Aztec Civilization: Destiny to Conquer America!-Chapter 590 - 288: Tribes Election

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Faint clouds scattered, and the midday sun shone through sparsely, quieting the sky above the mountain city. Startled songbirds once again gathered, singing high above in a chorus, as if voices drifting from the Divine Kingdom.

The Black Wolf’s royal banner rose high among the birds, standing in the center of Tribe Square in the mountain city. The city’s history was ancient, and its buildings still retained much of the tribal era’s character. At the center of Tribe Square was a massive fire pit, where a roaring bonfire danced in the wind, emitting red glows, heat, and blue smoke. Not far from the square to the East was a heavy earth platform surrounded by bluestone. Various flags and banners fluttered above the platform, while beneath it lay the cremains and belongings of over a dozen generations of mountain city leaders.

At this moment, hundreds of tribal leaders and noble samurai sat around the fire pit in a circle. His Highness Xiulote, accompanied by dozens of trusted aides, sat to the east where the sun rose, his back to the graves of the Otomi ancestors.

The sun brought rebirth, and the earth embraced death. Rebirth and death were eternal motifs in Central American culture. Over the past centuries, the Otomi people discussed affairs, socialized, ate and drank, danced, held religious ceremonies, and even had romantic rendezvous in the square, all under the watchful eyes of their ancestors, just like today’s chieftain election.

The tribal chieftains formed a circle. They watched with varied expressions, all focusing on the two Legion Commanders in front of the fire pit.

Jiowar, with feathers in his vine hat and dressed in a thick cotton armor covered by a long cloak, held a sharp war club in his hand and a costly bronze axe at his waist, looking proudly at his opponent.

"Nelpa, give up. You stand no chance! You are a mighty Head Warrior of our tribe, and your bravery should be displayed on the battlefield, not here!"

"Jiowar, though I may not understand the governance of a city-state, I possess the heart of an Otomi!"

Nelpa, equally armed and holding a war club, was in his early thirties, younger, strong, and an exceptional warrior. Each of his cheeks bore several butterfly-like scars, emblematic of his combat achievements, akin to the record of slaying ten or twenty opponents.

"Saka the Priest is right, beneath the facade of an Otomi lies the heart of a Mexica!"

Nelpa looked toward the eastern royal banner of the Black Wolf, to Mexica’s highness sitting before the ancestral tomb, rage igniting in his eyes.

"Jiowar, to secure an independent future for the Otomi, I must stop you and Olte the Priest from walking further down this misguided path!"

"Nelpa, your spirit is lost in the forest, shrouded in mist, and can no longer communicate. Let us then follow the tribe’s tradition and let the chieftains decide!"

Jiowar knit his brows, looking at the warrior brainwashed by Saka the Priest, and shook his head in resignation. He then turned to the seated tribal chieftains, the ultimate election before him.

"Praise the Chief Divine!"

His Highness Xiulote stood up and walked toward the center of the square, followed closely by the Head Warrior and the Black Wolf. Under the awed gaze of the crowd, the King approached Jiowar, raising the Divine Staff in his hand.

"Before the tribal election, I wish to inform all chieftains that I come with my legions and good intentions!"

The King’s gaze, sharp as an eagle’s, swept over those present. The chieftains bowed their heads one after another, in a show of respect.

"My good intentions are reserved for those I trust! Jiowar is my blood-sworn younger brother, who risked his life for me in battle! For life, I shall shelter him. If he becomes the leader of the mountain city, then I, representing the powerful Alliance, will protect the ancestral lands of the Otomi people!"

A low murmur arose in the square. Saka’s face grew solemn as he stood up and shouted to the assembled chieftains.

"Chieftains of the Otomi! Do not forget the wars and famines of the past, and everything the Mexica have done to us! They worship the War God and are cruel, greedy beasts. They continually look for sacrifices, and the hunger in their bellies is never satisfied! Now they stretch their claws once more toward the ancestral lands of the mountain city, toward the necks of millions of Otomi..."

On hearing the words of Saka the Priest, the murmur grew louder. Some chieftains looked hesitant, but most tribal chieftains remained unfazed, their expressions flickering. They, who held the power of life and death over thousands in their hands, would not be easily swayed by words of hatred like the lower samurai.

"My children! The Canine Descendants are moving south, and the Otomi are in peril! Most of the Pamus State has fallen, and the barbarians have settled on our ancestral lands. With unending wars, this year’s spring plowing will be greatly delayed, and a new famine looms ahead!"

Olte the Elder Priest stood solemnly, raising his voice in urgent entreaty.

"The Otomi need warriors adept in combat as well as grain to overcome this hardship! At this moment of survival, the Divine has granted us protective light! The Kingdom of the Lake to the south is a reliable friend. And His Highness Xiulote is the Sun of the Otomi..."

As the Elder Priest’s words spread, the chieftains instantly fell silent, and then a low murmur rose. The Sun was not a title used lightly, as it was considered the supreme ruler of the world among the peoples of the land, and to call someone the Sun often meant submission!

After some time of disorderly noise, the gathering quietened. A chieftain from Pamus State rose first. He bowed respectfully to the King and then, representing the northern Otomi Tribes, he spoke urgently.

