Aztec Civilization: Destiny to Conquer America!

The old Militia gazed ahead once more, where the center of the fierce battle raged, with hundreds of large ships crashing into each other, Samurai lords shouting the names of the spirits as they fought in a frenzy. Then, like pumpkins harvested in autumn, the lords tumbled and fell in strings, or split open like ripe beans, painting the surface of the lake with spreading bright red. Only the flags of the two opposing Commanders-in-Chief were nearly touching, still standing tall like cornstalks.

Chiwaco shivered again and hastily took a puff from his herb pack.

Behind him, Weizti still aimlessly stabbed at the Samurai in the water twice more. Unfortunately, his martial arts skills were inadequate, and he didn't hit the mark. It was only after watching the enemy swim away that he came back to his senses, turned to the fallen Militia, and asked urgently.

"Chiwaco, can he be saved?"

"Save what! He's a goner. Look out for yourself first!"

The old Militia continued searching over the lake, his hoarse and trembling voice calling out relentlessly.

"Woodheads, look carefully! Most of the Samurai lords leading on the boats are dead, what's the point in fighting now! The lords behind haven't caught up, the Mexica are way too many, we can't win this battle!... Quick, call the other woodheads, let's find the nearest small boat. If we wait any longer, it'll be a dead end!"

Hearing the word "death," Weizti was startled and quickly summoned those around him. Five more Long Spears Militia came over, some sober, some cowardly, but they could still hear the summons. The other villagers' Militia, under the lead of the Samurai, were still fighting with red eyes, deaf to anything else. Two Mexica Samurai were attracted by the shouting but were blocked by several Long Spears in formation at the stern of the boat, unable to approach for the moment.

"Right, over there! It's the closest, let's swim to that small boat!" Chiwaco suddenly brightened, pointing to a forlorn small boat floating about twenty steps away, with the bodies of Mexica Militia lying atop it.

The young Weizti stared, and the hundreds of small boats on both sides were still locked in a deadly grapple, with screams occasionally marking another's fall into the water. Once the small boats of either side made contact on the water, the Militia would fight mercilessly until one boat's crew was entirely slain. Many unmanned boats thus drifted on the lake, strewing fresh red in their wake. After watching for a moment, Weizti finally saw the narrow, fragile boat, and the red dripping from its hull set unease within him.

"Chiwaco, are we going to abandon the sturdy large boat for that shaky little one?!"

The other Militia, while confronting the increasingly numerous Mexica Samurai, turned their heads to look.

"Weizti, are you stupid? Large boats are the Mexica's target, from afar a bulls-eye, up close a battlefield, you can't escape quickly enough, of course, we should get on the small boat!"

"Ah, Chiwaco, are we to become deserters?!" Weizti's voice trembled, fraught with alarm.

The old Militia hissed in exasperation, no longer paying attention to the fool. He glanced around at the surrounding Militia and called out softly.

"Woodheads, if you want to live, follow me when the time comes!"

Afterward, Chiwaco crouched down and carefully searched the deck, finding two unlit Fire Arrows. He curiously felt the round paper casings; how could something the size of a mango turn into a Fire Demon of several meters?

The old Militia didn't have time to ponder further, hastily tucking one Fire Arrow into his bosom. Then he stood up, mimicked the motions he had seen from a Mexica Archer using a Fire Igniter, and abruptly hurled the other Fire Arrow towards the confronting Mexica Samurai.

"Into the water! Go!" Having thrown the Fire Arrow, the old Militia didn't pause at all, diving into the lake and then swimming desperately towards the small boat twenty-odd steps away. The Militia hesitated for a fraction, then hurriedly discarded their encumbering Long Spears and dived into the water as well. As natives of the lake, their swimming ability was unquestioned; they resembled young fish chasing the old lead fish, quickly heading away from the battlefield.

Seeing the thrown Fire Arrow, several Mexica Samurai showed terror and quickly retreated. They were well aware of the destructive power of burning Gunpowder Arrows. After a moment, though, the Fire Arrow lay still, not even sparking. The warriors exchanged glances, then looked at the rapidly swimming Tarasco Militia, too ashamed to speak.

Weizti closely followed Chiwaco, furiously dog-paddling through the water. He looked up to see a clumsy figure still struggling and swimming ahead, and anger surged within him again. So, the young Militia dived powerfully towards the Mexica Samurai and kicked him fiercely twice.

Hit hard, Necali cried out in pain and then "glug glug" swallowed several mouthfuls of lake water, drifting away from the center due to the kicks.

Weizti felt around his body, too poor to even possess a Dagger, and had to let him be. Turning his head back, he saw the old Militia had already reached the edge of the small boat and probably wouldn't wait for him alone. With that thought, he turned around, casting one last glance at the furiously burning lake, and engraved the nightmarish scene deep in his mind.

The tranquil Lake Yuriria was dyed red, countless large and small boats floating silently like coffins. Beneath them drifted numerous bodies, along with spreading blood. Fresh corpses continued to fall from the embattled large boats. In the front, where the fighting was fiercest, thousands of Samurai were battling bravely, their roars shaking heaven and earth. And at the very center, the Naval Forces' flagship was still beating war drums, the Kingdom's Commander-in-Chief still calling out fiercely in the fight!

Confronted with the intense scene, Weizti was momentarily transfixed, letting out a deep sigh. Then he briskly turned and, without further pause, swam straight toward the hope of escape.