, each acting independently and harboring their own ambitions.

Even when Thasorius's order arrived demanding their immediate submission, in this chaotic and conflicted situation, most people remained hesitant. After all, not long ago, all the men in their tribes had followed the Khan to the west to raid; who would dare to surrender so easily? Who knew if they would all be captured and enslaved?

As for the 10-day deadline, basically nobody took it seriously... After all, if they couldn't fight, they could always run away. They could catch up with the cattle and sheep, use carts to haul away the tents, and the entire tribe could be moved overnight. They could then make adjustments and plans accordingly.

After hearing that most of the southern tribes were already prepared to surrender under pressure, they decided to wait and see... It would be good for them to scout out the path for them, to see if what was in the grassland was a flower or a poisonous snake, so as not to make a bad decision.

This was the plan of the nobleman of the Pierka tribe. His tribe had suffered heavy losses of men, and these were all crucial young men, greatly reducing his tribe's power. Fortunately, the surrounding tribes were in the same predicament, so for the time being, no one dared to make a rash move. However, the tribe was on the verge of life and death, and the slightest mistake could lead to its annihilation.

They were one of the most prominent groups, so they occupied a valley with abundant water and grass. Under the cover of two gentle hills, they were difficult to spot unless you were right in front of them. This gave them plenty of confidence that even if a large army was coming, they could get wind of it in advance and retreat.

Although the losses were heavy, the remaining people still had to survive. Many of the cattle and sheep are now being herded by women and teenagers, and they dare not wander far for fear of encountering people from other tribes who might have malicious intentions, so they only graze on the nearby pasture.

Fortunately, there is an ample water source here, which can supply people and livestock. There shouldn't be any problems in the short term.

The Kurist people did not like to live in sturdy, thick houses. The wealthier ones lived in spacious yurts, while the poorer ones had tents made of sheepskin. They could migrate constantly with their cattle and sheep according to the changing seasons and the availability of water and pasture.

The autumn sun was scorching hot. Dull-headed sheep grazed on the grass, while several large, curly-haired dogs patrolled the area, barking and driving back any sheep that tried to stray. The shepherd, on horseback, stood on a high vantage point, watching out for wolves and other unwelcome guests.

As noon approached, he didn't dismount. Instead, he pulled out a piece of dry, hard mutton and some pungent dried milk from his dirty fur robe and ate and drank it slowly with the water from the water corridor. He and several slaves dared not leave his flock for even a moment. This was his most precious possession, especially in the current dangerous situation, they had to be extra careful.

As the master, he could still eat some dried meat, while the slaves only had pitiful scraps and were half-starved. He didn't care about them—after all, if things went wrong, he, the master, might also go hungry and cold, so how could he care about those slaves?

The jerky was firm and chewy; you could even drink some water while chewing it. It could keep you occupied for a long time and also made it easier to concentrate, which was his usual practice when herding sheep. This time was no exception. He focused his attention on the sheep that walked and stopped, watching them devour the pasture like a whirlwind, usually leaving a patch of grass half bare, before moving on to another pasture under the lead sheep.

Whoosh!

A slight sound of something passing through the air suddenly rang out. He turned his head in confusion and looked around. Then he saw a Kurist man on horseback, wearing a cheongsam, lowering his horn bow on a distant hillside...

The jerky he was chewing no longer tasted salty and astringent; instead, a rich, sweet and pungent aroma suddenly filled his mouth, making him reach out and touch his nose and mouth in confusion... When he looked at it, his entire palm was covered in crimson.

A sharp pain suddenly exploded in his chest. The unbearable pain made his legs go weak, his body curl up, and he collapsed from his horse onto the grass. The arrow that had pierced his chest snapped in two with the impact. The broken shaft churned violently inside his internal organs, causing his throat to constrict and large gushes of blood to gush out, flowing down his chin and across his chest. A pool of glaring blood spread beneath him, quickly absorbed by the earth, staining the vibrant green grass red.

Dust rose from the distant hillside as the first Kurist to arrive fired arrows in quick succession. With a crisp, sharp whistling sound, the several wary curly-haired dogs and the two frantically fleeing slaves were shot dead on the spot, leaving only a flock of sheep standing there dumbfounded, bleating softly and jostling each other.

More Kurist people appeared on the hillside. They didn't shout or yell excitedly; they simply rode down the hill in silence. During this process, a few people went to gather the sheep that were about to scatter.

