Aztec Civilization: Destiny to Conquer America!-Chapter 595 - 293: The Mountain Farmers in Spring Plowing, the Observing Canine Descendants
The cool breeze swept through the treetops, the pines and cypresses sprouted new branches, and the grass grew lush, thick enough to conceal one’s figure. In early June, the seasonal rains arrived on schedule, causing the smoke from slash-and-burn clearing to rise and then extinguish, leaving only a blackened residue of ashes behind.
On a field of ashes, thousands of Otomi mountain people were engrossed in tilling the soil. Large swathes of farmland had already been sown. To guard against raids by the Canine Descendants, the able-bodied all carried stone-tipped Long Spears on their backs, and some had long slings at their waists. On a nearby small hill, there was a small unit, 20 Otomi Warriors. The warriors wore grey-blue Cotton Armor, carried War Clubs on their backs, and around their necks hung Bone Whistles for sounding alarms. They looked to the north with caution, glancing occasionally at the mountain people hard at work and then at the vibrant fields.
The Otomi mountain folk bent over busily, breaking the soil with wooden and stone tools, carefully sowing their hopes for the year. And when they took a short rest, the majestic Ototpan Mountain City came into view at the end of their line of sight, standing tall on the distant southern horizon. The ancestral land of the mountain city, enduring through the ages like a Holy Mountain where deities dwelt, held the hearts of all the mountain people.
Behind the mountain people, several babbling streams flowed down from the mountains, moisturizing the farmland along their paths. By the small lake where the streams converged, there was a large Otomi Village. This place was sixty miles north of Ototpan Mountain City, and it was also a northern key point that the warriors guarded.
Now, fifty Mexica warriors holding Longbows, and two hundred Otomi warriors with shields and clubs, were stationed in the village’s longhouses, with sturdy granaries nearby. In the village center, by the fire pit, there was also a pile of specially gathered firewood. When the number of approaching Canine Descendants neared a thousand, the warriors would ignite the firewood to call for reinforcements from the mountain city. Three battalions of a thousand men each were stationed a dozen miles to the south, ready to strike at any moment.
A rustle of movement in the distant woods, and the warriors on the hill immediately stood and peered out, placing the Bone Whistle to their lips. Soon, a small team of Otomi Scouts emerged from the forest, followed by hundreds of mountain people carrying food and agricultural tools. The warriors of both sides exchanged fist salutes, relieved. The scouts looked over the cultivated fields and then continued to guide the newly arrived mountain people to the village for settlement.
Not long ago, the Priesthood of the mountain city issued a divine decree: to evacuate the mountain people from the northern border, take all the food, and concentrate on farming in the large villages surrounding the mountain city. Then, with thousands of Otomi Warriors as escorts, the Priests who commanded allegiance went north to lead the people. They quickly evacuated villages of more than three hundred inhabitants. As for the smaller villages, they were left for the Scout Warriors to guide.
The border evacuation had been going on for a month, and this batch of folk today was likely the last. The remaining tiny villages of just a few dozen people were hidden in the mountains and nearly impossible to find. They wouldn’t have much food stored, so they weren’t a concern.
Ototpan Mountain City was more than two hundred miles away from the Pamus State. After the Canine Descendants’ looting and a large-scale contraction, the northernmost hundred miles of land were deserted. Within a hundred miles of the mountain city, there were patrols of Scouts, stationed warriors, and legions ready to attack at any moment.
Spring plowing was laborious and busy. When they bent down, the morning sun had just risen; when they looked up, the setting sun had fallen. After a long night’s sleep, another day of monotony began. The new day seemed no different. Songbirds circled in the sky, only seeing the farmland that had been plowed. Oh, and the hidden eyes in the woods.
Amoxtli crouched in the underbrush, narrowing his eyes, watching the mountain people hunched over the fields from afar, as well as the bustling village not far off. He wore the Cotton Armor of the Mexica, with a vine hat in yellow-green atop his head, concealing his conspicuously red hair. His gaze lingered for a while until another voice came from the bushes.
"Amoxtli, did you get a clear view of the Otomi Warriors on the small hill? How many are there?"
"Two palms and two soles, exactly twenty. The lead one’s hand is on his neck, must be a whistle that would go ’tinkle’ at one blow."
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"Ah, this bunch of squeaking mongrels! They’re not much in a fight, but they sure know how to call out."
Ivican spat out disdainfully and popped his head out too. His eyes greedily scanned the distant village, looked at the thousands of toiling mountain people, then fixed fiercely on the scantily clad young women, swallowing a mouthful of saliva.
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"The women of the Otomi are far better looking than the skinny poles in our tribe. With bodies like turkeys, they’re great for bearing children! Amoxtli, with such a big village, there’s plenty of food and women. Do we attack or not?"
"Ivican, don’t rush it, let me take another look. We’ve been following the Otomi scouts all the way here; we need to see where they have hidden the food. Women are plenty, but food is the lifeblood of a tribe!"
Amoxtli carefully observed, his gaze pausing on the long spears carried by the villagers, then he gestured towards the direction of the village.
"Let’s go have a look around the edge of the village."
Two red-haired warriors rose from the undergrowth, agile as mountain cats, without making a sound. Behind them, some twenty-odd tribal warriors also rose, each bending at the waist like hunting dogs. They carefully skirted the cultivated fields and came to the back of the village to continue spying.
Not far away, a simple wooden fence encircled the village, leaving only two exits to the south and the north. In the center of the village stood a tall stone house, into and out of which some villagers were coming and going, preparing a special lunch for their samurai masters. The ordinary mountain folk weren’t so fortunate; they only had two meals a day, morning and evening.
