Aztec Civilization: Destiny to Conquer America!

The overcast sky looms, obscuring the sunlight. In the old, small Temple, the bricks and stones are damaged, moss erodes the eerie spots, and bloodstains are mottled in the darkness. In several sunken corners of the Temple, thick oil traces and viscous blood stains converge here, the intense odor of blood almost suffocating. Cleanly scraped human bones, severed and fallen fingers, black and red tangled hair, accumulate like hills, yet they are difficult-to-dispose "kitchen waste."

At the center of the Temple is a dimly lit shrine, the statue within long vanished, as if someone wished to ensure the Divine wouldn't witness what transpired inside. And where the statue once stood, is perhaps the only clean, blood-free spot in the entire Temple.

Obsidian Eagle Warrior Balda, with a stern expression and deep eyes, watches a middle-aged prisoner with a lifeless countenance before him, Quartermaster Ohui of White Snake City. He waits silently, until Quartermaster Ohui slowly speaks in a low voice, using the same Navajo language, revealing the city's terrifying reality.

"...The Priests, in the name of the rite, select two hundred elderly and weak each time, as human sacrifices to the Cloud Serpent Divine. The human sacrifices are decapitated, skinned, and boned, yielding thirty to forty pounds of meat per person, enough to feed a Samurai for a month. As for the kitchen waste of entrails soup, it's distributed to the Militia to sustain life..."

"Originally, the city had fifteen thousand people, food for a year. Three months ago, the commoners and Warriors were cut off from supplies, leaving nearly ten thousand. From then on, massive rituals have been held daily at the Cloud Serpent Temple, sharing the Sacrifices. The elderly and weak are eaten first, then it's women and children, meat dwindling, and soon it's young, strong Militia. Some families commit suicide together and are processed first..."

"Just to sustain two thousand Warriors in the city, over three months, more than six thousand people have been consumed... Thus, honorable Mexica General, you ask me where the thousands of Militia in the city have gone, I can tell you that they are all..."

Saying this, Quartermaster Ohui points with a dead look to the muddy land behind the small Temple, muttering softly.

"Their fresh flesh is within the Warriors' bellies, their old bones buried deep in the Abyss. Their desperate spirits, unclaimed, with dying resentments, await transformation into the Undead..."

Upon hearing this, Balda furrows his brow. He glances at the large area of freshly turned muddy soil behind the temple, ponders briefly, then orders dozens of Warriors to start digging. After a brief moment, layer upon layer of white bones, boiled to a youthful pale, an older light yellow, and some dark red, unforgivingly exposed before everyone, startling and chilling in appearance.

The soil dug away, the bone hill exposed. A scene of deathly silence fills the small Temple, mute and motionless. Balda gazes wordlessly for a long time, sighs, and turns away.

"Chief Divine protects! It's all here?"

"Seven or eight thousand ant-like people, all here. No need to search elsewhere in the city. The White Snake Warriors have long since cleaned out the people."

Quartermaster Ohui's face is dead silent, with no emotion or light in his eyes. He simply answers, truthfully responding to all of Balda's inquiries.

"Was there no resistance among the commoners in the entire city?"

"Apart from the beginning, some people jumped the city to flee. Afterwards, they were all starving and deformed, unable to yield much flesh, and what could they use to resist? Besides, this is a sacrifice held in the name of the Divine, with over two thousand Warriors suppressing. And for the starving commoners, as long as they weren't chosen, obtaining a mouthful of meat broth could barely sustain them for two days..."

"But I went to the palace district, there's still food there."

"That's prepared for the Divine Descendants, enough for only two hundred to eat. Even family Warriors don't get a taste, let alone the lowly ant-like people."

"So lacking food, didn't the Warriors in the city think of rebellion and surrender?"

"Certainly some thought about it, it's just..."

Quartermaster Ohui paused and for the first time, a complex emotion flickered in his eyes.

"But the ones besieging the city are you Mexica, age-old enemies. The Priests say you collude with demons of the Abyss, obtaining terrible weapons through sacrificing souls... If they fall into your hands, not only will they die, even their souls won't reach the Divine Kingdom, eternally cast into the Abyss!"

"...With it like this, do you still wish for the Divine Kingdom?"

"...Besieged for over a year, there must be hope. Those without hope have long since committed suicide, and been eaten."

Upon hearing this, Balda shook his head, and Quartermaster Ohui remained silent. The small Temple falls into silence once more, the quiet before death.