Minutes later, smoke and dust billowed from the settlement in the valley, filled with cries and shouts of battle. The remaining men of the tribe fought desperately, clashing violently with their supposed brethren. Severed flesh and spilled blood littered the ground, panicked horses charged in all directions, and flocks of sheep and cattle scattered in all directions. Black smoke billowed from the burning tents. Caught completely off guard, the tribe, which had been peaceful just moments before, had suffered heavy losses. The tribe's leaders rallied their men to fight back desperately, trying to repel these hostile forces.

The situation was frustrating, but at least it wasn't hopeless. The enemy didn't have an overwhelming advantage, and the women and children had already organized themselves to flee to the rear. They were quite adept at this kind of thing and knew how to deal with it.

It wasn't until the desolate and powerful sound of the horn rang out again from the hillside, and a thin red line appeared on the horizon where the sky met the earth, that the faint light emanating from the densely packed chainmail truly plunged them into despair. Many were so frightened that they couldn't even keep their horses steady and fell off.

The horns sounded once more, and a crimson tide, like a cloud, poured down, carrying with it a deadly glint, accompanied by the thunderous roar of hooves, engulfing everything in the valley…

………………

The barbs of the chain dug into his collarbone, and any tug would produce a teeth-grinding sound as they rubbed against the bone, bringing excruciating pain. The once noble tribal man was now being dragged around like a dead dog, the slightest hesitation met with punches and kicks. Large beads of sweat streamed down his face like tiny rivulets. The terrible despair, pressure, and agony tormented him, causing his stomach to churn with acid. After another kick to the stomach, he finally succumbed and vomited violently.

Even so, he dared not stop, because the person dragging the chain would not stop just because he was vomiting on the ground. If he fell behind, the two iron hooks would dig deep into his flesh, rubbing against his bones and muscles, bringing him maddening pain.

He was dragged up the hillside in a ridiculous manner. Even a short distance left him panting heavily, sweating profusely, and utterly exhausted. He collapsed to the ground as if his bones had been removed. His silk clothes were soaked with sweat, making him look utterly wretched.

Even without raising his head, he knew where he was at that moment... The light reflected from the dense armor around him illuminated his surroundings. Although there was no sneer, the sharp gazes, like swords, had already pierced him, leaving him riddled with holes. Like an insect crawling in the sunlight, he had nowhere to hide and lived in constant fear.

"Pariland of the Pierca Division."

A deep voice sounded from in front of him. It was sharp and cold, like the friction of swords, piercing his ears like steel spikes, making his back tremble.

"Your Excellency, I am here..."

His teeth were chattering violently, as if someone had just pulled him out of an ice hole, and his face was frighteningly white.

"You learned of my orders half a month ago, and you also knew that the only choices I gave you were submission and destruction... Until yesterday, I did not see your submission, which means you chose destruction, right?"

His face, which had just been as pale as paper, was suddenly covered in a layer of hot sweat, which seeped through his beard and body hair, causing him to raise his head in a panic:

“Absolutely not! This is a terrible misunderstanding, merciful sir, please give us another chance! We are willing to be your hounds, your cattle and sheep, and submit to your feet! The remaining 300 knives and 300 bows here are all for you!…” “No more.”

His words were abruptly interrupted, and he froze, only managing to ask tremblingly after a long while:

"You...you mean?!"

"Turn around and look at your tribe; this is the last time."

Thales sat expressionless on horseback, gazing down at the valley below. The Curist men, who had accompanied the army, were gleefully dividing their half of the spoils. They bound women by the hands and feet with ropes, placing them on their horses with joyful laughter. They herded sheep, each head discussing its ownership. They used prepared ropes to tie the hands of captured prisoners to wooden poles, rendering them immobile—these people would become their slaves, herding and cultivating the land for them.

Some of those who resisted fiercely and caused them losses were dragged out and hacked to pieces to vent their anger. Those who couldn't be taken away were executed on the spot to avoid future trouble.

Seeing these people herd a group of teenagers in front of a horse-drawn cart, the nobleman of the tribe finally let out a scream, fell to the ground, tears and snot streaming down his face, mingling with blood and staining his clothes and cheeks. He was no longer able to utter a word...

…………

When Parrilan's head was hanging on the treetop, the tribal nobleman, who had reaped a bountiful harvest, led a group of his men up the hillside with great excitement. He respectfully offered half of his spoils to the imperial legion lined up there. Whether it was cattle, sheep, valuables, horses, or people, everything was divided in half without any favoritism. Under the watchful eyes of Tersolius, he was as docile as a child and as respectful as a servant.

