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"Uncle, the Mexica are fierce today; do you think we can hold on?"
In the midst of the brutal hand-to-hand combat on the city wall, the old militia crouched, pretending to be busy while surveying the surrounding situation. He replied offhandedly.
"Now it’s all the young masters who are new to this, with hundreds of the old masters not yet engaged, waiting below the wall. Given the circumstances today, I reckon we can hold on. But given the ferocity of the Mexica, we might not last much longer!"
Having said this, the old militia sighed and muttered to himself.
"Why can’t the fire arrow I picked up transform into a Fire Demon? If it could, I’d beg the nobility for a chance to guard the water gate, where I might have a shot at survival in a critical moment!"
Not long after the last return, a noble lord came down and reorganized the militia. The old militia, Chiwaco, took the opportunity to present the fire arrow he had found.
The nobility were overjoyed and took the fire arrow to study it repeatedly, taking apart the round paper casing to identify the charcoal powder inside, along with something called "Stone of the Dead." They then dried the damp powder and carefully ignited it. However, it burned like regular charcoal, producing a choking smoke and no sudden burst of flame.
Chiwaco couldn’t understand it, nor could the nobility. The promised reward was never given, and the old militia was merely promoted to a small squad leader, in charge of a dozen or so militiamen. He was then thrown into the most intense fighting at South City, becoming part of the kindling. In just over ten days, most of his militiamen had died; now, only a few obedient fellows from his hometown were left, loafing together on the city wall.
The old militia was contemplating carefully when he heard Wei Zi’s terrified call amidst the whizzing of arrows.
"Uncle, Uncle! The Mexica are coming up!"
Chiwaco shuddered, looking forward. Out of nowhere, another group of lean samurai advanced, lifting the wooden ladders that had fallen and heading toward this side of the city wall again. As the samurai moved, a barrage of arrows preceded their actions, whizzing over the heads of the militia where Chiwaco lay and shooting several of the men behind him dead.
The old militia’s limbs went cold, his face pale. In the dire moment, he displayed a nimbleness that was hard to imagine, scampering backward on all fours and shouting, "I’m going to get some rocks; everyone, start throwing them down!"
Wei Zi, obedient, was the first to shove a large rock down, crushing an Ottopan Warrior into the mud. The wooden ladder wobbled and then again approached the city wall.
Other militiamen rushed forward and threw a Short Spear at the ladder; right after, a bolt took them down with a whoosh. Another militiaman quickly picked up a Wooden Bow from the ground and fired fiercely downward, killing a samurai. Moments later, a Feathered Arrow struck him accurately, passing through his throat and protruding from his neck.
Wei Zi trembled and crawled to get more stones. The commanding samurai rushed forward to drive the militiamen to the forefront, then took up their Long Spears to hold the line. The wooden ladder was finally secured at the city head, with the copper hooks latching onto the wall. Two militiamen tried to push it over but were pinned together by an arrow like stringed gourds. Then, a dozen or so Otomi Warriors, agile as spry monkeys and with an air of chilling killing intent, began to ascend the wall.
The warriors in front made a fierce charge, forcing the militiamen to retreat several steps. Soon after, more samurai climbed up, swinging their sharp-edged War Clubs, slicing through the fragile bodies of the militiamen. A dozen Copper Spears thrust forward, accurately blocked by the militia’s shields, their years of Martial Arts training kicking in like instinct. Tarasco Warriors led a charge from behind, and the militiamen followed; Spear clashed with War Club, and bodies fell on both sides.
A kneeling corpse suddenly moved; Chiwaco peeked his head out from behind, quickly taking in the situation. He saw the enemy’s samurai forces growing and his own militiamen being killed, and a chill went through his heart. If things continued this way, even if reinforcements arrived to drive the enemy from the city wall, he wouldn’t last that long!
Chiwaco racked his brain, staying frozen for a moment before shouting to someone nearby.
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"Men, grab your Spears and crouch beside me!"
Hearing the familiar voice, Weizti felt like he had found his anchor. He picked up a Long Spear from among the corpses on the ground, a weapon that was readily found everywhere, and joined up with five or six Militia from his village.
"When I give the chant, you all follow my lead and stab at the legs in the center!"
"Uncle, we can’t tell our people from the enemy in the center, how are we supposed to stab?"
The young Militia asked, bewildered. 𝚗𝚘v𝚙𝚞b.𝚌𝚘m
"Stop your blathering! It doesn’t matter which side they’re from. We’re not going to hold out much longer anyway, just stab them all down!"
Chiawaco, the older Militia, showed a rare ferocity on his face as he shouted angrily.
"One, two, three, stab!"
Six or seven Spears thrust through the tangle of legs, aiming simultaneously towards the center. Fighters from both sides immediately fell, half of them Ottopan Warriors, half Tarasco Militia. They clutched at their legs, struggling until they were trampled underfoot by the crowd, silenced in moments.
"One, two, stab again!"
Several more fell, and the fight briefly stalled. The Tarasco Militia began to push the vanguard of the Ottopan Warriors towards the ladder.
"Stab! Stab again! And again!"
Continuous cries rang out, and new Militia joined in. A dozen men crouched down, jabbing at the legs and feet that the warriors left unprotected by shields. These wounds were not fatal but were enough to rob the injured of their ability to fight.
The Tarasco Militia continued thrusting their Long Spears, forcing the newly arrived Warriors to halt and crouch behind their shields for protection below. Finally, the supporting Tarasco Warriors surged atop the battlements, coordinating with the Militia to drive the Ottopan Warriors back down.
"Huff, huff!"
Old Militia Chiawaco slumped to the ground, still wearing his shield on his head. He managed a smile, about to say something to the Militia around him, but a piercing barrage of arrows struck again. In an instant, several Militia by his side were shot dead, and the Nobles on the battlements also fell, screaming in agony.
A "thump" on the old Militia’s head sent him sprawling into the pool of blood on the ground. Moments later, he reached out with blood-covered hands, feeling the Feathered Arrow stuck in his shield, and muttered to himself.
"With days like these, there’s just no way to live..."
