NOVPUB"Good, very good! This scenic beauty, with the river surging by, is the perfect place for ’Crocodile’ to enter the Divine Kingdom! The glory of a hundred years shall end here. All the honored nobility, the brave warriors, will exhaust their lives together, allowing the blood of countless Mexica to flow on this land!"
Behind the ’Crocodile’ nobility, the remaining family samurai showed a readiness to die. Close nobles of all ranks exchanged glances, their minds stirring, and they remained silent.
As the sun set, the sky and earth were soaked in vibrant red, like a divine omen. Amid the rising wisps of cooking smoke, two Otomi legions stood facing each other, equally silent.
Xiulote’s expression was complex. He looked at the comrades before him who had converted to the Chief Divine, at the familiar figures across from him, and memories of the past came flooding back. They had once fought together against the Mexica, their blood staining the forests. Later, they parted ways, with one side abandoning and betraying the other. Now, they stood together again under the flag of Mexica, shedding blood in battle before the fortress of Tarasco. The irony of these changing times was like a mocking poem.
Natali’s expression was solemn, his face like a sculpture. He maintained his composure, for nothing from the past mattered anymore. After a moment, he stepped forward and performed a greeting ritual. 𝒏𝒐𝒗𝒑𝒖𝙗.𝒄𝒐𝒎
"Praise the Chief Divine! Otapan’s Xiulote, I am pleased to meet you here again, to join together in this sacred war... The Chief Divine is supreme, almighty! He has saved all the perplexed Otomi, and we shall fight and die for Him!... May His faith spread throughout the world!"
Looking at Natali’s bright eyes and listening to his devout praise, Xiulote opened his mouth but for a moment struggled to speak. After a pause, his voice was husky as he responded in kind.
"May the Chief Divine save all the perplexed Otomi, and may His faith spread throughout the world."
"So, I salute you, companion of the divine war. Praise the Chief Divine!"
"I salute you, Xilotepec’s Natali, praise the Chief Divine."
The conversation ended there. The two Otomi legions looked at each other for a moment before departing within the camp. Perhaps subconsciously influenced, the legions’ encampments had spontaneously separated by a great distance. They no longer communicated, as if separated by a vanished world.
When dinner began, the Chichimec’s Canine Warriors erupted into chaos like caged beasts. They howled and shouted, fighting each other with bare hands, viciously scrambling for the food provided. Between tribes, food was distributed based on strength; within tribes, only the strong could eat their fill, while the weak were fated to endure hunger.
Soon, the trusted aides arrived, but the Canine Warriors had already settled their contests and quickly distributed everything. The losers simply sat down dejected, harboring secret grudges, yet none complained to the Mexica. The aides looked at each other, then calmly withdrew, not interfering with the Canine Descendants’ customs.
Just a few hundred steps away, a low sacred chant was heard. Under the leadership of several War Priests, the Divine Blessing Legion was praying before their meal. The samurais were solemn, clutching amulets around their necks and reciting earnestly.
"Praise the War God Huitzilopochtli! He provides us with food, and we shall fight for Him!... This battle shall not end until death!"
The orderly chants grew louder and more sonorous, echoing throughout the camp and soaring toward the blood-red remains of the sun. Hearing the familiar prayers, the Spear Legion also responded. Led by their squad Priests, they too rose solemnly, singing of the Divine’s might and generosity.
In this devout atmosphere, many Mexica warriors also bowed their heads, set aside the food in their hands, and prayed for the War God’s protection and blessing, for survival and victory in the battle. At this moment, with holy songs swirling around the siege camp outside the city, it was as if the Divine Kingdom had descended.
The ground-shaking songs drifted to the city walls not far away, where the young militia Weizti was dozing off and suddenly awoke from his dreams. He opened his eyes, weariness clear on his face, and looked around nervously, still holding a spear in his hands. Beside him, the old militia Chiwaco also opened his weary eyes and carefully observed the scene below the city walls.
"Uncle, what are the Mexica ghost-crying about? These days, they shoot arrows by day and beat drums at night; there’s no chance for a full night’s sleep. Now, not even a moment of peace is afforded!"
