PREVIOUSLY (Chapter 131)
[POV: Chuta – Third Person
(Scene following the first engagement with the Mexica)
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León (Chuta) came to a dead halt.
The burden was his alone. He was the one who had brought this knowledge from the "future." He had unleashed gunpowder upon a world still clashing with obsidian, and now he would have to carry the weight of the grotesque deaths and the shattered minds of his own men. The guilt he had managed to soothe by saving the babe of Metztitlán returned with devastating ferocity.
As he surveyed the camp, the afternoon silence seemed to fracture within his mind. León thought he heard the cry of an infant. It was not the child from Metztitlán, but a faint, ancient wail—one he thought he had forgotten from his first years after being reborn into this world. It was the cry of lost innocence, drowned out by the roar of the cannon he himself had ordered to be cast.
León bowed his head, his fists white-knuckled. The Suaza Kingdom brought protection, yes; but the price of that sanctuary was becoming a shroud that began to bend his young, twelve-year-old back. The war against the Triple Alliance had only just begun, and the "Thunder of the Gods" was already claiming not just bodies, but the very peace of his children's souls.]
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Year 12 of the SuaChie Calendar, Sixth Month.
Nepantla Village, Northeastern Frontier of the Mexica Territory.
[N/A: This is the village that was attacked first, the one furthest south. It had the most soldiers, so its defense was more successful. And it's also the one whose story was told first.]
The scent of charred wood and copper—that unmistakable, metallic tang of fresh blood—still hung in the stagnant afternoon air. I found myself in the house of the lieutenant in charge of Nepantla, a structure of stone and lime that felt far too cold for the stifling heat of the region. My hands, small yet burdened with the fate of millions, rested upon a rustic wooden table.
Only two days had passed since my return to Fort North, marking the end of a scouting mission I had imposed upon myself.
Two weeks ago, driven by a mixture of strategic curiosity and the need to witness reality with my own eyes, I had ventured into Mexica territory and the lordship of Metztitlán. I did not wish to rely solely on the reports from Zasaba's "Shadows"; I wanted to feel the pulse of the war that I, by my very arrival in this world, had accelerated.
Images of my journey on horseback replayed in my mind like a film from which I could not escape.
I had seen the Mexica rearguard: a swarming hive of Jaguar and Eagle warriors preparing for the inevitable, yet lacking conventional organization. I had scouted a river that, according to my knowledge of strategy, could serve as an invasion route against us in the future—a latent weakness on our maps that the Mexica had yet to discover.
However, what weighed heaviest upon me was the memory of that attack in southern Metztitlán. Seeing the warriors of the Triple Alliance descend upon a defenseless village triggered that "future" instinct I sometimes forget. I chose to intervene, convinced that the assault was a direct response to my movements.
The Explorers and I—elite soldiers equipped with the pinnacle of Suaza technology and mounted on horses that appeared as monsters to the locals—shredded the Mexica offensive in mere minutes. We saved what remained of the village, yes; we rescued a babe whose cries still echo in my nightmares. But while I played the wandering hero in foreign lands, reality was striking at my own doorstep.
Upon my return, I discovered that while I was saving a distant hamlet, my own people were under siege. The forts meant to shield them could not prevent the fire from reaching our gates.
Walking through the interior of Fort North, I saw my soldiers performing their duties with mechanical movements, their eyes lost in that thousand-yard stare known only to those who have looked upon horror. I saw the Suaza wounded being treated with our advanced medicines, but I also saw the carnage my weapons had inflicted upon the enemy. Captured Mexica warriors, their limbs severed and bodies mangled by the "thunder."
"I have misjudged everything," I whispered to myself, feeling the weight of my twelve years as if they were centuries. "This is nothing like the war movies I watched in my other life. There is no editing here; there is no glory. There is only noise, smoke, and the stench of burning flesh."
The regulations for the use of firearms in the Suaza Kingdom are strict, but in the chaos of a surprise attack, desperation dictated the rhythm. The use of these weapons reached these lands far sooner than expected. I knew I had to adapt. My future mindset told me that technology would bring peace, but in practice, it had only escalated the brutality.
"Young Chuta?" Michuá's deep voice broke my reverie.
I looked up. The General of the Special Zone watched me with a concern he tried to mask behind a veil of military discipline. He had been my shadow during this tour of the forts and villages—a man whose loyalty was as solid as the walls we built.
