Aztec Civilization: Destiny to Conquer America!

The real battle had barely begun when the three militia battalions of Otomi in the very front couldn't withstand the pressure of rapid casualties anymore and collapsed from the front, their organization reduced to zero. They had fulfilled their important mission as cannon fodder vanguards and were of no further use in this battle.

The two battalions of Otomi warriors from the central army quickly pushed forward, brutally dispersing the militia to both sides with their shields, and then, without giving the Mexica warriors any more chance to recover their strength, they roared and charged at the opponents in front of them.

At the same time, the militia at the rear also launched an assault and engaged in combat with the command battalion where Aweit was located, thereby restraining the last Mexica reserve force.

Watching the enemy warriors close in from all directions, faces twisted, howling, the clash of shields and weapons echoed in his ears, and every so often, the crisp snap of breaking bones. Blood splattered, staining Xiulote's feet, a sea of crimson before his eyes.

Xiulote's heart hammered violently, every second stretching out as long as a century. He couldn't help but glance at Aweit, only to see a face both unfamiliar and familiar, firm and cold, watching the battle unfold with no expression.

The entire hillside that could be used for combat was filled. In the front, there were four thousand Otomi warriors and two thousand militia, semi-encircling three Mexica warrior battalions, while at the rear, four Otomi militia battalions harassed and restrained Aweit's command battalion.

At this moment, the Otomi commander Jiowar still had one warrior battalion in reserve, two advanced cannon fodder slinger battalions, plus four ordinary cannon fodder militia battalions. He also sent additional forces to gather the recently dispersed three militia battalions.

Jiowar's eyes shone fiercely as he watched the battle ahead, looking for gaps in the formation, ready to deploy the last warrior battalion to completely tear apart the Mexica warriors' defense line. An unconscious smile of victory crept onto his face.

The smile had not yet fully formed when it suddenly froze. Two Mexica warrior battalions appeared out of nowhere on the outermost hill pack on the right flank, surging towards the center of the battlefield at high speed.

Seeing the two approaching Mexica warrior battalions from afar, Xiulote at the center of the formation finally regained his composure. In reality, discounting the intimidation, the preliminary skirmishing with slings, and the actual hand-to-hand combat between warriors on both sides, it had lasted only half an hour; a full engagement merely a quarter hour.

Now, the Otomi commander had a quarter hour to hesitate: either push the last warrior battalion, along with all the militia battalions, to meet the rapidly approaching two thousand Mexica warriors, hoping that the warriors on the hill could break through the defense line first.

Or retreat immediately, leave the militia to the Mexica, and let as many warriors escape as possible from the hill, heading into the familiar mountain forests to safety.

Jiowar made his choice swiftly. The first option was to bet all the chips for victory, the second was to accept losing at least half. Glancing at the hilltop, where a gradually emerging advantage could be seen, he hesitated for a moment, then clenched his teeth, fought to suppress the ominous premonition in his heart, and ordered the four militia battalions to attack forward, temporarily holding off the Mexica reinforcements.

Wearing the majestic eagle warrior outfit, Balda led the two Mexica warrior battalions like a hurricane, charging directly into the center of the four thousand militia, embroiling themselves in the most intense close combat.

The militia howled as they charged, thrusting their long spears, glancing off the leather armor and shields, then falling, shattered by the war club's blows, like waves scattering on the shore.

Their morale melted away like ice and snow. Yet, the high-flying commander's banner in the back and the approaching one thousand reserve warriors still maintained the baseline of their morale.

The situation was at a stalemate for the time being, but Aweit at the top of the hill revealed a genuine smile. Even as the fierce combat and bloodshed roared around him, he turned and tossed a joke Xiulote's way, "The fish has finally taken the bait."

The melee continued for another quarter hour, the Mexica warriors in the front had been pushed so hard they were squeezed together with the command battalion. The war clubs' strikes were exhausting too much strength, and the warriors on the hill started to use their shields more defensively.

The stamina of the warriors on both sides hadn't reached their limits yet, and they were far from massive casualties. Out of the eight thousand engaged warriors, at this point, only about three to four hundred on each side had lost their combat ability.

