Aztec Civilization: Destiny to Conquer America!-Chapter 592 - 290: Canine Descendants Scout, Guajili Tribe

The end of April carried the sound of the wind, and within the wind was hidden the roar of thunder. The thunder was disrupted by the rapid cries of battle, startling flocks of birds throughout the forest. The fighting on the northern border never ceased, as thousands of Canine Descendants continued to raid southward, constantly battling with the warriors of the Otapan State. Soon after, hundreds of Mexica scouts also joined the fray. The kingdom’s elite warriors, fully armed and led by Otomi scouts, engaged in continuous combat with the Guajili people and gained a definitive upper hand.

After several battles, the invading Guajili Tribe sensed something different. Soon, a brutal ambush unfolded in the mountain forests, and two red-haired senior Guajili warriors, with solemn expressions, carefully examined the bodies of a few new enemies.

Due to low productivity, the Guajili people were still in the tribal era of wilderness, with a primitive tribal alliance just beginning to form. The populations of the large tribes were limited, the largest numbering only around ten thousand. There was no significant division of wealth within the tribes, and naturally, there were no nobles or samurai.

Within the Guajili tribe, apart from a very small number of priests, there were usually just four brutal levels: the first level comprised boys who could not fight and could be abandoned by the tribe at any time; the second level consisted of young men who could fight and procreate, considered the foundation of tribal survival; the third level included warriors skilled in combat, each a core of tribal strength; the last were senior warriors who had survived battles and truly held power within the tribe. These senior warriors often dyed their hair the sacred red, as a symbol of being blessed by the spirits. As for the old and weak who could neither fight nor labor hard, they were generally not treated as humans and did not live long.

"Damn it! Amoxtli, where did these enemies come from? They’re as hard and prickly as highland cacti!"

Looking at the bodies of the fallen Canine Descendants around him, the young red-haired warrior growled in anger.

"I used a hundred-man team, yet couldn’t surround even twenty of them! The tribe lost twenty-five warriors to leave less than ten bodies!"

"Ivican, in the wilderness, angry coyotes cannot catch vigilant gazelles. You need to suppress your anger, learn to observe and wait."

The older red-haired warrior, Amoxtli, shook his head. He carefully touched the bodies in front of him, then arranged what he found in a row.

"A short obsidian dagger, an obsidian club, five packages of replaceable obsidian blades. Hiss, this is a wealthy tribe indeed!"

Amoxtli exclaimed in surprise. He continued his inspection, a hint of confusion in his expression.

"A golden necklace with sun and hummingbirds, seems like a prayer tool. Huh, it’s not wooden, but the city-state people’s favorite gold?"

"A short-handled...axe? What is this made of? Really sharp and tough, good stuff!"

"Mmm, a sturdy vine hat, a shield of wooden vine, and a complete set of cotton armor, the vital parts strengthened with leather. Hmm, this smell, is it soaked in precious oils? No wonder the warriors’ hunting bows couldn’t penetrate!"

"Finally, a small cotton bag containing...dry leaves and fresh grass?"

Amoxtli examined it for a moment, but it revealed nothing. He turned and shouted loudly.

"Ivican, you are the scout captain of the ’Red Fox’ tribe, with more inherited knowledge than me. Come and take a look, what are these?"

Ivican approached, frowning. He picked up the leaves, sniffed them hard, and then tasted a bit of the fresh grass.

"Hmm, feather-like leaves, special fragrance, ink tree leaves? A spicy taste and fresh juice, is it hot herd grass? Ah, these are expensive medicinal herbs carefully collected and treasured by tribal priests for healing and stopping blood, appearing on an ordinary scout! Damn it, damn it!"

Suddenly inflamed by something, Ivican’s anger blazed like a flame. He furiously pulled a cactus fruit from his waist and threw it high into the sky. Then, the scout captain removed the small hunting bow from his back, fitted a reed shaft with a beast fang arrow, and "whoosh, whoosh, whoosh" shot into the sky!

His archery was so exquisite that each arrow hit the cactus fruit accurately, even aligning with the previous arrow! The fist-sized fruit stayed in the air for a good dozen breaths before turning into dozens of pieces, scattering onto the ground.

"Wow, praise the Wind God, truly the archery of a Divine Eagle shooter! Worthy of being the great tribe’s scout captain!"

Amoxtli smiled broadly, his praise genuine. After the outburst, Ivican’s emotions finally settled. He stamped his foot fiercely.

"Damn it! Good shooting, but what does it matter? These new enemies are well-equipped and formidable fighters, completely unlike the poor, battle-shy Otomi people! Each one of them is richer, each has sturdy armor and a helmet, even thick shields! Our tribal archers, proud of their skill, cannot break their defense, causing effective damage!"

Ivican gritted his teeth. He had only a hunting bow, a stone long spear, tattered cotton armor, and an obsidian dagger. He had recently seized the cotton armor and dagger from the Otomi. Now, as the scout captain looked at the equipment laid out on the ground, his eyes reddened as he continued to angrily curse.

