NOVPUB"Fart! What kind of master are you? You’ve been a suffering peasant all your life!"
Chiwaco’s anger surged, and he violently reached out, slapping Weizti with a "smack". Then, the old militiaman quickly pulled the dazed Weizti to his side, lifted his arm to raise the shield, pretending to guard the flag.
"Stupid, stupid! You blockhead, how can you be so stupid? The nobility make empty promises, and you let yourself be fooled? Haven’t you taken a good look at what time it is now? Nobility, the nobility of the kingdom are useless!"
"Whoosh whoosh whoosh!" The sound of the arrow rain came again. Chiwaco didn’t bother to look up and hurriedly raised his shield, hunching over to block in front of Weizti. The anticipated impact didn’t come. The old militiaman cautiously peeked out, and this time the concentrated volley was aimed at the vanguard.
Bone arrows carrying the howl of the God of Death pierced through the samurais’ leather armor. Several samurais died on the spot, and a dozen more were gravely wounded by stray arrows, writhing and rolling on the ground. As if to confirm the old militiaman’s words from earlier, one wounded warrior loudly cried out his military nobility status. The commander-in-chief of the vanguard glanced at the wounds and then coldly waved his hand. With the urgency of military matters, two warriors directly grabbed the military nobility, taking him to the rear of the legion. Those of the Great Nobility with private armies looked on coldly, remaining silent.
Weizti watched as the injured minor nobility was carried past him, hastily bandaged, and then left in the cold bushes. The fast-marching legion left behind no escort, leaving him to fend for himself. The tall bushes, like green graves, gradually swallowed the fading cries for help. At this place and time, once wounded, the outcome was sealed! Thinking of this, a chill rose sharply in Weizti’s heart, and his face became expressionless.
Chiwaco sighed. He looked at the blank expression on Weizti’s face, his tone softened.
"Blockhead, your wife was conscripted. What becomes of women conscripted from the villages? You’ve seen it clearly these days. And in this cannibalistic world, what can become of your six- or seven-year-old child? They’re already dead! Now, you only have me and Luwei."
Having said this, the old militiaman pulled the blockhead to his side. Shoulder to shoulder, each holding a shield, they covered each other’s flanks. The old militiaman spoke in a low voice audible only to them, word by word.
"Blockhead, your wife and son are dead; my wife and son are dead too. You need to understand, who really killed them! The Mexica didn’t take your conscripted wife, they didn’t destroy our village. They died like peas in a pod; count one for the Mexica, one for the conscripting warriors, and the remaining two should be on that damned chief and this wretched king!"
A fleeting ferocity flashed across Chiwaco’s face. The successive great battles and upheavals finally honed a cold light in him. He took a deep breath and reached into his chest to search, wanting to sniff the sachet of herbs sewn by his wife one more time, but no matter how, he couldn’t find it.
The old militiaman paused, then suddenly remembered, he had left the small cloth pouch with Luwei. It was the only legacy her mother had left, something that could give little Luwei a sense of security. And he himself no longer needed the herbs, to stay calm in warfare.
Chiwaco sighed once more. 𝔫𝔬𝖛𝖕𝔲𝖇.𝖈𝖔𝖒
"Stupid blockhead, stick with me. We still have to survive. Don’t think about saving the king, save yourself first!"
Weizti nodded, then lowered his head, no longer speaking, like a frostbitten pumpkin. The two remained silent, guarding the banner of the Hummingbird, following the legion as it continued southward. The closer they got to the frontline of battle, the closer to the king’s banner, the more vicious the Mexica’s attacks became, and the fighting between the two armies grew even more brutal.
"Whoosh whoosh whoosh!" The arrow rain continued without pause. Mexica militiamen began to disregard casualties, closing in on the army formations, and desperately exchanged shots with the vanguard archers. The enemy’s hundreds of warriors stopped retreating as well, and under the command of a young officer, they fought desperately against the charging Tarasco warriors. That young commander was exceptionally brave! Chiwaco couldn’t help but shudder again as he watched the enemy cut down the noble warriors one after another with ease.
