NOVPUBOlosh led the most elite hundred Jaguar warriors of the Holy City, personally as the spearhead, charging into the front line of the battle. He swung his war club with agility and strength, like a sprinting tiger or panther, suddenly breaking into a troop of copper spear warriors who had not had time to form their ranks. The formidable Jaguars powerfully chopped downward, felling the feathered helmet-wearing captain at the lead, even denting his copper helmet. Following that, he swept sideways in quick succession and took down three more men in an instant. The Jaguar warriors behind him pounced forward, and amidst their roaring growls, their war clubs struck in rapid succession, smashing dozens of enemy soldiers to the ground.
Olosh paused briefly. He gasped for air, looking around, and couldn’t help but furrow his brows deeply. Although the Jaguar warriors serving as the spearhead were unparalleled in strength, the main force of warriors couldn’t break through with them. The expressions of the Tarasco warriors before him were calm, and their formations were neat. They arranged themselves into regiments of eight hundred and companies of two hundred, each forming their spear formations, supplemented with war clubs and bronze axes. The company leaders wore copper feathered helmets and carried vibrant small banners on their backs, commanding the troops in an orderly fashion, firmly holding the main forces of the Holy City outside the spear formation. And when faced with the charge of the Jaguar warriors, the Tarasco people scattered without falling into disarray, one troop retreating to regroup while another would neatly advance. They were like fish in a lake, constantly interchanging and shifting, leaving no discernible end in sight.
"Dammit!" he punched out fiercely, but it was like hitting flowing sand. "Such a tough nut to crack, truly the most elite Royal Army of Tarasco!"
Olosh cursed under his breath. He stared at the enemy forces that began to encircle them from both sides, shooting them a fierce glare. Then, without any hesitation, the Jaguar led his elite squadron, turning around to kill their way back into the ranks of the Holy City’s army. Since they couldn’t break through quickly, they had to reorganize their forces, form shield walls, and engage the enemy with steady and forceful entanglement.
The Religious Legion on the right flank swung their war clubs, however, it was a different kind of desperate ferocity! Once the fanatical Religious Knights were committed to war, they were like moths to a flame, imbued with an insatiable will to fight to the death!
As soon as the warrior of the two armies met, they skipped the preliminary probing and maintaining distance, entering into brutal hand-to-hand combat. Facing the Tarasco spear formation squads, the zealous Otomi warriors threw their war clubs and, with shields only big enough to cover half their bodies, launched a mortal charge! These converted warriors shouted the name of the Chief Divine as they rushed toward the dense copper spears, suffering cruel deaths within the spear formations. They used their own flesh and bone to lock the enemy’s weapons, just to break the tight spear walls!
And as soon as the spear formations hesitated, exposing a flaw, a large group of Religious Knights would rush forward, engaging in close-quarters combat with the Tarasco people. The Temple Guards blew a piercing whistle, the zeal of battle boiling over as they bellowed fiercely. They scarcely defended themselves, wielding extra-long Maquahuitl Longstaffs in both hands, breaking through the enemy’s copper spears, slicing through the enemy’s leather armor, and then cutting into the enemy’s flesh! As they charged at the enemy formation, they would quickly fall in battle or, along with one or several enemies, ascend to the Divine Kingdom in the heavens within moments!
Xiulote gazed down upon the grand scene of battle, his expression solemn and grave. The left flank and the center army still maintained clear divisions, holding shields in opposition; however, the warriors on the right flank were already entangled with each other, indistinguishable from one another. Sprays of blood bloomed on the right, only to be drowned by the noisy dust. The warriors from both sides melted away like early spring snow, with a sixth of them gone in less than a quarter of an hour!
The Young Commander took a deep breath, his eyes revealing an unfeeling determination. He waved the red banner once more, and five hundred stirrup crossbowmen advanced together, stopping just behind the front lines of the battle. A sharp whistle blew, and over a hundred paces away, the crossbowmen suddenly brought up their large crossbows. They took brief aim at the Tarasco Eagle Banner and the King beneath it, and with a look upward, they struck!