"Does something ail you?" he asked, taking a step forward.
"I am well, Michuá," I replied, forcing a smile that likely never reached my eyes. "Only... thoughts of the attack. Images that flood my mind and refuse to retreat."
I sought to change the subject before Michuá began to treat me like the child I physically am. "Tell me, are the damage and casualty reports ready?"
Michuá, with the wisdom of a veteran who knows when not to press his leader, nodded and unfurled several scrolls. He chose not to delve into my inner demons and began to brief me in the professional tone I so respected.
"First, the situation on the Northern Front, Young Chuta… We have taken in the wounded from the neighboring village that suffered the hardest blow. We have six wounded from our Suaza ranks; two of them, regrettably, injured by the mishandling of their own arquebus in the heat of battle."
I winced. Friendly fire and stress-induced accidents were the price of introducing complex weaponry too quickly.
"We also have eight captured Mexica warriors," Michuá continued. "Two are in critical condition. And..." he paused, his voice dropping an octave, "we must lament the loss of two of our soldiers. They fell defending the village during the assault."
The ensuing silence was suffocating. In the distance, through the window, I could hear the rhythmic strike of hammers and the voices of civilians and soldiers working on the reconstruction. Every hammer blow felt like a nail driven into my own conscience.
"I understand..." I said, a knot forming in my throat. "Continue, please."
Michuá noted my grief but proceeded with the report for Fort South, near Nepantla. "At Fort South, they received the wounded from this village. We total five wounded Suaza soldiers and seven Mexica warriors, three of them grave. But," and here his tone turned uncharacteristically bright, as if wanting to grant me a small victory, "in Nepantla, there were no mortal casualties in our ranks, nor among the civilians."
That small spark of relief elicited a dry, almost hysterical laugh from me. "At least something went right in this corner of the world, Michuá. Continue with the status of the settlements."
"The northern village is already sixty percent repaired. We have deployed additional personnel from Fort North to reinforce the palisades and artillery defenses. Here in Nepantla, we are at ninety percent. The lieutenant of this village requested personnel beforehand, which allowed us to act swiftly. The watchtowers and defensive structures are already taking shape."
I stood and walked to the window. From there, I could see the streets of Nepantla returning to their optimal state. The drainage system I had introduced was working, clearing the remnants of mud and ash. In the distance, at strategic points I had marked on the map, the Suaza watchtowers rose like sentinels of stone and timber.
"Things have changed, Michuá," I said, turning back with renewed resolve. "We can no longer merely react. We must dictate the tempo. We shall return to Friendly Sea City on the coast. We will shift our focus in this war. We will no longer be just a wall of containment; we shall be the architects of its end."
Two days later.
The atmosphere was radically different in Friendly Sea City. Though concern for the war lingered, the palpable tension of the border villages and forts was but a faint echo here.
I stood in the city's grand command hall. Established in Year 9 of the SuaChie calendar, this city was a marvel of cultural synthesis: it possessed the heart of the plateau peoples, but the lungs and might of the Suaza Kingdom. The air smelled of salt spray and solemn incense.
A deathly silence held the room as they waited for me to begin. Many believed I was still in Dawn City (Cuba), in the Floating Islands (Caribbean), protected by the sea and the distance. Seeing my twelve-year-old figure at the center of the war command had struck them visibly.
I scanned the faces of the men directing this front. There was Michuá, the military pillar of the special zone. Also, the City Chancellor, a man of brilliant administrative mind; the Major in charge of urban defense; several lieutenants who still bore the dust of the road on their boots; and the City Bishop, representing the spiritual support that maintained the population's morale.
I could see the fear and uncertainty in their eyes. They all knew the Triple Alliance was a local giant, and though they expected war in a few years, the attack on Nepantla had proven that the giant was already awake and hungry.
"Thank you all for coming," I began, my voice ringing with a firmness that hid the internal storm still shaking me. "Before we address the maps and strategies, I wish to say something of great importance. I personally apologize for the deaths of our soldiers and for the suffering of our wounded. As your leader, the responsibility for their blood rests upon my shoulders."
I paused, watching the shock of my words ripple through the hall. In this world, a leader rarely asked for forgiveness for the costs of war.