But when Casal's five hundred Jaguar warriors and one thousand five hundred warriors appeared on the left rear side of the battlefield, dark clouds obscured all the sunlight in Jiowar's heart, and the Otomi commander almost instantly lost all will to fight.

The familiar Jaguar Beast Helmet was the nightmare of all city-state warriors, a terror of the Otomi people's tales through generations. Although Jiowar didn't believe in stories, he was acutely aware of the fearsome combat ability of the Jaguar warriors on the frontline.

The urgent sound of the retreat bugle resounded across the battlefield as the semi-engaged Otomi command battalion rapidly disengaged from the fight. Jiowar issued his last pointless command, ordering the two slinger battalions to hold off the incoming Jaguar warriors.

Immediately, he abandoned the embattled militia and the still-fighting warriors and fled towards the forest to the right rear.

Casal sent a thousand Mexica warriors to chase Jiowar. Then he detached another five hundred to ambush the Otomi militia currently engaged with Balda from behind.

As for himself, he led the Jaguar warriors straight towards the biggest catch, the four thousand Otomi warriors fighting fiercely on the mountaintop.

The retreat signal reached the summit. The first to react were the four thousand Otomi militia tasked with restraining Aweit behind the hills.

Without the warriors to support them, these seemingly simple mountain folk already had a reserve of strength. Seeing the Jaguar warriors charging over from a distance, they knew things were not looking good and immediately scattered towards the distant forest.

Aweit's command camp had just been freed from the battle. He did not concern himself with the militia but immediately divided his command into two groups, engaging deeper into the Otomi warriors from both sides.

Xiulote thus settled down completely and began to carefully observe the battlefield.

It was only then that the Otomi warriors at the summit realized the situation was dire. Under the leadership of the hereditary nobility, they struggled to withdraw from the fight while trying hard to maintain order. The warriors at the front fought even more fiercely, while those at the back began to disperse.

When swarms of Jaguar warriors charged into the rear of the Otomi battle group, like a stone thrown into a lake, they immediately pressed out an inward ripple among the crowd, and as the ripple spread, the crowd scattered like splashed water.

The remaining two thousand Otomi militia on the summit completely collapsed. Shouting in panic, they turned their backs to the enemy and fled, only to be mown down like stalks of corn.

The real casualties began.

With the Jaguar warriors' stabbing charge and the skilled whirl of the war clubs, striking like fierce storms on Otomi shields, leather armor, backs, and legs, the warriors fell prostrate to the ground.

Squeezed from both sides, the Otomi warriors lost their formation quickly, and the army's morale plummeted rapidly. The Jaguar warriors intimidated them with war cries while striking with physical force, and within a quarter of an hour, a great rout ensued.

From this moment on, every minute saw ten times as many Otomi warriors fall as before.

The Otomi warriors at the front line entered their final frenzy, then quickly exhausted their strength amidst the siege and were knocked unconscious by the wooden sides of the warriors' war clubs.

The Otomi warriors on the flanks and sides threw down their heavy obsidian clubs and scattered from the pincers towards the distant forest, struggling for their last breath of life.

Feeling the swift weakening of resistance, the Mexica warriors on the summit finally let out victorious shouts. They began to show mercy, using the blunt angles and sides of the war clubs to strike at the legs and backs of the Otomis, disabling their ability to move.

At this point, the head-on battle ended, and the Mexica began to pursue the opponent, easily capturing the enemy like catching turkeys. The great capture commenced.

Standing atop the hill, smelling the thick scent of blood that couldn't dissipate in the air, watching the Otomi's frantic fleeing, listening to the passionate cheers of the Mexica warriors, Xiulote felt a surreal sense of unreality.

A quarter of an hour before, the Otomi were struggling in their dying throes, half an hour before, he was being besieged by the enemy, an hour before, the situation was turning against them, and two hours before, the battle had just begun.

"Is this what war is?" Xiulote asked, looking at Aweit.

"This is not war," Aweit finally revealed a genuine smile, "This is only the beginning!"