"Drip drip!" The shrill sound of the conch horn blew, and the attacking warriors were once again beaten back. The Mexica warriors didn’t pursue, just stood in place gasping heavily, conserving their precious strength. Warrior Captain Puap retreated to the central army before wiping the thick blood off his face and the fine beads of sweat from his neck with his war clothes. He looked back apprehensively at the Mexica warriors in formation, and with fear at the young enemy commander-in-chief, then spat out a sound of contempt.
"Damn, what a bunch of ruthless fellows! The Sun God dozes off, and the eagle is enshrouded by dark clouds. I can almost see the king, yet the legion can’t break through for the life of them!"
The commander, Puap, spit viciously again before heading towards the central army’s battle flag, where he loudly reprimanded his subordinates.
"A bunch of blind moles! Why do we need so many of you to guard the flag? Greenhorns who haven’t faced battle are useless, and those disorderly savages just run amok—it’s only you veterans I can rely on. On the next charge, you’re all following me! The Chief said: Rescue the king, and every samurai will be promoted to nobility, and I will ascend to hereditary status!"
The old militiaman nodded and bowed, his aged face blossoming with a smile. He trotted up a couple of steps, took out a handkerchief, and respectfully wiped the blood and sweat from Puap’s face while whispering softly.
"Great Master, may I have a word with you in private?"
Puap paused for a moment, giving the old militiaman a skeptical look, but still followed him under the battle flag. Around them were a few of the militiaman’s brothers, all holding shields and spears, standing guard solidly.
"What’s the matter, old man? Making it all mysterious and shady; it’s really not straightforward!"
The old militiaman bowed respectfully but spoke with grave sincerity.
"Great Master, we have three thousand men, and even if half are greenhorns and savages, that still leaves us with fifteen hundred elite warriors! The enemy has but a few hundred at their core. If we truly fight to the death, where could they stand a chance? The current state of things has drained the blood of our House of Hummingbird warriors. The problem isn’t with us! Look at the nobility in the central army, and then at the priests in the rear guard, has any one of them truly given their all?"
Puap was stunned. The warriors sent to support the engagement were divided into three groups: the Chief’s Hummingbird warriors, the nobility’s private armies from the city, and the priests’ temple guards, each approximately one third. He surveyed the entire army, observing closely; Hummingbird warriors were charging at the front, the private armies of the nobility wavered in the middle, and the temple troops followed at the very back. In every engagement, it was the Hummingbird warriors who died first. And as soon as they faced the slightest setback, the nobility’s private armies would retreat en masse, and the temple troops would halt as well.
"Damn it! These cowardly fish-rats! I’m going to complain to the vanguard commander-in-chief! The king is right there, and these shameless nobles and useless priests are still holding back their strength!"
Puap was furious, ready to return to the vanguard immediately. The old militiaman tugged hard on Puap’s arm, urging him once more with deep conviction.
"Great Master, those are the great nobility and high priests! The commander-in-chief of the vanguard is so clever; he surely has seen through the rottenness of these scoundrels, but there’s just no helping it! With the situation as it is, our few dozen men going up there will just be adding drops to a bucket—what good will it do? It’s nothing but a wasteful sacrifice of several dozens of lives!"
Hearing the old militiaman’s words, Puap’s expression shifted. If he truly went out to speak up, either it would be futile, a waste of words; or the commander-in-chief of the vanguard might use it as an excuse to force the great nobility and high priests into a battle to the death. No matter the outcome of that battle, having offended these great nobles and high priests, what good end could there be for him, a mere newly ascended noble?
Watching the changing expressions on Puap’s face, Chiwaco weighed his words, then added one final push.
"Great Master, you’ve always valued my loyalty, and I speak to you from the heart. In these times, you are nobility because you have warriors. Once the warriors are gone, you’ll just be a samurai again! Great Master, I’ll risk saying more. Even the great nobles of the kingdom are harboring their intentions, branches splitting from the old tree, pears ripening beyond the wall. Given your talents, even under Mexica rule, you could still live well—perhaps even better. This battle is the king’s war, not ours!"
On hearing this, Puap’s face darkened, the militiaman’s words piercing his heart like arrows. The Warrior Captain stood in place, staring intently at the not-so-distant Eagle Banner and the Royal Army fighting beneath it. After a long while, as the Mexica’s thunderbolts boomed again, he slowly nodded.