Seeing no signs of a Mexica attack, Weizti sighed in relief. He tugged at his turban, stuffing a corner of cotton cloth into his ears, which made him feel a bit better.
Chiwaco listened attentively, and though Mexica and Prepetcha were quite similar, he could make out the gist of the words.
"It seems they are singing praises to a powerful Heavenly Divine, something about Wezi Chitli... This Divine will grant them victory in war!"
Amid the resounding prayers, the old militia shivered as he strained his ears, once again sensing danger.
Weizti looked down at the campsite and suddenly saw thousands of near-naked, wildly howling Tribal Warriors. Observing their tattered clothing, disordered scrambling, and beast-like shouting, he burst into laughter.
"Uncle, look quick! Who are these people? They’re even more miserable than the poorest family in the village!"
The old militiaman turned at the sound, scrutinized the "beasts" for a moment, and shook his head gravely.
"These are barbarians who are not afraid of death."
Weizti nodded as if understanding. Before the battle, he had never ventured more than fifty miles out of his village, so he had no impression of the Canine Descendants from the north. Then, he looked towards the core where the singing was loudest, where the newly-arrived Samurai legion was.
"Uncle, look at these people! Everyone has something shiny around their necks."
The old militiaman then turned to look at the chanting Divine Blessing Legion, only to shudder again after a short glance.
"These are nobles who are not afraid of death!"
Saying this, the old militiaman turned pale. He stared for another moment before stomping his foot resolutely.
"No, we can’t wait any longer, you blockhead! This city can’t be held! I must find one of those nobles who fought to the death defending the city last time. We have to find a way to survive!"
With those words, he tossed aside his spear and looked at the other militia members who were still looking around bewilderedly, then slipped away without hesitation towards the foot of the city wall. He had performed commendably during the last defense of the city and had been praised by several samurai nobles. He vaguely remembered where a young noble lived and, bending low, risked making his way there quietly.
The day after the reinforcements arrived at the camp, Xiulote sent a few captured Tarasco nobles to the fortress beneath the rivermouth, to convince the defending army to surrender.
"Those who open the gates... receive rewards!... Those who surrender with their troops... maintain their status unchanged!... Those who do not resist... prisoners can survive!..."
Before the envoys had shouted a few sentences, several feathered arrows shot "swoosh, swoosh," piercing their heads and killing them on the spot.
Atop the city wall, the fierce "Crocodile" nobles put down their longbows and glared sternly at the nobles and samurai to their sides.
"The emperor’s reinforcements are on their way! We can hold out for months! Anyone who dares surrender will meet the same fate!"
The nobles murmured in agreement with the marshal’s words, fire flashing in their eyes.
Ospa looked around and pondered, then continued to speak.
"The Mexica relish bloodshed and war and especially delight in sacrificing noble victims! Now that it’s a divine war, once you fall into their hands, your fate is theirs to decide! Whether you live, how long you live... all is uncertain. In the end, the inevitable awaits: a heart removed and a life sacrificed atop the pyramid!"
The nobles’ faces rapidly changed upon hearing this, their expressions gradually revealing a trace of desolation.
Seeing this, Ospa nodded slightly. He swung his Obsidian Dagger fiercely, cut his palm, and swore loudly.
"I, Ospa of the ’Crocodile’ family, in the presence of the three divines and the ancestors, hereby swear! I vow to share life and death with the fortress at the rivermouth! If I survive this war, I shall forego my family’s glorious fief and share the land and people north and south of the Lerma River with you all!"
Upon hearing the oath of the "Crocodile" noble, the other nobles were momentarily stunned. After a while, they finally responded out loud, encouraging each other. The will to fight once again emerged on everyone’s faces, regardless of its authenticity.
Outside the city, the Mexica legion waited another day— a rare day of tranquility, without thundering war drums or whistling arrows. People cherished the quiet night, making many preparations of uncertain necessity.
On the morning of the fourth day, as the sun rose once more, tens of thousands of samurai emerged from the camp, and the formal siege began!
