NOVPUBKukuna struggled for a few breaths before he slumped askew and lay still, motionless. Seeing the Family Head fall, the battling family Samurai froze for a moment before they thunderously dispersed. The Samurai fled in panic, leaving behind hundreds of kneeling Militia who surrendered.
Seeing his target hit, "Black Wolf" Toltec nodded in satisfaction. Then, he turned around and looked back at the city walls. Hundreds of Temple Guards surged up from the passageways on both sides, clashing with over a thousand Tarasco Militia atop the walls. Among these Militia were dozens of Samurai leaders, who were loudly calling out, organizing a resistant Spear Formation.
Toltec lifted his bow again, and with the Longbow Militia beside him, they all shot towards the city walls. "Swish, swish, swish," three rounds of Feathered Arrows swiftly flew, killing more than twenty Samurai and hundreds of Militia. Under the onslaught of the rear Archers, the city walls fell into complete chaos; the Tarasco Defending Army was on the brink of collapse, likely to break completely very soon.
"Black Wolf" looked on proudly for a moment before casually releasing another arrow, killing a peeking Militia. Then, without any delay, he led his hundred Archers, all trusted aides, toward the enemy Marshal’s flag, for that was the center of glory!
The old Militia Chiwaco crouched on the city walls, peering carefully through the gaps between corpses. Beside him lay a Militia subordinate who had just been killed by an arrow. Seeing the young Samurai leader leading the Archers away, he finally breathed a sigh of relief and once again gathered the six fellows hiding on the wall top.
Weizti looked around anxiously and spoke.
"Uncle, the Mexica on both sides are about to storm up! Only a few nobles are left on the city walls, and the Militia won’t last long. Everyone’s going to be chopped into pumpkin slices!"
The old Militia spat and angrily whispered as he pulled a bundle of ropes from the earthen ramparts of the city.
"You bunch of tumbleweeds, the nobles have all gone to meet their deaths, now I’m in charge here! Quick, come help, tie this thick rope firmly to the city wall, then let it down. The Mexica boat patrols on the lake have all rushed into the city. Now’s our chance to escape!"
Hope sparked on their desperate faces, and they all bowed their heads to work busily. They had just secured the rope and lowered it from the city when a deep voice challenged them.
"You bunch of windy weeds, you sure are nimble!"
Chiwaco’s heart tightened, and he looked up at the sound. Then, he squeezed out a chrysanthemum-like smile on his old face.
"Nobility lord, you’re here!"
In front of the Militia on the city walls, a young Nobleman with a stern face and disheveled hair stood. He wore luxurious War Clothes, covered in blood, and urgently whispered.
"Old man, where’s the boat I asked you to hide?! The fortress is about to fall, quickly get me out of the city and to the Capital City to report!"
The old Militia glanced at the young noble’s War Club, then at his War Clothes, and nodded hastily.
"Lord, the boat is hidden in the Luwei marsh by the lake, unnoticed by the Mexica. You can descend from the city walls using this rope. There are no large boats patrolling on the lake now, we will escort you out immediately!"
The young noble nodded slightly. He took several steps to the side and loudly ordered the Samurai and Militia, who were amidst the chaos, to quickly go to the passageway to resist. Then, he swiftly returned, grabbed the rope, and was the first to slide down from the city wall, escaping the fortress doomed to fall. Next, the old Militia slid down, and the sounds of fighting inside the city suddenly became distant. Weizti was the third to slide down, and the cruel bloodshed and combat seemed as if they belonged to another world.
In this unnoticeable corner, several Militia quickly slid down, and in front of them was the lake shore covered with Luwei. The old Militia looked back and quietly asked.
"Lord, is there anyone else behind?"
The young noble showed a look of sorrow and anger, gritting his teeth as he spoke.
"My father has fallen in battle! The noble ’Turkey’ family has perished with its glory, now only I remain. Old man, hurry! Let’s set off for the great Copper Capital!"
