""Your Majesty, in the past nine months, the Royal Warriors have lost nine thousand men, and the southern City-States have lost four thousand Samurai. Even with the addition of two thousand from the Nobility Battle Groups, our total number of Samurai stands only at thirty-two thousand. A little over a month ago, Marshal Iskali led five thousand of the Battle Group westward, and now we’ve drawn another five thousand Samurai to help in the east, which leaves our southern forces somewhat stretched thin... With Texcoco Lake District now in the slack farming season, should we continue to mobilize the Militia?"
Upon hearing this, Aweit turned around and walked to the window of the great hall. He slightly lifted his head to look towards the northwestern forest and the daunting fortress atop the high mountains. The base of the fortress was dyed dark red with blood, and the walls of green stone were covered with smoke and scorch skid marks. And at the very top of the fortress, the Royal Banner of Tarasco stood erect on the highest point of Apachigan, waving gallantly in the wind.
The King watched for a long while, with a sigh of helplessness escaping his lips.
"The terrain is too steep for catapults to be of any use, and the people of Tarasco have replicated a large number of Longbows. Such High Mountain Fortresses are no longer something that human Force can overcome. The Tarascans can’t mount a counterattack and we can’t break through. Given that, amassing more troops on the southern front would be just a wasteful use of supplies! Mobilize ten thousand Militia from the Lake Region, ready to assist the southeastern City-States at any moment. As for Apachigan here, we just need to maintain the pressure on the front line, no additional reinforcements are necessary."
Gillim nodded his head and continued to write feverishly. Aweit shifted his gaze. His eyes were bright and he looked to the western sky.
"Fortunately, Xiulote has already captured the Huayamo Fortress, breaking the stalemate in the north! The detachment from Tepopolo has also penetrated deeply along the downstream of Tarsas River, landing in the heartland south of Tarasco and pressing northward! As long as one of these two Battle Groups can continue their advance and cut off the enemy’s supply routes, victory in this western campaign will be ours!"
Soon, Gillim finished recording. He bowed deeply in solemnity to the King.
"Your Majesty, according to intelligence gathered from across the lands, Tarasco’s national power is already spent. They can’t hold on any longer. The Alliance will surely win, and You will become the greatest leader in epic sagas, forging a name in jade and stone that will never perish!"
Aweit laughed heartily. He patted Gillim on the shoulder.
"Though this western campaign has been tough, it’s just the beginning of a long journey! As the leader of the Mexica, one must emulate the great Montezuma I and spend a lifetime amidst the campaigns of war. Gillim, you may go now. Relay the orders to the troops, prepare for the banquet!"
Gillim bowed once more and retreated from the great hall, moving through the shadows of the buildings without making a sound. Only when he stepped out of the main fortress did he call over a Retainer and relayed the military orders with precision, not missing a single detail, until at last, the Intelligence Officer paused. After a moment of contemplation, he spoke in a solemn voice,
"Summon the Priestess accompanying the army. Have her ready to bring the Tarasco princesses tonight."
The Retainers went off to obey the command. Gillim stood silently in the shadow of the houses, his gaze fixed on the green stone walls. The walls, with their crude Tarasco patterns, told of centuries of time, but they also made one think of a not so distant future. After a long while, he suddenly turned, his eyes bright and captivating, yet devoid of emotion.
In the great hall, Aweit was still standing by the window, admiring the undulating Mountains and observing the fortress on the high Mountains. Then his gaze sharpened as he stared fixedly. Near the distant Eagle Banner was a tiny figure. The figure’s garments glittered, though its face couldn’t be discerned.
Aweit closed his eyes, scenes from the past appearing before him, memories so deep-rooted they surged in his heart. He gripped the Divine Staff in his hand tightly and murmured to himself,
"Xiulote, my pupil, you will not disappoint me. Su’angua, my old friend, I look forward to the day we reunite!"