Year 12 of the SuaChie Calendar, Fourth Month.
Dawn City.
The Following Day.
The anticipated calm dissolved. Obligations, like old traveling companions, chose to appear immediately following a brief period of reprieve. Yesterday's meeting had closed the chapter on the maritime expedition, but the land, the heart of the Great Quyca, had its own reclamations.
A new guest intruded upon my schedule at the Stone Mansion: Michuá.
This man, of Muisca descent, had been one of the first important leaders to follow me, a born general and one of my military pillars since the Realm's inception. I remembered him from every stage: initial commander of the warriors, then general of the Northwest zone, then the Southeast during the expansion of the Floating Islands, and finally succeeded by my brother, Upqua, a couple of years ago.
Now, Michuá was in charge of a special zone delimited by me: the Floating Islands (the Caribbean) and the coastal territory of the North Quyca's southeast area (what, in my past life, would be the Southeastern United States). Furthermore, due to a matter of order and chain of command, he was also formally tasked with the logistics in the European territories and the Nexus City in the Guanza Quyca, though this was more of an administrative formality. In Europe, the realm only maintained discreet reception offices in the ports, not actual territory. Michuá was the military hand that watched over the Europe Quyca gateway and the rear flank of the Islands.
I asked an assistant to usher him into my office.
When Michuá presented himself, we greeted each other with an unmistakable blend of closeness and formality, forged over years of dealing with training, formations, simulations, and a few small battles or skirmishes. His respect was genuine, yet it was tinged with the authority only he permitted himself to wield over me, the authority of the military mentor.
"Young Chuta," he greeted me, his voice deep and resonant, as if the very earth spoke.
"Michuá. I am glad to see you. You look to be in fine form. Are the new recruits giving you much trouble?" I replied, offering him a seat.
We sat, and Michuá and I began to speak of Nemequene and his civil projects that were improving the realm. I praised him for the discipline his training had instilled in Nemequene, and how his firm command had effectively moved the brigades of soldiers who built the roads and bridges.
"Your contributions to the Realm are incalculable, Young Chuta. The people live better, trade flows, children study, and even the chocolate tastes good," he remarked with a slight smile.
"Nemequene, too, makes his contribution, but sometimes it bothers me," he added, his tone not seeking to offend, but to express a paternal frustration when speaking of Nemequene, "that the man who best understands war and strategy dedicates himself to counting heads of cattle and rice seeds. His true place, his true calling, should be the army."
"The army is comprised of healthy, educated, and wealthy citizens, Michuá," I calmly replied, pointing to the documents on the table. "That is our first line of defense. You cannot lead an efficient army if its foundation is a malnourished and ignorant populace, and that is what Nemequene has ensured."
After we spoke for a few minutes about common matters and internal politics, Michuá steered the conversation toward the subject that had truly brought him to the Mansion: the problems of the Triple Alliance.
"The reports you handle regarding the war on the plateau are correct, Young Chuta. The resistance has managed to consolidate key new alliances. The Tlaxcalteca have not only survived, but have allied with some Gulf chiefdoms, which grants them direct access to the sea and a more direct means of commerce with us and, to a lesser extent, with other peoples."
I nodded, listening intently. I already knew the information from the detailed reports delivered by Menasuca (who operated under the Mexica identity of Painalli), the leader of The Shadows on the central plateau. Michuá gave me the military summary; Menasuca gave me the political depth and the raw truth. I linked Michuá's general details in my mind with the concrete intelligence data from The Shadows. The Gulf was becoming the resistance's lifeline.
Then, Michuá continued, his face shadowed. "Regarding the casualty estimates, the situation is brutal, Young Chuta. The main faction, the Mexica and the rest of the Triple Alliance, has lost about five thousand warriors in the last two years. The resistance, led by the Tlaxcalteca, has lost about eight thousand warriors in the same period."
He paused meaningfully. "But of those eight thousand, at least three thousand were lost in the first months, when the Mexica offensive was total. Now, the results are somewhat more evenly matched. This sense of equality on the battlefield is the reason why general skirmishes have stalled, and only guerrilla warfare is being used. Both sides are exhausted."
I immediately linked this information. I noted that the numbers estimated by the army were slightly lower than mine. The estimates from The Shadows were at least ten percent higher, which implied not only greater carnage, but also the tendency of the high command to underestimate the true cost of the conflict.
