Aztec Civilization: Destiny to Conquer America!

In the dilapidated hut, the door was wide open, and the faces of those captured from the fleet were full of panic. The fierce Canine Warriors brandished their axes and spears, striding in with murderous intent. The tattooed leader at the forefront wore a vicious expression, his mouth twisting into a sinister smile.

"Blind heavens! This is? This is!..."

The old Militia Chiwaco was terrified, watching the Canine Warriors rush in. Although he couldn't understand the conversation outside the hut, he could feel the full malice and an ominous aura from their aggressive stance. He bit down hard, his nails digging into his flesh, standing at the front of the fleet's crowd, carefully speaking in Mexica Language.

"Respected Leader of the Wilderness… we are friends from the Kingdom of the Lake…"

"Everyone, kneel down!"

With a loud shout from the young tattooed leader, the rushing Canine Warriors swung their spear shafts, knocking everyone in the hut to the ground. The cries of pain from the crew and the howls of the Canine Warriors instantly echoed inside the hut. Watching this chaotic scene, the tattooed leader laughed heartily, feeling extremely pleased. After laughing for a while, he once again showed a vicious look, sternly asking in Guajili.

"Who among you is the leader?"

"Friends! Friends! We are friends!…"

The old Militia Chiwaco stood at the forefront, forcibly pressed to the ground by two Canines. He struggled desperately, shouting loudly.

"Chief Divine! This is a misunderstanding! We have come from far away as friends! We bear no malice!…"

"Ha! Friends? You Mexica people, nothing more than enemies!"

Upon hearing this, the young tattooed leader showed a look of hatred, sneering coldly. He understood Mexica Language but only replied in fluent Guajili.

"You are enemies! I've traveled hundreds of miles just to send my enemies to death!… Haha! I want to repay all my lost suffering onto you all!"

"Chief Divine! This must be a misunderstanding!... We are here for the first time…"

"Haha! Mexica leader, you've been abandoned by your Chief Divine, stop resisting!"

The young tattooed leader strode forward, squatting in front of the old militia. He grabbed his hair, looking at that dirty and sunburnt dark-red face, laughing sinisterly.

"Haha! You're fortunate as the leader! You'll stay till the end, to watch! Watch as I kill all of you, one by one, twisting off each head…"

"No! Please! Friends! We can negotiate, negotiate properly…"

The old Militia Chiwaco looked anxious. He didn't know what went wrong, why suddenly they ended up like this. But at this critical moment, he bent down again, displaying the humble demeanor of a village inhabitant.

"Master! Mighty Samurai Master! We can give you everything on the ship!… We are just small fish in the lake, harmless, not a threat... Please! Spare us!"

"Ha! Fish? I enjoy eating fish the most!... Haha! Hmm?"

As he spoke, the young tattooed leader suddenly paused. He inexplicably found that the words were quite familiar.

"Hmm? This voice, these words… I seem to have heard them somewhere…"

Thinking of this, he squinted his eyes, using a dangerous look, staring closely at the old militia's dirt-covered face.

"Lift your head up!"

"Respected Samurai Master! Spare us!"

The old militia stuttered, after many years, once again picking up his former survival instincts. That was during the Tarasco Kingdom era, the villagers' helpless yet only method.

"Master! We can farm for you! Yes, I'm good at farming, we all are…"

"..."

Seeing this inexplicably familiar timid look, the young tattooed leader froze, speechless. He stood dazed for a long time, seemingly encountering something absolutely unbelievable.

"Impossible… How could it be?... This is absolutely impossible!"

"Respected Samurai Master…"

The old militia looked timid and spoke meekly. He was still desperately struggling, trying to grasp the final hope.

"Please, spare our lives…"

The young tattooed leader was silent for a while, suddenly asking quickly in Prepetcha.

"You… are Tarasco people? Not Mexica?"

"Uh? Tarasco?"

Hearing this familiar dialect, the old Militia Chiwaco was startled. But he reacted quickly and cautiously answered.

"We… are Prepetcha people from the Kingdom of the Lake, serving the Mexica Alliance's Your Majesty… This is our first time here, we have never offended your Tribes!…"

"Prepetcha people…"

Hearing this, the young tattooed leader seemed to be caught in distant memories. However, his age wasn't much, and it was unclear just when these distant memories were from. After a long while, he asked in a trembling voice, lightly in Prepetcha.

"You… your hometown… is in a small village west of Lake Patzcuaro. At the village entrance are two ragged trees and a patch of red cicada flowers?"

"…Ah?! You!…"

Upon hearing this, the old militia suddenly looked up, staring blankly at the other. He cautiously looked at the tattooed leader before him, at the scarlet face paint covering his visage, at the strong physique, and the dyed red stand-up hair. Meanwhile, the young tattooed leader also widened his eyes, looking at his face weathered by exposure, filled with wrinkles and sunreddened.

"You are…"

The old militia hesitated for a moment, then looked into the excited eyes of the other, uncertainly asked.

"You… are also Prepetcha? Have you been to the side of Lake Patzcuaro, to my hometown?"

Upon hearing this, the young tattooed leader trembled all over. He reached out, wiped off the Huitu from the old militia's face, staring intently at his face. Then, his fingers trembling, filled with anticipation, yet with some fear, he asked.

"You… you have a son, and a daughter. The son was taken away, sent to the front lines of the Mexica people…"

"Ah! You! How do you know, who are you?"

The old militia trembled all over, like a fish struck by lightning, suddenly straightening his spine. He grabbed the tattooed leader's arm, excitedly asked loudly.

"Could it be? Could it be!"

"…Hmm. Hmm!"

The young tattooed leader suppressed his excitement, nodding vigorously.

"Could it be… you've seen my son?! Is he… is he still alive?!"

"..."

The young tattooed leader was silent for a moment, reaching out to wipe his face forcefully. However, the frightening face paint symbolizing the courage of a Wilderness Warrior, having forsaken everything in adulthood, had long fused with his visage and could never be separated.

"He… he… I!… You…"

"Ah? Me?... You?… You?!"

The two trembled, looking at each other, unable to speak a complete sentence, yet somehow understanding each other's sentiments. The hut was suddenly silent, leaving only their trembling gazes, as if ignited by fire.

"Ah!"

The tattooed Canine leader trembled for a moment, finally unable to endure the surging emotions. He lunged forward desperately, kneeling heavily on the ground. Then, with tears in his eyes, he tightly embraced the old militia's face, gritted his teeth, and shouted loudly.

"Father!!!"