Aztec Civilization: Destiny to Conquer America!

"Stay here, manage a village, and farm in peace..."

The old Militia Chiwaco widened his clouded old eyes, looking at the scene before him. In the bright firelight was his confident son, and further in the background were the night fields and village. This moment's scene was like a dream he had while dozing off, warm yet somewhat unreal.

"Stay here..."

The old Militia pressed his lips together, falling into a dream, allowing his heart to be moved for a moment. But soon, he remembered his duties, recalling one after another of the people during voyages, the living and the dead...

"Tomato Priest, Priest Mekate, Huitu Puapu, Merchant Tikalo, Warrior Tawalu... Dark Snake, Didi, Tilan, Tidan..."

The old Militia was silent for a while, gently shaking his head in the face of Chipawa's expectant gaze.

"No. I can't stay here... I still have to go back, take the fleet's people home, bring back news from the Eastern Sea's Snake Island!... I must report back to the blind... Your Majesty..."

Hearing this, the confident expression on the face of the Wilderness Warrior Chipawa instantly froze. He stared blankly at his father, looking at those determined eyes, and suddenly a fury arose.

"Dad! Why do you have to go back? Why do you serve the Mexica king? Don't forget, it was the Mexica who invaded us! They're the ones who destroyed the Kingdom!"

"...The old Kingdom was destroyed, but a new Kingdom was established. Just like an old tree cut down, new trees have grown... taller, bigger, with deeper roots..."

The old Militia shook his head. Although his eyes were wet, his words were calm.

"Now the Kingdom's king is the Mexica prince but also the king of the Purpecha. After all, he gave the Purpecha stability, increased the food production in the fields, and improved the lives of the villagers... In the Lake Region's civilian settlements, registered farmers no longer worry about famine and seeds and won't go hungry or be unable to raise newborns..."

"Not to mention, the Purpecha warriors, sages, and priests have long been loyal to him, following him, fighting everywhere..."

"So... he sent me across the sea... I went. And what's encountered this time at sea... is very important! I must return alive to report to him..."

"Ah! How could... this be? The king of the Purpecha?..."

Upon hearing this, the Wilderness Warrior Chipawa gritted his teeth, his chest burning with anger, yet he didn't know whom to speak to. After all, in the words of Camp Commander Zucata, in his long-held understanding, the Purpecha should deeply hate the Mexica conquerors, longing for Tarasco's royal family to return...

"Damn it! How could this be?"

Chipawa bowed his head, fiercely grabbing a handful of earth, throwing it into the fire once more. The firelight flickered violently before calming down, like the unchanging reality.

"Dad... then go back! Hand things over... and then return!"

Hearing this, the old Militia smiled in relief. Then, he looked down at the calm firelight and, for the first time, called his son's name.

"Chipawa! I'm old... the old Purpecha tortoises should die in the lake they were born in. Together with your mom..."

"What's more, there's your sister..."

"Damn it! Then bring my sister over too!"

The Wilderness Warrior Chipawa gritted his teeth, hissing low like a repressed wolf.

"You're old... I'll take care of you! If you die... I'll bury you!..."

"Oh wow! That's wonderful!..."

The old Militia widened his eyes, looking at his excited son with a happy smile. He kept smiling like this, watching Chipawa calm down before speaking softly.

"Your sister... married a stable husband. Finally, she has a stable life. I'm only at ease thinking of her being safe and sound..."

"The Patzcuaro Lake Region in the Kingdom is very peaceful now, more stable than anywhere else. While here, you're still at war, still migrating... What's more, the journey is so chaotic on this thousand-mile trek..."

Saying this, the old Militia shook his head again. He rubbed his hands, massaged his old face, and wiped away old tears from the corners of his eyes. Although he knew the hope was slim, he still asked softly.

"I was thinking, how about... you... come back to the Kingdom with me?"

"What? Back to the Kingdom?! What's there? ...Is there fish to eat? Haha!"

Upon hearing this, the Wilderness Warrior Chipawa was momentarily stunned, then suddenly burst into laughter. Laughing, tears flowed from his eyes.

"Dad! The Kingdom has my past. But in the past, I was just a farm boy in the village! Timid, weak, bullied, powerless... And here? I'm a follower of Sister Alan, a brave tribal warrior, the captain of an elite Hundred-man Team!... I'm even the assistant to Camp Commander Zucata, participating in the training and management of the Long Spear Camp!..."

The Wilderness Warrior Chipawa raised his head, looking at the endless flat wilderness and the vast sky above it. After a while, he rubbed his cheeks, pointed to the tattoos on his face, and said solemnly.

"Dad. I can't go back. I've etched the mark of the wilderness, I belong here! Here, there is the land and sky I desire..."

The old Militia Chiwaco remained silent, nodding. At this moment, the emotions in his heart were both sorrowful and comforting, like a bittersweet fruit wine. However, his tolerance has always been poor, and just this one newly brewed glass made him want to be drunk.