I could only imagine the number of civilians who had become embroiled in this conflict. Especially the Tlaxcalteca, who had been the ones resisting the frontal blow in the first months, defending their cities and fields, paying the highest price for autonomy.
The conversation drifted to several subtopics of the plateau conflict: the scarcity of food in Tenochtitlan due to the disruption of tribute routes, and news of some peoples much further north, in the coastal area, who seemed drawn to the conflict.
Finally, Michuá got to the point. "My Lord, I am here because we require your guidance. How do we deal with some of the Mexica reconnaissance incursions into the coastal territories of our Realm? They are small, but recurrent. They are testing our defenses, seeking a weakness."
I pondered for a moment. Michuá's question required not just an order, but a demonstration. A flame of strategy, mixed with personal curiosity, ignited within me.
"Michuá, stop those incursions, but not on a large scale," I told him. I leaned forward, my tone now low and conspiratorial. "And tell the commanders on the coast to prepare. I will go and verify everything directly."
Michuá looked at me with an expression of disbelief and prepared to protest, something he would consider dangerous for my person. "Young Chuta! You cannot! It is unthinkable for you to approach a conflict zone. Your life is too valuable to…"
I cut him off with a calm and firm gesture. "I will not be Chuta, leader of the Suaza Realm, on the coast. I will go undercover as a logistics warrior from the capital. I will dedicate myself to organizing supply, to moving troops on paper. I will guide the defenses from the same location and see, with my own eyes, how our men respond and how the people move. I need to smell the scent of the sea and the fear of the frontier to know exactly what decision to make next."
Michuá wanted to continue his refusal, worry etched onto his face, but the door opened discreetly. Zasaba entered, his step light and his expression inscrutable.
I took advantage of the interruption. "Michuá, the decision is made. Go prepare your personnel transfer report. I need reliable warriors for this journey. And prepare yourself, because if something happens to me, I will be the least of your problems." I dismissed him with a half-smile. Michuá bowed, visibly reticent and worried, and left.
Zasaba carefully closed the door and went straight to the point. "You were eavesdropping, Chancellor," I said to him, without need for him to speak.
"It is my job, Young Chuta. Security is paramount," he replied without hesitation, then asked. "Why will you leave, and who will handle the relations with the European nobles who will soon arrive at Dawn City? We cannot afford diplomatic absences at this moment."
"I believe I will gain a better perspective on how to proceed in this conflict by being closer to the heart of the problem," I explained. "And, at the same time, it will serve as a way to understand both the people and the warriors of the realm. A leader who only sees scrolls is blind, Zasaba. The European nobles can wait, but the war cannot."
Zasaba looked thoughtful, his mind analyzing the risk-benefit equation. He knew, better than anyone, that I would not be in real danger. We both knew that an elite group from the Scout division would be assigned to the city where I would go, not to mention that my Shadow ring would always be watching every movement around me. The decision was not imprudent; it was strategic.
Zasaba, assuming no one could change his leader's mind once the idea was cemented, asked about the logistics of power. "Understood. And I assume the new Joint Expedition, the relationship with the nobles, and all the functions of the capital… who will oversee that whirlwind of interests?"
I looked directly at him, offering a smile that did not reach my eyes, but was one of pure political confidence.
"You, of course."
Two Weeks Later.
The sun was a humid ball of fire on the Gulf horizon. I stood in the largest city the realm had near the plateau territory: Friendly Sea City.
I was standing, dressed in the simple and functional uniform of a logistics warrior, on a watchtower that overlooked the sea. Now that I was here as an undercover warrior and began to analyze the city's name, it seemed somewhat inappropriate. A cruel jest of fate.
This was the first territory the Mexica had ceded after the visit of the then-priest and general Moctezuma in Year 8. I had tried to send a clear message: this territory would be the beginning of a great friendship, even thinking at the time that in the near future the two realms would unite. However, I never imagined that the approach and conversations with Moctezuma would take a completely different turn, leading us to this border tension.
And now, the name Friendly Sea City was beginning to taste bitterly ironic in my mouth. The friendship was dead, and in its place, the sea had become a potential battlefield. My presence here was not to maintain friendship, but to ensure that if war arrived, the Suaza Realm would prevail without hesitation.
The Following Day.
