Year 12 of the SuaChie Calendar.
Nearly two years had elapsed since the first, brutal clashes. The Mexica advance had been slow and costly, yet methodical. They had successfully pushed the Tlaxcaltecas eastward through the passes of the Eastern Mountain Range. Incursions were scarce in the deepest valleys, but every small town along the route had become a victim of a constant, savage war.
The Tlaxcaltecas, initially scattered, had learned.
They had pulled back from their farthest settlements, concentrating their population in the great cities or in easily defensible mountain towns. This strategy of defensive retreat had resulted in the loss of vital resources and the scarcity of agricultural and mining products. However, in a desperate and brilliant move, the southeastern Lordship of Cuautochco had joined their cause, providing them a direct outlet to the sea via the coastal Gulf plain and supplying some of the lost resources.
Now, a group of Mexica warriors rested in a Tlaxcalteca town that had been destroyed months earlier. The adobe houses still standing were occupied by the troops, while the others had dedicated themselves to repairing granaries and storehouses, converting the hamlet into an improvised forward operating base.
The remnants of the battle were still visible: tattered strips of clothing and broken utensils were scattered about. Far from the village, in a hastily dug trench, lay the bones of the former inhabitants, surrounded by vultures and other nocturnal animals that had turned that brutal display of war into nature's own feast.
It was early evening, and the warriors had built a large bonfire in the center of the town, its smoke rising slowly into a purple sky. The heat and aroma of the burning wood attempted in vain to dissipate the coldness of the rubble. They were celebrating their recent skirmish. They drank copiously from several clay vessels filled with high-proof Suaza liquor, stolen in their last attack. The spirits, smooth on the palate but potent, flowed freely.
The squad leader, a burly captain named Yaotl, pounded his chest.
"We are sons of Huitzilopochtli!" he roared, his voice distorted by pride and the liquor. "We are blessed... The ill fortune of our enemies is our strength!"
The rest of his warriors applauded, laughed, and celebrated alongside their leader, clashing their drinking vessels.
However, one of them, a young warrior named Tlanextic, commented with unusual seriousness, "Captain, the whole affair seems strange to me. We attacked this village far too easily. And they fled without fighting. That is strange. The Otomí who fought us in Tlaxcala months ago did not flee; they fought until their blood grew cold."
Some of his comrades turned thoughtful, their laughter dying away. They, too, had noticed the ease with which they had taken this last settlement. Withdrawal was a known tactic, but this retreat felt incomplete, like a lure.
Captain Yaotl, seeing that the young man had cast a pall over their glorious victory, dismissed his concerns with a drunken gesture.
"Nonsense, Tlanextic! The men of this village were not as well-armed as those in other towns. Did you see their macuahuitls? They were old, dull. They seem to have spent their wealth on this liquor we now drink rather than on weapons. They were rotten with sloth and cowardice!"
Upon hearing this, most of the warriors found reason in his words. The idea that their strength was superior was more comfortable than the idea of a trap. They stopped paying attention to the young man, returning to their jars and their battle tales.
A few hours passed.
The celebration had transformed into a grim feast. The warriors were mostly drunk, including the Captain. All of them, now uninhibited by the Suaza alcohol, began to tell stories. They spoke of looting, of brutal clashes, and of the assaults committed against the women of the towns who had not managed to withdraw in time, narrating their exploits with bestial pride. Laughter mingled with the crackling of wood in the bonfire.
Tlanextic, the young warrior, was sober and increasingly worried about the relaxed state of his squad. He felt a palpable discomfort, a cold pang that contradicted the warm night. He offered to stand guard.
"I will check the perimeter, Captain... A man cannot trust the slumber of a fleeing enemy."
Yaotl grunted, nodding with a lazy movement of his head. "Go, cub. And if you see a deer, bring it to the fire."
Tlanextic slowly moved away toward the outskirts of the village. To his initial calm, the surroundings seemed peaceful. The moon, nearly full, bathed the fields in silver light. A few nocturnal birds, the tecolote (owl) and the tzinitzcan, graced the air with their familiar calls. However, there was one sound that did not seem to belong to the night birds he knew. A hiss, a metallic graze against the earth.
He had a premonition that something felt wrong, that the silence was too perfect.
He began to worry and was about to turn back to the bonfire to sound the alarm when he heard a subtle whistle, coming from nearby trees. It was the last sound his mind registered.