"Damn it! From where does this enormous tribe come? War clubs, short daggers, hand axes, shields... the weaponry of a single scout enough to arm three tribal warriors! Their fighting skills far surpass the Otomi, and their will to fight is much stronger. Even when surrounded by many times their number of enemies, no one wavered or surrendered. Truly dangerous Jaguars! With spring plowing imminent, how can the tribe move south and settle peacefully without understanding these people?"

"Ivican, I have asked the captured Otomi prisoners. These men are Aztec samurai, senior warriors of the Mexica Alliance. They were reinforcements invited by the Otomi, coming from the southern Mikenque Lake Region!"

"Aztecs? Ah, the revered Cactus Tribe of the Rock who worship the sun? I have indeed heard of their prowess in battle... Mikenque Lake Region? Isn’t that the territory of the Divine Eagle Tribe? How come there are Aztecs there?"

"A year ago, the powerful Divine Eagle Tribe was annihilated by the even more powerful Aztecs. On the land of the Divine Eagle Tribe, the Great Chief of the Aztecs appointed a new Great Chief, Xiulote. It is said that he is a descendant of the God of Death and possesses the spells of spirits, equally formidable..."

Amoxtli spoke earnestly, relaying a message that had been passed down several times.

"Right, he is also the sworn elder brother of the new leader of the Otomi. At the request of the Otomi, he has led troops north to provide support this time, bringing with him a full ten thousand warriors!"

"What? There are ten thousand such warriors?"

Ivican took a sharp breath. He looked skeptical and turned to Amoxtli.

"I don’t believe it! Is this information accurate? Can the captured prisoners even count that many people?"

"I don’t know, I don’t believe it either. There are a few new Otomi captives in the tribe’s camp, one of whom seems to be some nobility. You can go ask them yourself."

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Amoxtli shook his head. Such a huge number, he was definitely uncertain, thus equally skeptical.

"Hmm! When the coyote hunts the antelope, where can it expose its back to the risky watch of the golden eagle? Amoxtli, the matter is urgent, let’s head north, back to your tribe’s camp now!"

Amoxtli nodded in agreement. He took a few steps forward, then suddenly remembered something and quickly turned back. Following that, he grabbed a short dagger from the ground, clasping it in his hand; picked up a bronze axe, tucking it by his waist; and finally, collected the cloth bag of herbs, carefully tucking it into his chest.

Ivican turned his head, seeing Amoxtli still reluctant and yelled loudly in frustration.

"Dammit! Amoxtli, hurry up, important matters first! I will have the warriors save you a set of equipment!"

"Ah, alright then! Ivican, my friend, make sure your words count!"

Amoxtli reluctantly glanced at the worn cotton armor on the ground, then finally turned and began to run swiftly.

The run of a canine descendant is always swift. The group hurried north, and within a day, they returned to the camp. Ivican promptly called the Otomi prisoners. After thoroughly questioning them for half a day, his expression became solemn, and he immediately took the prisoners northward.

The scout team journeyed long distances, first crossing the southern borders of Pamus State, then running for two more days, and finally arrived at a warm valley. Towering mountains blocked the northern cold waves, isolating the dangerous cold outside. Babbling streams flowed down from the mountains, gathering in a shallow lake at the lower end of the valley.

Thousands of Guajili canine descendants had settled by the lakeside of the valley. A red fox flag, a simple wooden fence, and hundreds of thatched huts formed the new campsite of the "Red Fox" tribe.

Around the campsite, two hundred scout warriors patrolled. Seeing the distant arrival of Ivican’s squad, they respectfully saluted the red-haired leader. Inside the camp, even more tribal warriors shouted, waving their weapons, maintaining the order of the tribe.

Thousands of Otomi civilians, along with an equal number of Guajili tribals, busied themselves in the fertile soil by the lake. Most of these people were pale and thin, staggering as they engaged in extremely laborious work, yet they had very little food; every day, people fell and did not rise again. Under the strict orders of their leader, they burned the trees by the lake, cleared stones from the soil, pulled weeds from the fields, and worked hard to level the land, preparing it for spring plowing.

Ivican stopped walking and looked towards the tribe in front of him. He was unconcerned about the piles of corpses in the corners, only seeing a bustling sign of life. The tribe struggled out from the cold snap, much like the grass that grows from the crevices of rocks, filled with new hope!

The air by the lake was slightly moist, refreshing the spirits. The scout captain took several deep breaths to stabilize his emotions before taking the Otomi prisoners to the longhouse in the center of the tribe.

Night fell and the moon rose, and the campfire in the longhouse burned all night until dawn. The next morning, several teams of envoys hurriedly departed, heading towards the surrounding large tribes. After that, as day and night changed, the envoys hurried back and forth, and scouts darted about like shot feathers.

As the center of the envoys’ exchanges, the chieftain’s longhouse was always brightly lit day and night. Senior warriors continuously held meetings, and the noisy disputes emanated from the center of the tribe. Ten days quickly passed before the disputes subsided and the assembly barely reached a consensus.

That day, the canine descendant’s camp was abuzz. The tribe’s horns sounded high and the exhilarating war drums roared like sudden rain. Soon, a hundred skilled red-haired warriors, each carrying a hunting bow, along with five hundred veteran tribal warriors, quickly left the camp. They ran like a pack of rampaging coyotes, emitting low roars, and soon blended into the southern woods, completely vanishing from sight.