Aztec Civilization: Destiny to Conquer America!

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The night had fallen heavily, enveloping the mountain forest. Sparse moonlight illuminated the mountain path. In the rugged woodlands, a group of six or seven warriors, without any lit torches, were groping their way forward in darkness. They each carried small bundles on their backs and leaned on sturdy long spears, carefully trekking northward.

"So we just leave like this?"

After a silent march, Chipawa, the youngest of them, eventually couldn't contain himself and asked softly.

Zucata listened to the noises in the forest then continued walking for a while before responding in a low voice.

"What? Do you want to stay behind and surrender to the Mexica?"

"No! How could I possibly!"

Chipawa's eyes widened. Zucata quickly made a gesture for silence, and he hastily lowered his voice.

"The Mexica destroyed my hometown, killed my father... I will never surrender!"

"Hmm, none of us will surrender. Let's keep moving then!"

Zucata nodded and kept walking, glancing at Chipawa's profile from the side. From this angle, the young Militia looked like someone he had once sworn to protect with his life. Memories, long and unforgettable, surfaced, prompting a slight sigh from Zucata.

"Marshal Quiyus... I have failed you; I couldn't protect your son..."

Zucata's voice was very faint, and Chipawa didn't hear it. Of course, even if he had heard it, he wouldn't have understood.

Their meeting seemed coincidental, yet also like a tale told by the tribal Sage by the campfire. The Southern Army had disintegrated, and Chipawa was taken north by a band of fleeing soldiers, to be used as mobile provisions.

When Zucata and his group passed by, he merely glanced at Chipawa before scattering the deserters and rescuing him. Together, they continued northward, crossed the great river, and upon reaching the wilderness, they joined the tribe of the Guajili.

Zucata's actions, throughout their journey, were so decisive that it seemed he had planned them all along. Yet, plans no longer mattered since the people important to him were no longer around.

Chipawa, his head bowed, spoke up again after a while in a softer voice.

"Captain, although the Red Monkey Chieftain has sent us southward to return the captives of the Red Frog Tribe... it doesn't necessarily mean we'll surrender, does it...?"

Zucata lifted his head and gave Chipawa an indifferent look. He stayed silent for a moment, then spoke calmly.

"After taking the first step, how far can the second step be? The Priest of the Three Gods once said, when your spirit sinks into the ground, it will be drawn to the profound Netherworld. Step by step, you'll ultimately end up in the hands of the Moon Goddess... At this moment, the end is preordained. Staying longer won't change anything."

Having said that, Zucata pondered for a while before asking.

"Chipawa, are you missing the silver from the camp?"

"Ah, Captain!"

Chipawa flushed with embarrassment. He lowered his head and stammered a reply.

"The Canine Descendants surely can't hold off the Mexica, we do have to go! It's just that leaving in such a hurry, without bringing any riches... that bag of silver ingots I had finally saved up..."

Zucata shook his head. He wore a serious expression, instructing sternly.

"Chipawa, gold and silver are merely the temptations of the gods. As a Samurai, you can indulge in wealth, but you must never be bound by it! You have to be the master of wealth, not its slave!"

Chipawa, looking at Zucata's expression, bit his lip and kept quiet. After a while, he spoke quietly, "Captain, we are different. I am not a Samurai, just a conscripted Militia. In my entire life, I've never seen so much money... Back then, if my family had money, we could have bribed the conscripting Samurai... My father wouldn't have been taken in the first levy, and I wouldn't have been taken in the second. My mother and sister... their fate wouldn't be unknown..."

"Conscripting Samurai..."

Zucata fell silent. Born to the Nobility, he was a close Samurai of the Prince Quiyus. His family had served the Royal Family for nearly two hundred years. To him, the conscripting Samurai were nothing but harmless, lowly cur dogs that would obsequiously grovel and wag their tails whenever they encountered him. He knew of their local demeanor but never paid it much mind. Because, to him, the ordinary commoners were even more insignificant, akin to ants.

For over two hundred years, the hierarchy persisted as if it was natural for nobles and commoners to be different. That was until the Kingdom fell, and everything changed. Now, the displaced noble Samurai and the son of a Militia were no different - both were simply remnants of a fallen nation.

"The Kingdom is gone... The Mexica are our enemies now."

After a while, Zucata, expressionless, spoke in a low tone.

"We must survive, and survive well. Chieftain Amoxtli is ahead. Join him, and there will be hope in the East."

"Ah! So we're not going to the Red Dog Tribe but heading to find the Red Crow?"