"The attack on Nepantla and our border posts was no mere incident," I continued, gesturing to the great map of the Mesoamerican plateau at the center of the room. "It is the beginning of a struggle that will define whether the Great Quyca shall be a place of union or a graveyard of empires… I have seen the battlefield. I have seen what our weapons do to men. And for that very reason, today we shall redesign our intervention. We will not only fight for the Suaza Kingdom; we will fight so that this war is the last of its kind."
Zasaba had informed me that the Mexica were mobilizing their most loyal allies. I knew, from my memories of the future, that the Triple Alliance was powerful but fractured. Tlaxcala and other independent lordships were waiting for a sign.
"Michuá, Chancellor..." I said, meeting each man's gaze. "Forget everything I asked regarding static defense. We are going to take the newly formed cavalry where it hurts them most—not with massacres, but with a pressure that forces them to the table before their culture vanishes under the stampede of beasts."
This speech was not merely a declaration of intent for my generals; it was an anchor for my own conscience. For years, I had molded the Suaza Kingdom into the image of a benevolent power, a beacon of knowledge and trade that only unsheathed its steel in extremes.
We had dealt with skirmishes in the Great Eastern Forest (Amazon) and minor tensions in Central Quyca (Central America) and Northern Quyca (North America), but this... this was different. The Triple Alliance was no disorganized tribe; it was an empire that had just spilled Suaza blood.
Observing the faces of Michuá, the Chancellor, and the officers, I felt a bittersweet surprise. I saw no doubt, nor the fear I felt about starting a war. I saw a fierce determination—a hardness that seemed to have been restrained for a long time out of respect for my pacifist policies. My men had always been warriors; they had only been waiting for their leader to grant them permission to be so.
Patience has its limits, I thought, feeling a shiver of both relief and dread. If I do not set clear boundaries now, these people could become addicted to martial victory. And that is the last thing this world needs.
I cleared my throat and, in a tone that brooked no argument, began to detail the new protocols.
"First," I said, pointing to the red marks on the Mexica border. "We will establish a system of random rotating surveillance. I want no fixed patterns for the enemy to study. Patrols will range around each fort, maintaining a perimeter of several kilometers. Those in charge of each garrison will have the autonomy to modify routes based on terrain and the unexpected. They will not catch us off guard in an open village again."
The officers nodded. It was a logical measure; one many had already suggested in hushed tones. But the next point was what would truly change the rules of the game.
"We are going to form mobile battalions," I continued, and the air in the room seemed to vibrate. "They will not be static garrisons. These groups will include our new cavalry—which, thanks to the 'payment' in horses and equipment from the Kingdoms of Spain and England for their participation in the Sunset Expedition, now has the numbers required to increase our mounted strength. These riders will operate alongside our Explorers and regular soldiers."
I explained that the primary objective of these battalions would not be conquest, but assistance. If an independent lordship found itself entangled in the Mexica war—as they undoubtedly would—the Suaza Kingdom would intervene without seeking permission. We would aid first and offer constant protection after.
My secret plan, the one I did not share aloud, was to fragment the forces of the Triple Alliance. If we forced them to fight on ten different fronts to subjugate small villages protected by us, their war machine would collapse under its own weight. And if a village risked being razed, we would simply evacuate and settle them in our lands, depriving the Mexica of tribute, labor, and cannon fodder.
The atmosphere in the hall shifted. The generals were enthralled. We would no longer be on the defensive, waiting for the blow; now, we would define where and when the blood would be spilled.
For the next thirty minutes, the hall became a hive of technical analysis. Michuá and the lieutenants proposed changes in squad numbers and discussed the logistics of supplying mobile battalions. We selected elite soldiers for the cavalry units and allocated resources. I even offered new elements from the Department of Innovation: weapons, armor, and auxiliary gear.
Before closing the session, I raised my hand for silence.
"One final warning," I said, my voice turning icy. "The use of the Gatazas (arquebuses) and Juracán (cannons)—our firearms—remains strictly prohibited outside our sovereign borders. Their purpose is purely defensive within Suaza territory."
I saw faces of disappointment and concern, but before anyone could protest, I added: "However, the mobile battalions will not go unarmed. They will be equipped with the finest light-alloy armor and new types of weaponry researched by the Department of Innovation. They do not need gunpowder to prove we are superior."