A long obsidian spear, hurled with the force of a trained warrior, pierced his body in the left flank, puncturing his lung. The impact immediately brought him down, throwing him against the dry ground.
Tlanextic lay upon the earth. He tried to scream, but the spear had traversed his lung and warm blood began to obstruct his throat. Paralyzing fear prevented him from breathing. He tried to crawl toward the bonfire, toward the light and the noise of his comrades, but his movements grew weaker and weaker.
His face, bathed in sweat and panic, displayed extreme pain and limitless despair. He kept trying to emit a warning sound, but only wet gurgles came out instead of his voice. His short journey, barely a few meters, had left a dark, winding trail of dirt mixed with his blood.
Just as he was about to lose his life, with his breath about to extinguish, he heard soft, muffled footsteps very close by.
With the last of his strength, he turned his head in a painful spasm and saw a group of Tlaxcalteca warriors. They were not ragged militiamen, but veterans. They were armed with spears, clubs, and knives, their faces painted for war and their gazes cold as the mountain ice.
There, in his final second of consciousness, he realized the truth. It had all been a trap. The abandoned village, the easy attack, the retreat without a fight. All planned to make them drop their guard. And he knew that his comrades, drunk and arrogant by the fire, would now also fall with him. His last breath was a gurgle of failure.
The Tlaxcalteca warriors left the young sentinel behind and moved with terrifying subtlety. They were silent shadows, utilizing the moonlight to move along the dirt roads unseen from the center of the village.
They entered each of the houses that served as barracks, precisely checking the sleeping and still-snoring drunken bodies. If they found warriors, they slit their throats directly with their Suaza bronze knives, allowing no sound, the gushing blood cut short by a quickly placed cloth.
They advanced constantly toward the light of the bonfire. There, a group of warriors continued to tell sordid anecdotes, while others lay on the ground, drunk and vulnerable. They heard the contemptuous words directed at the Tlaxcaltecas and the brutal stories of the assaults. This caused the eyes of the mountain warriors to ignite with glacial hatred. Some were about to attack prematurely, but a simple hand gesture from the leader, the Tlacateccatl (War Chief) of the squad, calmed them. Vengeance would be coordinated.
The leader paused in the shadows and surveyed the surroundings. When he saw that all the small assault groups had approached close enough to the center, ready to flank the bonfire, he gave the order to attack.
Unlike the bloody and noisy skirmishes before, this time everyone advanced in a deadly silence. The warriors thrust their spears against those who were still awake and laughing, the bronze glinting from the spear tips, which then penetrated bellies and chests. Others lunged at the sleeping, using their knives to finish them before they could awaken from their stupor.
The first deaths startled the Mexica, who barely had time to understand what was happening. Their inebriation prevented them from thinking clearly, and those who tried to resist were inefficient. Captain Yaotl tried to grab his macana (club), but a Tlaxcalteca was already upon him, plunging an obsidian blade into his neck.
The noise of metal and flesh was the only sound that opposed the crackling of the bonfire. The town, which had been conquered with arrogance, was now a silent slaughterhouse. The stench of alcohol, blood, and smoke mingled, sealing the fate of the Mexica squad. The Tlaxcalteca strategy of withdrawal had yielded its first, bitter fruit.
A few months later.
Since the brutal lightning attack that cost Captain Yaotl's squad their lives, the Triple Alliance had shifted its focus on the eastern front. The lesson had been clear: arrogance and carelessness were mortal vulnerabilities against an enemy whose resistance was becoming sophisticated.
A large Mexica contingent inhabited the same village, now transformed into a crucial support base. Unlike the previous time, the town was densely populated, not only with warriors but also with civilians—cooks, artisans, porters—and even priests who served as healers in an improvised hospital.
The village had been fortified, its wooden palisades reinforced and its adobe structures expanded, extending even to the ditch where the Tlaxcalteca remains once lay, but which now contained the bodies of the Mexica warriors defeated in that battle. The memory of the defeat had become a macabre reminder of the constant vigilance this war demanded.
In charge of this new, larger group was Cuitláhuac, Moctezuma's brother. With an expression of relentless concentration and a discipline that contrasted sharply with the laxity of his predecessor, he had taken on the task of maintaining an active and strong front line against the Tlaxcalteca resistance. Although this was not the closest post to the battlefront, the village had become the vital connecting point between the many combat zones, a logistical artery for the campaign.
Cuitláhuac was meeting in one of the best-preserved houses, which served as his headquarters. He was with a group of veteran squad leaders and some former generals who, stripped of active command, served as wise advisors.