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Hearing this, Qipa was somewhat surprised. An image of valorous beauty was etched in his heart, giving him strength in an instant.

Zucata nodded and gave a blunt smile.

"Hmm. The Red Crow Chieftain is not only steadfast and decisive but also adaptable and good at learning. He's an eagle pretending to be a crow, able to avoid the storms of the rainy season, truly soaring in the wilderness skies... Qipa, you said that the Red Crow Tribe has always been preparing to migrate east."

"Yes, Sister Aran said so. They fled from the Red Fox Valley to migrate to the East, to the lands of the Vastec people,"

Qipa confirmed. He always kept Sister Aran's words to heart. In reality, Qipa was slightly older than Aran, but every time he thought of Aran shooting down the enemy with her magnificent archery, he couldn't help but see himself as the younger brother.

"That's it then. The East is the only path to survival,"

Zucata nodded in confirmation. It was this very statement that had solidified his decision to defect to the Red Crow.

"The Vastec people dwell in the lowland jungles, their customs are soft, they love the arts, and they have many craftsmen. They are like plump grass rabbits before the resolute wolves of the wilderness, incapable of much resistance... It's a broad avenue that's also enough for us to walk on..."

"Let's hurry! Ozoma is going to notice we're gone soon. He'll either send people to kill us, or... The Mexica armies will soon head north!"

At these words, everyone's pace quickened as they moved with heads bowed.

The night grew deeper. Along the way, they saw many traces of the Red Crow's movements, but they could never catch up. The elite Canine Descendants were exceptionally fast runners, even while carrying rescued captives, they would swiftly move away like the wind, eluding the Southern Samurai.

After a quarter, the main camp of the Red Dog appeared before them, a large array of bonfires twinkling at the mouth of the valley.

"What should we do?"

Qipa gasped for breath. He looked at the bonfires not far away and asked tentatively.

"The Red Dog Tribe is right ahead. Should we go and report Ozoma? The Great Chief of Chichika has always been generous..."

"Not going,"

Zucata shook his head resolutely.

"The Red Monkey is about to surrender, and the end in the north has been sealed. The Chief of Chichika has pride in his bones and will resist to the very end. Moreover, he's fierce and unpredictable in his rage... Going there now would mean death."

Everyone nodded in agreement. Zucata then lit a torch and, holding the token of the Red Monkey Tribe, boldly walked along the edge of the camp. When they encountered the small mountain patrols with red hair, he would blankly show the token, acting as an envoy of the Red Monkey Tribe. Many scouts had seen him beside Ozoma, so no one suspected him.

The group passed through unhindered for several miles, leaving the Red Dog main camp far behind. Soon, the Spear squad reached the top of the last hill. Before their eyes lay a vast open space.

In the dim light of dawn, the dying bonfires looked like stars in the sky, spreading across the entire fertile valley. The tributaries of the Tampen River flowed quietly, the riverbanks adorned with remnants of straw, clothing the land in a coat of greyish-yellow. Further away, the small town of Pamus lay like a low stone at the edge of sight, simple and time-worn.

"Pamus Valley, we're here,"

Gazing at the vast fields and rivers, Qipa's face showed longing. In that moment, he was reminded of his homeland in the South and couldn't help but speak to himself again.

"Such a rare sight in the wilderness! It would be good to stay here..."

Day was just breaking, the first light illuminating the hilltops. Zucata stood at the peak, not looking at the expansive fields but with his back to the valley. He gazed at the southern forests with a grave expression, gripping his spear tightly.

"The Mexica armies... have set out!"

At his words, everyone turned back in surprise, witnessing a breathtaking scene.

In the mountains over twenty miles away, thousands of green-clad warriors marched northward, followed by tens of thousands in gray and blue, like a mythological Feathered Serpent devouring all in its path! Leading the army by several miles, five hundred Red Frog warriors clad in Cotton Armor and armed with Bamboo Bows cleared the way. They had descended from the highlands, not pausing for a second before relentlessly charging toward the Red Dog main camp.

"Ah, look there!..."

Qipa pointed, letting out an astonished cry.

Zucata glanced at it, then lowered his eyes. In the familiar terrain of the Red Monkey camp, there now flew a flag he recognized all too well. On the flag, an abstract serpent coiled into a red sun, the symbol of the Mexica Alliance!

"The Red Monkey Tribe... has surrendered!"

A few moments later, Zucata exhaled deeply. In the breaking light of dawn, he turned steadily, leading the way towards the valley and the Red Crow Tribe without looking back.