179 Cleaning (3)

Blood spilled on the ground is difficult to remove quickly, although the hot red liquid will soon cool and decompose. However, it will leave enough traces for a long time to alert wolves or other animals with a keen sense of smell to the anomaly.

In this barren and desolate land with scarce rainfall, it is difficult for either humans or animals to have extra compassion to give to anything other than their family. It is even common for elderly or weak family members who are unable to work to be ruthlessly driven out of the family.

Especially after a major disaster, it becomes very difficult to find elderly people in the tents here. The old and weak among the roaming wolves have all disappeared, leaving only young men, women and children who have survived by chance.

Therefore, the people living on this land often show no mercy to their enemies, and consider annihilation the best course of action.

The fires in the valley were still burning, and the burners' tents smelled of burning. The felt and sheepskin inside were turning black and curling until they finally turned to ashes.

The head of the tribe's chief, Guiren, was hanging on a beech tree, staring at the horrific scene below with his bloodshot, pale eyes. A gentle breeze blew, and the branches swayed under the weight of his head, as if nodding.

Large numbers of male and female slaves had their hands tied behind their backs. They were grouped into sets of ten and bound to a pine stick. It was difficult for them to struggle or exert any force. Even just standing up required resisting the pull from behind, and walking required considerable effort, let alone running... Even a slightly strong child could easily catch up with them.

Moreover, if someone wanted to escape, they had to convince everyone else to take the risk. If someone in a group escaped, the others would kill them without asking any questions. With this barbaric yet effective strategy, it was extremely difficult for captured slaves to escape.

Livestock such as cattle and sheep are the most valuable assets, but they are also an unreliable form of wealth. Given the limited medical care and rudimentary understanding of people on the grasslands, livestock deaths are not uncommon. In colder weather, they can die in large numbers. The dead cattle and sheep are also difficult to utilize, causing this wealth to vanish in the blink of an eye.

The Kurists were all very familiar with their livestock, a skill they relied on for survival. Now, using this skill, they were selecting from the livestock, placing the healthy and fat ones in first class, the more ordinary ones in second class, and the thin and weak ones in the lowest class... and then distributing them according to their contribution to the livestock.

Other valuables were distributed in the same way, and even the captured slaves were divided into several classes based on their health, height, and appearance... Of course, no matter how they were distributed, half of them had already been distributed and sent to the army on the hill.

Not a single Kurist complained. The warriors who came out were no fools; they knew very well that the reason they were able to seize these treasures so easily with few casualties was because of the powerful Imperial army. When the Imperials appeared on the hillside, their opponents had already lost all will to fight and had become a flock of weak lambs.

Even by their most basic moral standards, a large portion should be given to the other side. That would be fair, especially considering the other side's imposing and grand military bearing; who would dare say anything?

Having witnessed the terrifying charge of the enemy's elite light cavalry that swept across the entire valley, the Kurist people who had come with them were filled with both respect and fear. Some even thought that the enemy would take them down as well. Under such circumstances, they were already grateful to have gotten their share.

Although the spoils had begun to be divided, most people's saddles were still empty. Their valuables, cattle, sheep, and slaves were gathered together for safekeeping, with each group of five or six choosing a trusted person to guard their share. After all, the campaign to the north would continue until the governor of Tersolius was satisfied.

This was the usual way of handling things, so no one complained. On the contrary, everyone was in high spirits, with a bloodthirsty pleasure, looking forward to setting off again to plunder more wealth and people.

Lone wolves have already appeared on the distant grassland. They are the scouts of the wolf pack, drawn by the thick scent of blood. They will be the ones to deal with the corpses on the grassland.

As the horns sounded, the cheering Kurist men immediately spurred their horses forward, circling the Imperial legions as they raced toward their next destination, like hounds surrounding a hunter.

………………

Such situations were occurring everywhere across this vast land. Led and accompanied by the southern Kurist tribes, the imperial legions crushed one unsubdued tribe after another, destroying their dwellings and plundering their people and livestock. The Kurist people, who had just suffered a major blow, were filled with fear and dread.

Many tribes began to migrate north spontaneously, completely disregarding the livestock that would die from illness or exhaustion during the long journey. In order to escape the terrifying imperial army, they even abandoned the elderly and weak who were unable to move around.