NOVPUBThe long wind howled, blowing over the battlefield strewn with agonized screams. The brilliant sunlight illuminated the vibrant, bloody conflict.
From the sky above, two vast legions let out earth-shaking cries, converging like swarms of ants into tight formations. The Chapala Legion occupied a small hill with a tactical advantage, with ten thousand samurai firmly stationed on and around the hill, four thousand militia archers prepared their bows from on high, and twelve thousand militia advanced to harass the enemy.
The harassing militia, two thousand strong in each wave, spread out in a loose formation. Under the hail of longbow arrows, they threw stones and Stone Spears, causing trivial casualties, only to be repeatedly pinned down before the formation, their blood dyeing the red mud. From time to time, militia wailed as they broke and retreated, only to be corralled by the samurai behind them, who then forcefully coerced them to charge forward once more!
Watching this tragic scene, Xiulote was expressionless. He observed the enemy army, witnessing the frenzied dance of the rival Priest atop the hill, listening to the fervent calls to the names of their heathen gods, and scrutinizing the enemy forces. With the boost from their religious ceremonies, the Chapala samurai on the hill appeared calm and collected, completely undisturbed by the death and injury of their militia, as if they were mere spectators of a grand sacrifice.
"I truly underestimated these Chapala Great Nobility! To deplete the Longbows’ arrows, they use the lives of their militia as mere fodder!"
The Young Commander frowned, listening to the Archery Corps’ report on their arrow reserves and nodded slightly. Soon, the dense barrage of arrows thinned out, and the Longbow Warriors retreated behind the lines to recover their strength and cease firing.
Next, Xiulote issued a command with the wave of a flag, and the intense beat of the war drums immediately followed, signaling the samurai’s formation to slowly march forth.
Under the cover of shields, the Mexica legion steadily advanced, destroying every enemy that stood in their way! The Spear Formation erected porcupine-like Long Spears, while the Holy City Legion raised their tortoise-like club shields. Amid the militia’s harassment and the onslaught of javelins and stones, they moved forward with solemn determination. It wasn’t long before the frontline Chapala militia had thrown their last javelins, wielding Stone Hammers and Stone Spears, erupting in frenzied cries as they fiercely charged.
Guardsman Guzman, clad in Paper Armor and wearing a Rattan Helmet, stood close to the front at the center of the dense Spear Formation. His left hand held a shield, guarding the ally to his left, while his right hand, clasping a Spear, rested on the shoulder of the comrade before him. Everyone was pressed together, shoulder to shoulder, spear braced against spear, slowly inching forward. Overhead, arrows whooshed past, as well as incoming stones and javelins, striking the sturdy rattan helmets and hefty shields. The stones were harmless, but the javelins posed some danger. Occasionally, someone would cry out in agony and fall to the ground, their exact location and identity unknown.
Guzman sniffed the air, filled with a thick, almost tangible stench of blood mingled with the familiar scent of his comrades’ sweat. The ground under his feet was sticky, and now and then, he stepped on something soft that might still twitch. But he could not stop, nor could he look around. He was limited to a narrow field of vision, his gaze fixed on the enemy directly ahead, commanding the Spear Formation to keep moving forward, forward, and further forward!
Once the Spear Formation set into motion, it did not stop. Nearly half a year of rigorous and complex training turned each man’s actions into muscle reflex, fusing them into a single entity. Now, Guzman was the brain and eyes of the formation. He saw countless figures charging from the front, their flimsy cloth garb, the swinging stone Short Spears, and finally, the contorted, screaming faces, rapidly magnifying before his eyes!
In that moment, Guzman’s mind went blank, and his ears heard nothing. Slightly bewildered, he continued to lead the Spear Formation forward until it suddenly halted with a thud, having struck something!
Shrill screams erupted beside him, snapping the dazed Guzman back to reality. Opening his eyes, he saw that the very front of the formation was impaled with rows upon rows of Long Spears, five layers thick, now with two layers of bodies! No, the skewered were not yet corpses, only future ones. They writhed and wailed, bleeding and crying, until pushed further in by those behind them, until they lay motionless.
Seeing this gruesome scene jolted Guzman. The formation halted, he was now pressing against the front row, pushing forward as those behind him also pushed. Then, driven by the inertia of long training, he suddenly remembered his duty. Quickly, the young captain stuffed the Bone Whistle into his mouth and blew sharp, rapid blasts while bellowing through the whistle,
"Toot, toot, thrust! Toot, toot, retrieve!... Toot, toot, thrust! Toot, toot, retrieve!..."
The frontline Pike Warriors braced against the enemy’s charge, while the second and third rows of Militia Pikes stabbed through the gaps, sinking into the soft bodies, then swiftly pulling back. The fourth and fifth rows held their Spears high, mechanically stabbing downward from above the shoulders of those in front. Some spears hit the enemy’s heads, others pierced the thin necks, most missed. Behind the fifth row, the sixth and seventh rows held their shields aloft to guard against an arrow shower that had yet to come, with the rear Militia pressed close together, pushing forward in unison.
Guzman was behind the fifth row. As a squad leader, he continually watched the front, as wave after wave of militia surged forward, repelled by the Spear Formation before being killed by the Spears from different angles with varying cries of pain. Then, these gradually cooling bodies, still oozing warm blood, succumbed without resistance, causing no harm. They either remained hanging from the Spears or collapsed directly onto the ground, soon motionless, like turkeys strung up and prepped for a festival feast.