"Respected highness of the Mexica, Mespa of Pamus State salutes you! The beasts of the jungle submit to the strong, and the northern Otomi need your protection! If you send your legions north, we will submit to you and follow your banner into battle!"

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Xiulote nodded and offered a serene smile. He looked around the hall once again, then lowered the Divine Staff and tapped its end to produce a "ding-dong" sound.

"The Chief Divine’s light shines on the Otomi as well! However, the gods’ protection requires devout offerings, and the cost of destiny’s gifts has long been marked! Otomi, I come with the King’s goodwill and await your goodwill in return!"

The tribal chiefs looked at each other before another middle-aged chieftain from the Guamare State stood up.

"Praise the War God! Respected Your Highness, we revere your courage to enter the city and submit to the voice of Divine Revelation, and we trust in the selection by Priest Olte! Fate is a raging river, and as we approach it with our shadows, we must let our legs be immersed. But..."

At this point, the middle-aged chieftain paused and warily looked toward the King.

"The canine descendants on the wilderness are endless, the highland to the north is always barren, with even more desolation further north. The Otomi can only fight, build, and farm! We lack the wealth of the Southern Tribes, nor do we have the rainforest’s bountiful produce. We yearn for your aid, but what can we offer in exchange?"

Hearing this essential question, Xiulote’s eyes grew profound.

"I am a generous King, I will not covet the mouths you feed, the fields you till, or the control of the mountain city. The Otomi shall elect their own leaders, continuing the glory of their ancestors... But, you must bathe in the Chief Divine’s light, accept sacred guidance! You must gather beneath my banner, and fight for the holy will! You must trade valiant and loyal combat for the rewards of wealth and glory!..."

He continued, his voice rich with meaning and laced with a smile.

"Of course, all this is based on our mutual trust, and the election of the chieftain before us!"

Hearing this, the middle-aged chieftain nodded in understanding and bowed his head solemnly in salutation.

"Your Highness, my respects. I am Chalki of the Guamare State, please remember my name..."

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"Enough! The sun has reached its zenith, and the Ancestral Gods watch over the land. Now, let the election begin!"

The bone horn was played, and an elderly female voice rose, just as it had thousands of years ago in the age of tribal times. The old Priest stepped forward, raising the Divine Staff in his hand. Across him, Priest Saka’s face turned ashen, as he also stepped forward. The former leader Aquili’s wife entered the center of the hall, walked between the two legion commanders, and continued to call out with a shrill voice.

"Chieftains, the Ancestral Gods watch over us! According to tradition, follow the man of your choice with your feet! Those supporting Nelpa, stand behind Priest Saka. Those supporting Jiowar, stand behind Priest Olte!... The ancestors witness everything, and all Tribes must abide by the Tribal Assembly’s decision. No matter the outcome, the Otomi must not divide!..."

The Otomi chieftains exchanged glances, then silently rose, casting their votes with their feet. Chieftain Mespa was the first to stand, walking behind Priest Olte, followed by many chieftains from the Pamus State. Then, Chieftain Chalki nodded at the old Priest and led the chieftains of the Guamare State right behind them. The chieftains of the Otapan State erupted into a quarrel and left in discontent. Three-tenths of them went to Priest Saka, while the rest, seven-tenths, came to stand behind Olte.

The result was clear at a glance. The old Priest stood tall, backed by a massive throng; Saka looked downcast, with only a sparse twenty or thirty people behind him. Nearly ninety percent of the Otomi chieftains ultimately chose to support Jiowar, electing him the military leader of the mountain city homeland, the nominal speaker of the Otomi Alliance!

"The ancestors witness from their graves; a new leader has been born! The Tribal Assembly decrees, the chieftain of the mountain city homeland, heir to the Ancestral Scepter, is..."

The elderly woman’s voice rose again but was abruptly cut off by a loud cry of anger.

"The ancestors and gods witness! Jiowar, you traitor who has betrayed the tribe!"

Seeing the situation irretrievable, Nelpa clenched his teeth, his face showing a determination to die. He suddenly raised his War Club and roared loudly.

"I swear on the Samurai’s dignity and equal honor, I challenge you to a holy duel! The graves of our ancestors will be our graves too. I will duel you to the death!"

"Nelpa, have you gone mad? To risk your life and challenge me to a duel?"

Jiowar was taken aback, almost in disbelief, as he looked at the middle-aged Samurai before him, standing firm as a rock.

Even after failing to secure participation in the territorial election, Nelpa was still a powerful tribal chief, with a prestigious position, commanding thousands of Samurai, and with no threat to his life. The holy duel to the death was only between equals in status and was bound to end with one’s fall. Although it was an old tradition to resolve significant disputes among the tribes, a remnant of the era of tribal warfare, it had been years since such a duel had occurred among the chieftains.

"Jiowar, if you are a coward who fears battle, then step down from the position of chief! Only a leader who does not fear life and death can lead the Otomi to vitality!"

Hearing this, Jiowar glanced at the many chieftains present and deeply furrowed his brow. Among the warrior-prizing highland tribes, being called a coward was the most contemptible of insults. With the conversation reaching this point, despite his right to refuse Nelpa’s challenge, he would leave a lifelong stain and struggle to command respect ever after. Besides... Jiowar squinted his narrow eyes and laid his hand on the robe at his waist, then his brow smoothed out.

"Nelpa, since you are so bent on seeking death, then come!"