"Mm... Chipawa, my child... you've grown, I'm happy. You have your own path to walk, unlike mine... I only ask one thing of you..."

Saying this, the old Militia raised his head, looking into Chipawa's eyes. The two of them quietly stared at each other until the tattoo-faced son slowly nodded.

"Dad, just tell me! I promise you..."

"Good!... From now on, no matter what you encounter... you must strive to live, to survive. Likewise, if you can, you should also let others live, give others a chance to live..."

"Me? Others?... Survive?..."

The Wilderness Warrior Chipawa's expression changed, thoughtfully chewing on this weighty word. Although he didn't quite understand at the moment, he still nodded forcefully.

"Alright! Dad, I promise you!"

"Great! Great! Truly great!"

The old militia laughed once more. Laughing, he covered his old face and turned around. Likewise, the Chipawa turned around, their backs facing each other, just like when they were children.

At this moment, they couldn't see each other's faces but could feel the person behind them. This made the heaviness in their hearts a little lighter and much more at ease.

Life's river will meet, yet it's destined to part. Whether they tightly connect or blend their bloodlines, they will walk their own paths and encounter different shores... until the final death, quiet or singing, merges into the boundless deep sea, regardless of who goes first...

"Father, when will you leave?"

"As soon as possible! I want to head to the southern coast, further south than the Silver Raven Tribe..."

"Heading to the southern coast?"

Hearing this, the Wilderness warrior Chipawa pondered for a moment and said gravely.

"There's still war on the southern coast! Tribes are campaigning against various Vastecs tribes... If you're going, I have to notify Sister Alan first. Then, inform the Great Chief stationed in the south. This back and forth will take quite some time, you can't rush it!..."

"Sister Alan?"

Listening to this repeatedly mentioned name, the old militia pondered for a bit before asking out loud.

"Who is she?"

"Her? She's the daughter of the Great Chief, a small chief in the north, and the successor of the Great Red Crow Tribe..."

Speaking of this, a yearning smile appeared on the Wilderness warrior Chipawa's face.

"Father! To me, she's our leader, my Sister Alan! She's a fierce female hunter, a fierce female warrior, a fierce female chief! Also... the moon in the sky."

"Oh… fierce!… moon..."

The old militia bowed his head, leaning against his son's back, seemingly sensing those complex emotions. He pursed his lips, not knowing what to say. After all, he knew nothing about the Red Crow Tribe.

"Hmm… a deer must follow the head deer, a wolf must bite with the head wolf… You just follow her, work hard! And also… live well."

"Don't worry, Father! Sister Alan treats me very well!"

The Wilderness warrior Chipawa nodded vigorously, smiling brightly. The old militia scratched his hair and asked again.

"So… what are you doing here now?"

"Oh! I'm leading the warriors, with Sister Alan, campaigning over the Northern Grassland. She gave me a new task, leading newly subdued tribal warriors, migrating Vastec immigrants to the south, then going to the Warrior Lake area to cultivate and build villages… There are already eighty to ninety thousand tribes there, all our people, very prosperous. But there isn't enough food..."

"Father! From Water Otter City to the north, between the highland and the sea, a plain seven to eight hundred miles long… is now all ours! Such a large piece of land, such large mountains, rivers, and sea, all ours!… Our Red Crow Tribe, with more than two hundred thousand people, is the most powerful tribe in the Northern Land!..."

The Wilderness warrior Chipawa raised his head, proudly proclaiming. The old militia's eyes flickered, not minding his son's boast but paying attention to the first few sentences.

"You said… you're migrating… farming… not enough food?"

"Yeah! Like this Vastec small village, it's only in recent years, just migrated from the south and established. There's no surplus grain in the village, or more people could be migrated..."

"Farming… food..."

The old militia pondered for a while, suddenly turned around and grabbed his son's hand.

"Chipawa!..."

"Huh?"

"Father can't do much… but can help you farm…"

The old militia's expression was unprecedentedly serious. Seeing his father like this, Chipawa also became serious.

"Father?"

"This time… I brought some cassava cuttings back from Feathered Serpent's Snake Island… It's easy to plant, easy to survive, resistant to pests, yields frighteningly high. But its skin is poisonous, very potent poison. So when eating, peel it and soak it in water, can't store it for too long..."

"What? Cas...sava? Father! What's that?"

"Uh… it's good stuff, edible, high-yield food! It's not picky about the ground at all, just needs to be planted in warmer places. But I feel it's quite warm here, should grow… even if slightly cold, though yields less, but certainly more than corn and pumpkin, much more!..."

The old militia showed a joyful expression, speaking extensively. However, Chipawa's face was puzzling. Seeing this, the old militia slapped his thigh heavily, then pinched his son's arm with force.

"Are you listening? Did you understand?"

"Huh? Father? What did you say?"

"I said..."

The old militia extended his hand, after many years, and grabbed his son's ear, shouting.

"Tomorrow! Tomorrow you come with me..."

"To the field to farm!..."