"Chief Divine witness, I've asked you so many questions. Before you die, you're allowed to ask me one question."

In Balda's eyes, complex emotions flickered about. This was a traditional Eagle Warrior, offering a moment of respect before killing the enemy.

"No matter what question, I'll do my best to answer, not concealing anything."

"The last question before dying huh?..."

Quartermaster Ohui thought for a moment, scratching his head. As a family Warrior close to the City Lord, he initially wanted to ask about the fate of City Lord Tizat, the disposition of the Cloud Serpent Divine Descendant, the survival of surrendering Warriors... But after thinking for a while, these realistic questions drifted from his mind, leaving only one ethereal question, like clouds drifting from the sky.

"Mexica General, the Tlaxcala Alliance perished in the Divine War, but Telascallan people are still alive. Many years later, will our descendants continue to be mutual enemies, fighting so brutally as we do today?"

Upon hearing this question, Balda paused, a mysterious emotion flashing in his eyes. Moments later, he shook his head affirmatively.

"No more. After a few decades, the concept of Telascallan will vanish. They will assimilate into the Mexica people's group, speaking the same language, believing in the only Supreme Main God, and then belonging to one new and glorious name, the descendants of Jiao People!"

"Oh, I see!"

Quartermaster Ohui hesitated for a moment, a flicker in his eyes before they returned to a lifeless black. He was silent for a while, then murmured.

"So what about the hatred from this slaughter now?"

"Time will erase everything. And today's war will also be wiped from history, not allowing future generations to see... at least, not in such cruel reality."

Balda pressed his lips together, thinking of the new epic revised by the High Priesthood and the assimilation education promoted by His Highness, and answered so. Then he lowered his eyes, drew out the obsidian dagger from his waist, and gently reminded.

"By the way, this is the second question, a gift for you."

"Oh, I see... also, well then!"

Quartermaster Ohui nodded slightly, a glimmer of expectation in his eyes. He felt his chest, unbuttoned the war clothes, exposing his lightly beating heart.

"Then, go on!"

"I still have time, I can wait for you to leave a farewell poem."

"A farewell poem?"

Quartermaster Ohui was stunned for a moment, then asked softly.

"No need to trouble yourself..."

"This is a tradition of the Flower Battle, it's up to you whether to leave one. After all, no one will record it."

"Oh, right! It's the ancient tradition of the Flower Battle..."

Quartermaster Ohui thought for a while, raised his head, looked at the dim clouds, thinking of the brightness at sunrise, and recited softly.

"I died before the heavy rain comes, washing away a lifetime of filth, simply to catch a glimpse of the impossible brightness. It will come long, long after, like the best radiance of spring..."

"Not bad, any more?"

"No more. Go on!"

"Hmm."

Eagle Warrior Balda nodded solemnly. He watched Quartermaster Ohui's eyes, raised his right hand, and slowly aimed the sharp point of the dagger at the opponent's heart. Then, he let out a low shout, suddenly thrusting with force, the dagger hilt-deep.

"Go on!"

Quartermaster Ohui's eyes suddenly shrank and brightened, as if death squeezed out the last bit of brightness. Then, his whole body convulsed violently, pupils dilated rapidly, and his body collapsed to the ground. In just a moment, he lost all movement, quietly and silently slipping into death.

"He didn't cry out in the end; he's a warrior after all!"

Eagle Warrior Balda was silent for a while, nodded at Quartermaster Otto. Then he took out a piece of straw paper and carefully wrote down the other party's farewell poem, placing it on his chest.

"Quetz, bury him!"

"Commander, where to bury?"

"Not here, anywhere else... give him a separate grave."

"Yes! At your command!"

Vanguard Warrior Quetz stood up straight, respectfully agreeing. Balda took one last look at the eerie little temple, and the piles of white bones behind it, murmured something to himself, and then shook his head and left.

"When I see His Highness, I must suggest tearing down this temple and having the Chief God Priests hold a reception ceremony... to prevent any mythical undead from really appearing..."

The long wind blew, lifting the straw paper, unfurling it in the air, drifting over the pit full of white bones, floating towards the distance. Scattered raindrops gradually fell from the clouds, moistening the words on the straw paper again. The heavy rain washes away the filth, and the bright radiance will eventually arrive quietly in the post-rain waiting, bringing rebirth.