As the meeting dissolved, I signaled Michuá to remain. The echo of the departing officers' footsteps still rang in the corridor when I approached him.
"Michuá, I have other orders for you," I said, keeping my face stern. "Orders that do not involve this front."
The General waited expectantly, his posture impeccable.
"Until now, our support for the Tlaxcalans has been purely commercial. That ends today… From this moment on, the Suaza Kingdom will send them direct resources, weapons of our own making, and, most importantly, intelligence gathered by the Shadows."
Michuá blinked, surprised by the aggression of the shift. He looked at me as if searching for the child he once knew, but found only the ruler.
"They attacked us, Michuá," I concluded, turning my back to look at the map. "They have lost our respect. There is no longer a need to remain 'friendly' with those who despise our peace."
Two weeks later.
The climate changed drastically. From the humid heat of the Mesoamerican frontier, I passed into the salt breeze and cosmopolitan bustle of Dawn City, on the largest of the Floating Islands.
Dawn City had become the beating heart of the Great Quyca. In just two years, what was once an outpost had transformed into one of the five largest cities in the Kingdom.
Upon disembarking at the port, I was struck with wonder despite my worries. Thousands of people moved with an electric energy. I saw migrants from every corner of the realm and beyond, seeking the prosperity of this great metropolis.
In the deep waters of the harbor, the banners of Spain, England, and Portugal fluttered from the masts of European ships—slightly smaller than our Tequendama vessels. It was the splendor of a civilization I had dreamed of, and though the war with the Mexica remained a shadow in my mind, seeing the success of Dawn City brought me a different kind of peace.
The people recognized me instantly. A friendly crowd formed, a sea of smiling faces wanting to touch my clothes or simply greet the "Young Leader." Civil security soldiers, in their clean uniforms and with kind faces, formed a secure lane so I could proceed toward the Council House.
There, in the Chancellor's office, Zasaba awaited me. The man who held the invisible threads of the kingdom greeted me with formal courtesy while his assistants were present. But as soon as the door closed and we were alone, the facade crumbled. Zasaba rose quickly, offering me his primary seat.
"I decline," I said, sitting in the guest chair. "You are the Chancellor here, Zasaba. I am but a troubled traveler."
We shared a tacit silence for a few seconds. Zasaba, in his neutral and efficient tone, was the first to speak.
"I heard of the attack, Young Chuta. We were also informed that things have changed on the border."
I grew solemn, interlacing my fingers over my knees. The twelve-year-old boy had vanished; in his place was the soul from the future who knew that diplomacy had failed.
"Yes, things have changed radically," I nodded. "We will need Nezahualpilli to become active in Texcoco. The Triple Alliance must begin to rot from within. I need the Shadows to contact him immediately."
I paused, remembering one of our finest agents.
"But Menasuca will not be involved in this plan. His identity as a Painalli is too valuable to risk by revealing it to Nezahualpilli, who is his own father-in-law. We want the King of Texcoco to feel he is dealing with the Suaza Kingdom, not an infiltrated spy. It is time to remind the Alliance that the 'Thunder' is not our only weapon."
Zasaba nodded, his eyes gleaming with the understanding of one who knows that the spy network we built together was about to be tested like never before. The board was set; the war for the Great Quyca would no longer be fought with steel alone, but with the Shadows I myself had cast upon the world.
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[A/N: CHAPTER COMPLETED
Hello everyone.
First, I hope you're all doing well, that you enjoyed the chapter, and that you more or less understood where we left off with Chuta and his decisions.
In case the chapter wasn't clear, especially regarding the locations, I was thinking of adding author's notes to clarify some things at appropriate moments. But I'll only add them if you want them.
Just to clarify, Chuta was first in the attacked village, then traveled to the coastal city, and finally ended up in Dawn City.
Second, as I mentioned in previous chapters, Chuta, with that exploratory trip and the triggering event of the baby being in danger, had changed his way of thinking about the war a bit.
Essentially, he'll use the Carrot and Stick approach.
Although the carrot will always come first, and then the stick.
By the way, the name: Nepantla Village. Nepantla in Nahuatl literally means 'In the middle'. As you may recall (I doubt it), this village was the hub for many of the Suaza products traded with the Mexica since the year 8.
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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.]