"The Tlaxcalteca incursions have become predictable," Cuitláhuac announced, striking a point on the leather map. "My plan to maintain detection patrols two days' march away, rather than on the perimeter, has worked for us. Losses have stabilized, and although the cost remains high, we no longer suffer lightning attacks."
One of the messengers from Tenochtitlan smiled. "My Lord Cuitláhuac, your tactics have been praised by the Tlatoani Ahuízotl. The capital will send even more squads from the western front, where the Purépecha threat has been mitigated by the Chichimeca migration. We shall have an augmented force, nearly double, to press the sierra."
Cuitláhuac smiled inwardly. He, who now had to move northeast to face the Suaza, felt much calmer with the news of the eastern front's stability. He had managed to implement an effective countermeasure to the Tlaxcalteca attacks, leveling the tactical battlefield, if not the technological one.
However, there was something that still troubled him. The Tlaxcaltecas, with the new Lordship of Cuautochco joining their cause, had managed to obtain many more bronze weapons and cutting tools from trade with the Suaza.
The Triple Alliance had also had access to these weapons through Painalli's company, 'Sun, Moon, and Lake,' but now, with the incipient clash against the Suaza Kingdom, they would lose this crucial source of bronze weapons and the associated technology.
Cuitláhuac consulted the old sages and messengers. "If we cut off the Suaza trade, our supply of metal will stop. Can we, then, sustain the production of our macuahuitl (swords) with the same effectiveness if the enemy holds more Suaza bronze?"
The counselors exchanged glances, and one of the elders, a former Tlacochcalcatl (Chief of Arms), responded with quiet solemnity.
"My Lord Cuitláhuac, it is true that the flow of weapons will be severed. But, thanks to the cunning of the merchant Painalli and the technical assistance delivered to us by the Suaza Kingdom itself—ironies of the gods—we have managed to learn how to forge this metal as well. We will not have the same production volume nor the Suaza quality, not yet. Everything will take much longer than simply purchasing them. But now, in the metallurgical aspect, we have taken a crucial step. We will not depend on a foreign kingdom for bronze."
Cuitláhuac sighed, a barely audible breath of relief. The technological seed sown by Painalli and other important merchants of the Triple Alliance had germinated just in time. He continued to listen to some of the tactical points of the meeting, but in reality, he was deep in thought. His mind was focused on planning a way to confront the Suaza.
He wanted to proceed as they had with many of their enemies: numerical superiority, shock force, terror, and siege. But at the same time, persistent doubts lingered about whether this tactic would work. He still vividly recalled when, four years prior, his brother Moctezuma had returned stunned from his visit to the Suaza Kingdom.
Moctezuma had conveyed his concerns about this people's religion, so different, but above all, about their grey weapons—the iron—which seemed far more powerful than anything else known. Cuitláhuac feared that his battles in the northeast would be much more dangerous and costly than what he had experienced in the last two years facing a renewed but still limited Tlaxcalteca people.
The Suaza Kingdom was the true jaguar, and the Triple Alliance had dressed as a bear to face it.
A few weeks later.
Cuitláhuac was several kilometers from his base, venturing into the northeastern territory, west of the nearest town to the Suaza border. He had reached the most advanced Mexica control post; a temporary fortification made of rammed earth and logs.
Upon his arrival, he was greeted by the minor general appointed by his brother. The man was visibly relieved to see him, a reaction that might be strange to many, as Cuitláhuac was younger than the general. However, Cuitláhuac's noble rank, his direct lineage to the Tlatoani of Tenochtitlan, was of considerably greater importance.
"My Lord Cuitláhuac," the minor general said, bowing. "The report is alarming. The Suaza have moved, and not as we expected."
Cuitláhuac was briefed on the recent analyses, and what the minor general said profoundly surprised him.
"They have constructed two square structures between the border town and our position. These structures, according to the scouts who approached them, are made of stone and wood, but... the strange thing is that the reports have not seen the Suaza Kingdom moving any stone along the trade route, nor have they accessed the sierra to obtain said stones."
The general continued to detail the features: "They have tall buildings at the corners, high walls, and gates that seem very sturdy. Furthermore, the surrounding terrain has been modified. There are visible traps—simple pits and spikes—in the obvious areas. But we fear there are others that are surely hidden. And the most impactful thing: around the structures they have built a wide channel, a water-filled moat, that does not allow one to approach the walls directly."