Soon, faint wisps of smoke rose and the clear scent of corn drifted afar. A large group of samurai emerged from the long house, each carrying a weapon, chatting and laughing as they sat around the fire pit to eat.
"Gray-blue cotton armor, one palm, two palms... Hmm, eight ’hand palms’ of Otomi dogs."
Amoxtli used both hands, even borrowing Ivican’s palms, to finally, with difficulty, count two hundred. Then, he shifted his gaze toward the central Mexica warriors, his pupils suddenly constricting.
"Damn, white gold cotton armor studded with spikes, wicker helmets, and greatbows! Those are the Mexica ’Thick-skin’ warriors, a full ten ’hand palms’!"
"What? Mexica ’Thick-skin’ warriors?! Where?... Ow!"
Startled, Ivican turned in the direction of Amoxtli’s pointing finger and couldn’t help letting out a low canine growl. The warriors in the center of the village instantly became alert and stood looking in their direction. The canine descendant scouts crouched low in the bushes, not moving an inch. After a long while, the warriors resumed their noisy chatter and continued eating.
Amoxtli breathed a sigh of relief before lowering his voice and cursing.
"Damn it, Ivican, keep your dog mouth shut!"
"What’s there to be afraid of, Amoxtli? No one can outrun us! From this distance, even the greatbows can’t hit us."
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Ivican returned the smile with a low voice, not too concerned about the danger.
"Blind as bats, all fifty thick-skinned warriors! How did the Cactus Tribe from the south get so many thick-skinned? Last time we fought them, I shot a thick-skinned one with more than a dozen arrows, making him look like a porcupine, and yet he bounced around without a scratch!"
"Ivican, the cotton armor of the thick-skinned warriors can’t be shot through, no matter how close you are! You need to aim for that small exposed part of their neck, shoot their lower legs and feet, or bludgeon their heads in close combat. Of course, these thick-skinned ones are elite, and they’ll consciously cover their vital spots. They’re also formidable in close combat, truly a tough nut to crack!"
Amoxtli shook his head and frowned as he continued to observe.
Soon, Ivican’s eyes widened as he looked towards the granary where the laborers were coming and going.
"Food, lots of food! Amoxtli, behind me there are a hundred veteran redheads, five hundred tribal warriors! How many do you have back there?"
"I have fifty redheads and three hundred warriors behind me; can’t compare with your ’Red Fox’ tribe."
"One hundred and fifty redheads, eight hundred warriors, the enemy only has two hundred fifty… Ah, that’s enough! Shall we attack?"
"Attack my ass!"
Amoxtli spat angrily and turned to glare at his friend.
"The Otomi dogs are tough to attack when they are on the defense. Now with the Cactus Tribe warriors here, they’re like dogs with a master, extremely stubborn, and they won’t surrender even in death!"
"Have you looked at the layout of this village? Houses block the way, paths are narrow, and our warriors can’t spread out to use their numerical advantage. Plus, the enemy has greatbows for defense, and getting hit is a death sentence! By the time we reach the palisade, the thick-skinned ones will have shot three volleys of greatbows; break through and rush in, and it’s another two volleys of arrows. After two more volleys, our warriors will start to collapse. This village can’t be taken!"
"Hmm, it seems logical. Amoxtli, your head really is sharp, almost like you’re from our Red Fox tribe."
Ivican thought for a while before he turned his gaze toward the mountain people working in the fields.
"So, how about we have our warriors charge at these mountain people? We could scatter them, draw out the defending army, or maybe snatch a few robust women to bring back?"
"Snatch my ass!"
Amoxtli extended his arm and hammered Ivican’s shoulder hard.
"What good is killing a bunch of grass-like mountain people? All the food is in the granary. Without taking down the village, it’s all in vain. If we stick out too long here, the large force of warriors from the south will latch onto us. First, the Otomi dogs, then the dark green cotton-armored Mexica warriors, and finally the unmovable thick-skinned."
"Right, my last deep incursion into the south, I encountered a few ferocious tiger-heads, probably the Great Chief’s trusted aides, the veteran redheads of the Cactus Tribe. They were clad in thick-skinned armor, wore tiger-heads, and were very good at tracking, chasing me for fifty miles! No matter how the scout team changed directions, we couldn’t shake them off. I lost many brothers and only when we retreated to the northern border and set up an ambush with other tribes, did they quietly disappear."
"Ferocious tiger-heads?"
Ivican furrowed his brows and muttered to himself.
"I think I’ve heard the Chieftain mention something about Eagle Warriors, Jaguar warriors... Are they also thick-skinned?"
"As thick-skinned as bears. Stop thinking about it, Ivican. All of my tribe’s warriors are gathered here. If we suffer a reckless loss and don’t seize any food, the Chieftain and Priesthood will surely sacrifice me alive! This village is impregnable; we should..."
"Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh!"
Three sharp feathered arrows whistled through the air, shooting from afar and slashing past the heads of the Canine Descendant scouts. Two redhead warriors were taken aback and looked around, only to see that, without their knowledge, a few thick-skinned warriors accompanied by dozens of Otomi dogs had quietly closed in from the side.
"Damn it, Ivican, it’s all because of that dog barking of yours!"
"Ow! Amoxtli, stop cursing. Since we can’t fight, let’s save our energy and run north! We still need to warn the troops behind us!"
"Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh!"
Another dog bark came, followed by loud curses and the hissing of feathered arrows. The two redhead warriors crouched low and dashed out of the arrow’s range like fleeing hounds. The dozen Canine Descendant scouts followed without hesitation.
Chased by over a hundred Allied Force warriors, the Canine Descendants ran without pause. Amid the tense and fierce pursuit, there were more howling barks, and blood spilled into the mountains and fields, soaking the soil of hope.
