Heavy rains fell in August, dark clouds shrouded the fields, turning the world into a swamp. It was not a season for waging war; thus, the battles briefly halted. The Mexica Alliance and the Tarasco Kingdom were both mobilizing troops, preparing for a more brutal conflict.
The rainy season persisted, and the new batch of gunpowder weapons had to be stored in the innermost parts of the warehouse, unusable. They were wrapped layer by layer, placed in sealed pottery jars, and carefully stored. The saltpeter in the gunpowder had hygroscopic properties, absorbing moisture from the humid air, reducing the effectiveness of the gunpowder; thus, it needed frequent airing. Moreover, saltpeter was soluble in water—if washed away by heavy rain, it would lose potency.
Xiulote stood atop the watchtower of the wooden fort, bidding farewell once again to the departing naval forces. In this rainy season, when gunpowder weapons were hard to use, the Alliance’s naval forces had no clear advantage to decisively battle the Tarasco naval forces. The young commander thus sent Annatri back toward the east again to bring more reinforcements from the capital city.
Annatri still stood tall and steadfast on the grand vessel amidst the rain. She was vibrant, saluting the commander-in-chief’s flag as a farewell. Then, her gaze shifted, landing on Bertade, standing behind the young commander, her eyes blazing with a fierce combat spirit, her expression unabashedly admiring.
As wind and rain mingled together, the naval fleet, having only rested for a few days, set sail once again toward the east. Xiulote watched the vast fleet sailing upstream against the current, as the warrior women on the big ships slowly faded from view. He then turned around, smiling at the Head Warrior.
"Bertade, I heard that last time during the send-off, you and Annatri had a match. Who won in the end? You seemed to return quite late that day."
The serene Head Warrior lifted his head, gazing silently at His Highness for a moment, before answering in a deep voice.
"We had two bouts, with no winner or loser... Your Highness, we should set off to the north, to negotiate with the Otomi people."
Xiulote smiled faintly, nodding his head.
"Let the new reinforcements guard the fort. Take the ten thousand forces that have rested and prepare, and we shall march north tomorrow!"
At early dawn the next day, as the rain eased slightly, ten thousand Mexica warriors gathered at the main fortress, equipped with forests of war clubs and longbows. Fully armed and long-prepared, they were ready to engage in battle at any moment. The prolonged stationing had made the warriors crave combat.
Xiulote entrusted the defense of the main fortress to his father. Then, he shouldered the battle flag, waved a large hand, and as the march flute sounded, the large army slowly set out.
The Mexica army surged forth, scouts spread ten miles ahead, and the spearhead pointed north. The ten thousand warriors traversed dense, undulating forests, passing through sparsely populated villages in the mountains, until they reached the vast fields a few dozen miles south of Otapan City. Here, the Milpa fields began to crowd, the lands brimming with vibrant new sprouts, representing the Otomi people’s hope for the new year.
The farmers in the fields, intimidated by the massive army, fled north in terror, abandoning the fields they had labored over for months. Memories of Mexica’s aggression from a year ago were still vivid and unforgettable. The Otomi scouts kept a distant watch, continuously passing unsettling news.
Xiulote ordered the warriors to avoid the fields, choosing suitable terrain to set up camp, and prepared for war. As the heavy rain fell again, the young commander calmly awaited inside the newly erected encampment.
Two days later, the Otomi negotiation team hastily arrived, accompanied by only a few hundred warriors.
Xiulote did not leave the camp to meet them. Dressed in the solemn attire of a commander-in-chief, wearing a high, vibrant feather crown, and with a gold sun amulet around his neck, he sat high in the large tent of the encampment. On Otomi land, he welcomed the guests who lived there with the demeanor of a host.
Xiulote, expressionless, looked at the envoys entering the large tent.
The Otomi envoy was an old acquaintance. Nearly a year had passed, and the young commander once again saw the old Priest Olte. The latter was pale and withered, his formidable presence diminished.
The priest lifted his all-white head, scrutinizing the young commander seated above, his pupils contracting slightly. Xiulote watched him calmly, noting his unusually aged face and still clear eyes.
Jiowar’s robust frame stood erect, his narrow, sharp eyes glaring like a defiant coyote, staring fixedly at the young commander in the center. His hands were empty, his large knuckles clenched, still projecting a powerful aura. Bertade frowned, feeling the intense hostility, and immediately gripped his war club tighter.
After a moment of silent confrontation, Xiulote was the first to speak.
"In the name of Huitzilopochtli, the Chief Divine! I come with the warrior’s war club and feathers of peace. Otomi people, my patience is limited, I cannot wait too long. Do not let the feathers fall from my hands!"
Hearing the clear threat, fire rose in Jiowar’s eyes, he clenched his fists audibly, yet remained silent.
The old Priest Olte nodded, took a deep breath, and called out loudly.
"In the name of Ometeotl, the Primordial God! I come bearing the greetings of a friend. Mexica people, our sides have long ceased fire and established a divine-witnessed treaty. Now, in this busy and beautiful season, you come with a great army, do you intend to break the sacred treaty?!"
Xiulote answered unflinchingly.
"Otomi people, the sacred treaty remains in effect. The violators of the treaty are you! You accepted the conditions of the Alliance, received the last batch of food, and promised to launch an attack on the Tarasco people in the south. However, you did not keep your word; you only pretended to comply! As the great army came from the west, I witnessed with my own eyes that the Tarasco people’s spring farming was all in order, undisturbed. Now, I need an explanation, and more importantly, a compensation!"