Cuitláhuac was shocked. He had never heard of such a methodically defensive fortification. The very concept of spending so much effort on a purely defensive structure was alien to the Mexica warrior mentality, focused on frontal assault and the capture of prisoners. Moreover, according to the reports and the men present, the structure had been built quickly.
Not wanting to waste time and needing to verify with his own eyes, he immediately set off with a small reconnaissance group of warriors.
They approached the southernmost structure, moving stealthily through the forest. Upon reaching a wide area, a slight hill covered with bushes, they could see the full silhouette of the structure from a great distance.
To Cuitláhuac, the fortress was not as imposing as the Templo Mayor or the palaces he knew, which sought height to honor the gods. But he could clearly identify that this structure was purely military, as every construction, every tower, every wall, was made solely for defense. It was a work of military engineering Cuitláhuac had never seen. It was a logical, cold design, devoid of religious ornaments.
However, something that truly made Cuitláhuac stop and caused his heart to pound with a mixture of fear and awe, were some four-legged beasts moving with incredible speed. Suaza warriors, dressed in light leather and iron armor, were mounted upon them.
"What... what kind of animal is that?" murmured one of the reconnaissance warriors, his voice barely a whisper.
Cuitláhuac was stunned by the animal. They were larger, stronger, and faster than any dog or tepezcuintle (paca) he had ever seen. He had never seen anything like a horse in action, and the way the Suaza warrior controlled it was almost magical. His accompanying warriors were equally surprised; it was also the first time they had seen these animals on the Suaza side, whose use until now had been limited to the spheres of high command and the ports.
Not wanting to expose his position to the enemy and with a persistent fear—for he could not conceive of a way to fight something so fast and large—he immediately withdrew to the control post to report this new discovery and begin formulating a plan of action against the Suaza Kingdom. The war in the northeast would be completely different.
[Simultaneously, about 10 kilometers to the north]
A group of six men was camping in a dense forest. They were Suaza, an elite reconnaissance team. The camp looked quite normal, but notably efficient: tents made with a light, resistant fabric, simple cots of branches and cloth.
All were fully equipped with iron and bronze tools and weapons, yet they looked unusually light for all the gear they carried, thanks to the superiority of their materials and the design of their backpacks. Near the camp, six sturdy horses, their blankets tied to the reins, grazed peacefully.
One of them, whom the others referred to as Lion, looked at the rest of the men. He carried an air of quiet authority that granted him leadership.
"Owl," Lion ordered. "Tell me, what did you find at the Mexica camp?"
Owl, a sharp-eyed man, responded precisely. "In my scouting with Hummingbird, we discovered the main forward camp, to the south. There are about three hundred men. We also identified distant camps to the west, near the mountains. They are moving troops from the Michoacán front."
Lion nodded, pleased. "Good. We need to know the exact situation, their watch patterns, and the disposition of their leaders. Monkey, Alligator. We will infiltrate their position. We will do it quickly and without detection. We are only seeking information."
Monkey and Alligator, two warriors known for their stealth, immediately accepted with a thump on the chest.
Jaguar, a younger and more pragmatic scout, asked something before accepting. "Young... Lion, what shall we do with the people who discover us? Do we slay them?"
Lion responded directly and without hesitation. "No, Jaguar. They will be taken as hostages and brought to the northern fortress for interrogation. Our objective is to obtain information. Remember: we are only scouts, not part of the shock group. Besides," Lion added, with a confident smile that did not diminish the seriousness of his order. "I highly doubt, given your skills, that the Mexica will manage to discover us. We are the Kingdom's explorers, and they are merely simple warriors."
The Suaza group prepared in silence, checking their harnesses. The war had begun in the northeast, but only one side was prepared to play the game of modern intelligence.
.
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[A/N: CHAPTER COMPLETED
Hello everyone.
First, I apologize again for the irregularity this week, but due to my mother's illness, which turned out to be pneumonia with influenza, I had to take care of my nephew.
Here we have the Aztec battles again; the last chapter was 109. This chapter deals specifically with the front against the Tlaxcalans and the prelude to what will be the front against the Suaza.
By the way, for those who didn't notice, León is in Chuta, hahaha.
And at first, they will only explore, but in tomorrow's chapter, we'll see how they intervene directly. It won't be an all-out war, since, as I mentioned in other novels, they will only defend themselves. However, something will happen that will cause Chuta to decide to intervene directly, forming some expanded fronts.
I don't want to give away any more, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter.
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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.]