After my arrival at Ciudad Mar Amistoso and an appropriate rest for a junior logistics officer, I found myself in the local regiment's meeting office. I wore the leather logistics uniform, a camouflage as effective as any cloak of invisibility. My patch over the left eye completed the disguise of a junior officer, something that, ironically, constantly reminded me of my characteristic eye, which I now disguised as a simple battle injury.
The meeting was led by Michuá, who had come with me to supervise my supposed work as a logistics assistant, and the Mayor in charge of this coastal regiment, a seasoned man named Tlala.
Mayor Tlala began the meeting by reporting on the interior patrols' sightings. "Lord Michuá, we have noted an increase in Mexica warriors around the interior villages. Reconnaissance incursions, which previously averaged twice a month, now occur nearly once a week. The captains have been fulfilling their construction duties for the forts ordered by Young Chuta, but this is draining resources and guard personnel."
One of the captains, a serious-faced man from one of the more interior villages, corroborated the information with the Mayor's permission. "We have detailed the appearance of the warriors, Mayor. They are elite scouts, but they are not here to fight. Their modus operandi has changed," he reported. "They now seem to be actively watching the new fortress construction sites. Before, they focused only on the trade routes, which, as you know, are currently paralyzed in this area… It seems they are assessing our fortification capabilities."
I continued to listen with the attention of a spy, taking mental notes as if it were my sole concern. It was the first time I had attended a 'low-ranking' meeting in such a tense environment, and I enjoyed the experience. The hierarchy was respected with military rigor, but at the same time, the opinions and observations of the junior ranks were considered.
It seemed that at a micro level, things functioned efficiently in their own chain of command, but always following the instructions of the Central or Regional Government as guidance. This type of field meeting was worth more than a hundred encrypted reports.
While they discussed small matters, such as the lack of suitable hooks for fishing patrols or the assignment of the new packhorses, I noticed that one of the most debated, though indirect, topics was the cultural incorporation of the new citizens.
They were referring to the former slaves (Aztec, Mayan, Purépecha, Tlaxcalteca) who had become citizens of the realm, and the people migrating from these nearby places fleeing the conflict.
Although the topic they were discussing was the military implication (recruitment, adherence to urban norms, etc.), I deduced from the comments of the Mayor and the rest of the captains that the realm's new citizens from the central plateau were highly willing to integrate.
Against all expectations, this was especially true when they realized that the Suaza Realm had a very military and warrior side, which was not very noticeable in its initial political approach and acceptance. These peoples valued strength and order.
"Lord Michuá," commented Mayor Tlala, summarizing the point. "The men from the plateau are eager to join the construction militias. They say they will not see their land ravaged again. Their morale is high, although at times, their fervor is excessive."
I nodded internally. The fear of the Mexica was our best ally on the frontier.
The following day, I left Ciudad Mar Amistoso before dawn.
I was on my way to the realm's innermost village, about forty kilometers away, guarded by a packed-earth road that carefully connected to other villages. This network was originally conceived as a trade network, but it now served as the first line of preventive protection against a total attack.
The village was under the command of the captain who had spoken about the Mexica in the meeting. The settlement, which had not yet been officially named, was currently sparsely populated. Most of the inhabitants were new refugees coming from villages attacked by both sides of the plateau war. Only a small part were civilians from the continental regions of the realm serving as teachers, merchants, or the logistics warriors themselves.
I noted this detail with relief. The realm was primarily employing refugees and migrants willing to fight, rather than draining the civilian population of the capital.
I had traveled to this village because my logistics group, in conjunction with the army construction team, was tasked with the raising of two forts. Both forts would be built about three kilometers further inland, on the foundations of some local villages ravaged a few months ago. They would serve the critical function of being the first wall against incursions, and if necessary, the starting point for any counterattack or the reception of a larger force.
From the village, we traveled for about two hours on an unimproved dirt road to the construction site. With me was a large detachment of soldiers, civilians, and even a pair of priests and deacons who were responsible for registration and maintaining morale.
Upon arrival, we immediately set to work. The place was a hive of organized activity. Sacks filled with a mixture of mortar and primitive cement—an invention that had greatly accelerated our construction capacity—filled the foundations. Wood, wrought iron, and shouts of coordination mingled. Everything began to move following the precise indications of the engineering managers.
In my role as a logistics warrior, I observed everything, diligently keeping inventory of resources, ensuring every nail and every bag of lime was properly accounted for. I carried out my duty to the letter.