Hearing that a young nobleman was alone and that going to the Copper Capital was required, the old militiaman’s drooping face subtly transformed. By the time he raised his head, it was filled with a respectful and compliant smile.
"Alright, my lord, the boat is in that direction!"
The young nobleman did not pause, taking two militiamen and quickly moving forward. Behind him, Weizti asked softly. 𝔫𝖔𝔳𝔭𝔲𝔟.𝖈𝔬𝔪
"Old uncle, what about this rope?"
The old militiaman looked up, seeing a defending militia who had just discovered this path, falling down from above. He hesitated for a moment but still sighed and said.
"Leave it! The more who can escape the better."
Then, the old militiaman slightly bowed his head and quickly said.
"Stupid log, be careful on the road and watch that noble lord."
After speaking, without waiting for Weizti to react, the old militiaman turned around and followed in the direction of the young nobleman.
Amid the growing distant shouts, a group of eight people swiftly arrived at the lake’s edge. The old militiaman pulled out an old canoe from a hollowed-out dirt hole. Everyone then boarded together and paddled hard into the vast Cuitzeo Lake, intending to flee to the south.
Outside the water gate, two cruising Mexica boats suddenly stopped, their militia looking over the lake for a moment before quickly paddling toward this side. The Tarasco militiamen were tense, rapidly moving their paddles. Unfortunately, the young nobility on board, not knowing how to paddle, simply occupied space and was of no help.
They had not paddled many steps when the two Mexica boats rapidly caught up, approaching within fifty steps. The faces on both sides’ boats were clearly visible, and the Mexica militiamen suddenly burst into a joyful shout. The old militiaman listened intently, only faintly hearing phrases like "Nobility" and "bounty."
Hearing this, the old militiaman’s expression changed, his demeanor flickering. He raised his head, looked at the nobleman clumsily paddling on the boat, and then subtly signaled to Weizti. The young militia, somewhat understanding, slowed his paddling, his eyes filled with confusion.
"Weeds, paddle faster! The ’Turkey’ family’s legacy must not end here!"
Facing the enemy’s nearing pursuit, the young nobleman’s face turned fierce, and he harshly knocked on Weizti’s head. Weizti then bowed in pain, causing the boat to rock.
Just then, a sudden change occurred! The old militiaman abruptly put down the paddle, pushed forcefully with both hands, and directly pushed the young nobleman off the bow into the cold lake water. Caught off guard, the young nobleman choked on water, desperately struggling in the lake. The old militiaman coldly watched the nobleman in the lake for a moment, then shouted in a low voice.
"Stop looking! Go! Escape!"
A few of his fellow militiamen looked shocked. They paused briefly, but still obeyed the order, once again swinging the paddles, fleeing into the depths of Cuitzeo Lake.
Behind them, two Mexica boats picked up the drowning young nobleman, confirming the identity of the noble. Soon, the militiamen on the boats, fighting over this richly rewarding Sacrifice, loudly argued, no longer caring about the escaping boat of militiamen.
The setting sun cast a golden glow over the lake. The old militiaman rowed the boat, longingly looking toward the south, where the tranquil and beautiful Lake Region, his prosperous and rich homeland, lay. He didn’t want to go to the Copper Capital, to continue that hopeless fight! He wanted to return to his wife and children, to hide in a secluded corner of the countryside, far from this cruel, damned war!
Meanwhile behind him, Weizti, touching his still slightly aching head, struggled to look back. The majestic and sturdy Rivermouth Fortress was aflame, shaking with the sounds of fierce combat! The brutal blood and fire slowly receding away, turning into solidified bloodstains and blue bricks. And the symbols of victory and defeat were becoming clearer, just like the Marshal’s flag that thunderously fell from the high tower!
Along with the fall of the "Crocodile" flag, the Rivermouth Fortress, which had never been breached in over a hundred years, was now falling at this moment!
