Watching the spectacular fireworks in front of him, Xiulote stood solemnly on the high platform of the great vessel, constantly issuing instructions. The flag bearers waved their flags, and the short horn sounds conveyed the orders to disperse to both sides, while the flag signals circling forward directed the path ahead.
Black Wolf’s flagship slowly retreated, commanding the longbow trusted aides on dozens of large vessels behind him to steadily lob arrows at the distant enemy, igniting the Tarasco great vessels that were arriving in succession.
Then, the center group of dozens of Mexica great vessels further spread out to both sides, avoiding the increasingly grand torches. The wings of over a hundred large vessels enveloped the front, dispersing the opponent’s randomly charging small boats. Afterward, the slender warships accelerated all the way, circling to the rear of the enemy, and used fire arrows to ignite the Tarasco great vessels still in chaos.
Over five hundred Mexica small boats followed closely behind the large vessels, gradually unfolding from the chaotic wings. The fleet moved as nimbly as a school of fish, gracefully weaving through. The longbow militia on the boats used their exquisite archery to shoot the samurai close range.
Under Xiulote’s command, two battlefields gradually formed on the lake surface, one in front and one behind. The battlefield in the front was surrounded by flames, and both naval forces engaged in a fierce slaughter, with the Naval Commander personally fighting on the front lines. In the rear battlefield, flames blazed brightly, the Tarasco Naval Forces unilaterally suffered the shooting, unable to recover from the chaos.
As for the small boats fighting on the outer perimeter, they had no impact on the overall situation of the battlefield, and no one paid them any attention at this point, completely lacking command. The Militia gradually slowed down the brutal fight, Mexica small boats circled in place, while Tarasco small boats began to scatter and flee south. Among the southward fleeing, a blood-stained small boat was inconspicuous, yet it paddled swiftly, accurately escaping toward the rivermouth upstream.
On the rear battlefield, as the calls of the trusted aides of Ospie passed from one to another, the Chapala Legion Commander Pengguari finally woke from his fearful stupor.
He looked toward the distant battlefield, where the flag of the Crocodile Marshal was submerged in thick smoke, seemingly in dire straits. He observed the large vessels burning all around, with the Mexica Naval Forces rapidly closing in from both wings, launching Netherfire in succession. He looked again at the anxious face of his trusted aide, his own expression fluctuating, with murder in his eyes.
The trusted aides of Ospie were visibly agitated, urgently pleading once more,
"Respected Chapala Feather, the Marshal is engaged in a death struggle just a few dozen steps from the enemy’s flagship. The rear army of the Chapala Legion still has over a hundred great vessels! Please, lead the rear army in a charge immediately, we still have a chance to achieve victory!"
Hearing this, the Chapala Feather looked dignified, silent in thought. He looked around him, the samurai of the legion controlling their large vessels, morale low. Their expressions were panicked, waiting in unrest for the Legion Commander’s orders.
On the outer perimeter of the ships, Mexica small boats continuously attacked swiftly, firing "whooshing" long arrows, then turning to flee. These long arrows were shot at tricky angles, occasionally piercing shields, fatally shooting exposed Chapala samurai. On both front sides, Mexica large vessels of similar numbers gradually approached, firing terrifying volleys of fire arrows that ignited the outermost vessels. And in the far front, there were still hundreds of enemy large vessels, spread out in a loose formation.
"Where is there any chance of victory? And where lies a chance for survival? The Chapala Legion cannot be completely destroyed here!"
Pengguari thought rapidly. He too was a commander seasoned in battle, and as long as he suppressed the fear of the unknown in the legends, he could make a wise decision.
"Escaping southwards upstream against the current will take three to four days, and we will inevitably be pursued by the Mexica Naval Forces, with the slower large vessels not knowing how many will be lost! Yet if the Marshal survives, and returns to the northern defenses, the retribution for the aftermath is unavoidable... Therefore, the chance for survival lies downstream, to the north!"
Thinking this, Chapala’s "Feather" nodded, smiling as he looked at Marshal’s trusted aide.
"Good, we charge north!"
The Legion Commander’s bird flag finally waved, rapid beats of the war drums sounded, relaying the order to accelerate north. Pengguari’s flagship gradually picked up speed. The remaining fleet, now with a newfound backbone, swarmed together, surrounding and heading north with it. Over a hundred large vessels, more than three hundred small ones, laden with the Chapala Legion, raced toward the northern battlefield. This was the last force of the Tarasco Naval Forces!
Xiulote’s pupils shrank as he saw over a hundred large vessels pouncing forward.
"The Tarasco people are really so desperate!"
The Young Commander still had command of two hundred large vessels, and although he could fight and win, many warriors would likely be lost. He waved the battle flag again, and the large vessels on the wings folded back, while those in the center gathered behind, forming a tight formation.
Xiulote stood resolutely, waving the flag once more.
"Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh" thousands of trusted longbow aides drew their bows and let fly arrows, and a sky full of fiery rain shot toward the incoming enemy ships, igniting over a dozen large vessels. Moments later, another round of explosive fireshower claimed an equal number of enemy vessels.
Nearly a hundred Tarasco large vessels rushed swiftly like the wind, quickly approaching the front line. The Mexica Naval Forces speeded up their withdrawal, clustering into a group, ready to engage the enemy at any moment.
Just then, the piercing sound of the conch horn came from the enemy fleet, and a flag with a painted bird rotated half a circle, pointing slightly off to the northwest. And on the large boat below the flag, Ospie’s trusted aide clutched his chest, staring incredulously at the revered Chapala Legion Commander, before being thrown into the lake by several samurai.
Pengguari’s gaze was deep, his expression cold. He took a somber glance at the "Crocodile" flag a hundred steps away, lowered his gaze, his emotions complex. The tall flag fluttered amidst the blood and fire, the northern Marshal still battling on the field. Standing quietly for a moment, the Chapala Legion Commander continued to wave his flag, once again pointing toward the northwest rivermouth.