We worked long days. The soldiers, besides guarding, also contributed to the construction efforts. And I, who was literally the one who had taught the teachers of the people who directed the process today, stood out above other junior officers, working with methodical efficiency.
While carrying a wooden beam with a leveraging technique that surprised the others, Mayor Tlala, who had arrived at the site, approached with a smile.
"You've done good work, young man," he said to me. "Your discipline is admirable. The capital regiment shows in your bearing. If you don't mind me asking, why do you wear that leather over your eye?"
I stopped, resting the beam against a half-built wall. I looked at him with respect, my mysterious smile partially hidden by the shadow of the patch.
"Mayor," I replied, keeping my voice low and uniform. "I have a problem with my eye that doesn't allow me to see reality as it truly is. That is why I wear the patch. That way I can concentrate on the only reality that matters: the work before me."
Mayor Tlala was silent for a moment, studying my face. He interpreted my cryptic answer as that of a man who had seen too much in battle, a silent veteran who had chosen to focus on minor duties. "A good focus. Work is the only truth that does not lie," he murmured, and walked away.
One Week Later.
The first fort was now almost finished.
I was observing in the distance from the second level of the fort, on the western wall, which dominated the view toward the plateau. Beside me was Michuá, who had returned from Ciudad Mar Amistoso after learning of the miraculous progress of this fortification. Thanks to my help—or rather, the small orders I had given through The Shadows to expedite the delivery of key materials—this fort had managed to advance beyond the scheduled completion period. The other fort, located further south, was still following its normal construction pace.
Michuá and I looked at the field in front of the wall. It had been cleared of the old rubble from the clashes between the central plateau peoples. Now, the cleared zone extended far beyond the wall, with some strategically placed trenches and wooden blockades that would prevent large accumulations of people attacking at the same time. Furthermore, it provided a clear field of fire.
"It is a solid wall, Young Chuta. The cement has been key," Michuá told me, his tone softer and more paternal than that of a general. "But it is a defensive position. The Mexica will not attack frontally here; they will use the jungle further south."
Suddenly, my gaze fell on the horizon line, where the no-man's-land was beginning to heat up. I pointed to some columns of smoke many kilometers away. Thick smoke, unmistakable. It was neither fog, nor the controlled burning of fields. It was the fire of war.
A spark of adventure, which had remained dormant since I began leading the realm, awakened within me. Since my birth into this world, I had fought from the comfort of the Central City, or later, Dawn City.
I had never been on the front line, never wielded a sword to defend my family, never smelled the gunpowder of my own cannon. Now that I felt danger breathing down my neck, the fear transformed into a compulsive need. I wanted to go, I wanted to see, I wanted to face those dangers, however crazy it sounded for a leader of my caliber.
I turned to Michuá, my face obscured in the midday shadow.
"I think I will go explore beyond this wall myself," I told him, my voice strangely excited.
Michuá paled. "Young Chuta, it is dangerous out there. Those columns are hostile. Our Explorers are more than capable; there is no need for you to go."
I looked at him.
"Of course, I know it is dangerous, Michuá," I replied, my voice now solemn, as I removed the patch and looked directly at him. "But I am prepared. If war is the only certainty I have, I must see its face up close… Prepare a small group. We will move at nightfall. It is time to stop looking at reports and start seeing the truth."
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[A/N: CHAPTER COMPLETED
Hi everyone.
I'm late again, but I had to take my mom to the doctor, and she was actually more seriously ill than we thought. It's not that it's anything complicated, but because we didn't get treatment sooner, she got worse.
The good news is that she seems to be improving with the medication.
There are a lot of things in that chapter that need explaining, but I'll just say that I won't say anything, hahaha.
Attribute Chuta's madness to hormones, and his decision to the mental clarity he gained after his mother's support and a bit of boredom.
Also, I want to see him fight, and I won't wait a few more years for him to fight who knows where.
(This is all a lie; it was planned from the beginning that Chuta would be a warrior. It's just that priorities were different back then, and he was very young.)
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Read my other novels.
#The Walking Dead: Vision of the Future (Chapter 91)
#The Walking Dead: Emily's Metamorphosis (Chapter 34) (INTERMITTENT)
#The Walking Dead: Patient 0 - Lyra File (Chapter 14) (INTERMITTENT)
You can find them on my profile.]