บท 20: Chapter 19 Funeral
The setting sun faded into the West, returning to the end of the Divine Kingdom. The rosy glow of the sky also vanished, just like the dissipating breath of life.
Then darkness approached, swallowing the crimson earth, burying all cruelty, marking the end of the hunt.
Scattered bonfires ignited beneath the hills. The Samurai counted their spoils of war, while Aweit and Casal discussed the casualties from the recent battle.
The fight had taken the lives of over three hundred Mexica Samurai and injured over seven hundred. The majority of casualties occurred during the phase when they were besieged on the mountaintop, especially on the semi-encircled flank of the Samurai. Balda's assault squad suffered minimal losses, and Casal's Jaguar warriors had not lost a single life.
The more elite the unit, the more cautiously they were used, often only in decisive strikes, while avoiding protracted battle as much as possible.
The Otomi people suffered heavy losses. Prior to the great rout, roughly three to four hundred warriors were lost, and during the dispersal, troops on the mountain were annihilated in groups, resulting in fifteen to sixteen hundred dead and injured within half an hour. The subsequent hunt captured seven to eight hundred more.
Of the warriors at the mountaintop, only slightly over a thousand managed to escape, their ranks completely decimated, their formation irreparably broken. Even if those who fled were lucky enough to return to Otapan City, it would take several months of rest for them to recover any fighting capacity.
Jiowar still managed to flee, leading the very last battalion of warriors. In the forests local to the Otomi people, once they slipped away into the woods, it was like mice scurrying back into their burrows, vanishing without a trace.
The statistics on the Militia were even more roughly estimated. On the mountaintop, the Otomi Militia trapped with the Samurai bore the brunt of the carnage, nearly half of them falling. The Militia engaged by Balda also suffered significant losses. The four thousand Militia who had circled around to contain the enemy managed to escape quickly, sustaining minimal losses. As for the last two slinger battalions, these seasoned Hunters only hastily launched two inaccurate volleys of stones before retreating into the forest ahead of the Jaguar warriors' charge.
Overall, the Militia lost just over two thousand men and saw another two thousand captured. However, it's likely that the scattered Militia simply fled directly back to their homes, no longer participating in the subsequent war.
"The weakest in combat, the Militia, always incur the smallest losses in every battle, never exceeding thirty percent. Xiulote, do you know why?" Aweit asked with twinkling eyes.
"Is it because every time, they break and flee after losing twenty percent?" Xiulote guessed with a smile.
"You're correct. But there's another reason," Avini laughed. "They carry the least gear, so no one can catch up when they run."
"Haha," Xiulote laughed. On the American Continent without Cavalry, the Militia did have this advantage, much like the Japanese foot soldiers, easy to flee.
Xiulote soon found it difficult to laugh. The bodies of over three hundred Mexica Samurai were neatly laid out in a freshly dug large pit. He looked at their frozen expressions, many of whom he had only met yesterday, today they lay companions with the yellow soil. Life was so unpredictable, stirring deep emotions within him.
The remainder of the warriors were even more moved, having spent days and nights together, now abruptly parted. Since the battle was won, a funeral was needed to console the living.
In the Theocratic Era, Priests enjoyed supreme authority but also carried the burden of being the bridge between humans and gods. It was their unavoidable duty to conduct rites for Heaven and Earth, pray for good harvests, and guide the deceased.
The Samurai looked to Xiulote expectantly, and Aweit gave him an encouraging smile with a wink. Xiulote sighed deeply.
The young man then recalled the rituals taught by his grandfather, donned a long Feather Crown, draped himself in a black Tengu Costume, raised the Divine Staff, built an altar on the hills, and then ignited a raging bonfire.
The name Xiulotel, symbolizing death and rebirth, was fittingly congruent with the current time.
The warriors positioned themselves below the altar. The mournful sound of drums began to play, paired with the yearning notes of flutes, giving rise to a nocturnal elegy.
"The earth trembled, the Mexica people began to sing." A young figure danced on the altar, his clear voice shouting, beseeching the gods for a response, guiding the souls of the departed.
Below the altar, thousands of warriors stripped off their shirts, commencing a frenzied dance, the warriors' dance. Then, the flickering bonfire shone, trembling and shaking the ground.
This was the dance.
"He made the Jaguar join him in his dance,
To witness the ebb and flow, the resting of life.
He stood atop the wings of the Divine Eagle, shouting,
Weep, Mexica people!
The battlefield is thus,
The place where we honor the gods with Holy Blood!
"
The warriors' steps grew more urgent, the sound of drums like rain, accompanied by the cries of the Jaguar and the Divine Eagle, as if they emerged from an ancient Wilderness.
In their footsteps, the Jaguar warriors quietly departed and returned with the agonized moans of many injured, a thousand captives with hindered movement, laid out around the edge of the large pit.
This was the preparation.
"The Divine Eagle stained red with blood,
The Jaguar roars in the face of death.
War Armor shattered,
Long crowns discarded.
Precious gemstones like rain fell,
Vibrant Feathers ablaze.
Samurai's bodies broken,
Lost in the blood,
Returned to the dust.
"
The warriors danced forgetfully, the earth-shaking drumbeats and footsteps masking the moans of life's departure. Warm fluids poured forth, submerging the bodies of the fallen in the pit, fulfilling the sacred words of the prayer.
This was the sacrifice.
"In the world, nothing is sacred,
like death on the battlefield,
as brilliant as the blooming of flowers!
We repay the Chief Divine who bestowed life,
with the vitality that has passed:
Huitzilopochtli,
Huitzilopochtli!
Huitzilopochtli!!!
"
The samurai halted their steps, prostrated on the warm earth, and called out the name of the Guardian God in unison. Thus, they did so thrice.
This was the calling of the gods.
"City of the Gods,
Teotihuacan,
is also the Tomb of the Gods,
a bridge that connects life and death.
My heart longs for it,
yet it is beyond my reach.
In this place the departed awaken,
in this place the departed rise,
in this place the departed live,
in this place the departed find peace.
This is the Chief Divine's promise,
and we pray for the departed.
The god has arrived!
"
The warriors beneath the divine altar suddenly burst into a clamor, praying loudly, shouting the names of the departed, speaking their last farewells, and then, suddenly, silence.
This was farewell.
"The god has arrived!
Escorting the souls of the departed,
to the red kingdom.
And then the god said:
You have awakened.
Behold the red sky,
behold the red dawn,
behold the red curassow,
behold the red swift.
The butterflies have flown.
"
Above and below the platform, there was silence. The warriors buried all traces. Only the distant sound of the drum and the blessed ocarina remained.
This was rebirth.
Xiulote extinguished the bonfire, and the sky to the East gradually revealed the first glimmers of dawn.
The warriors gazed at the distant Morning Star, which was the sustenance of their spirit. In this era, the souls of people dwelled above the Nine Heavens, below the Nine Netherworlds, and not among the living.
Subsequently, one after another, the samurai climbed the hill, cut a lock of their hair, and placed it beside Xiulote.
Xiulote looked on in surprise at these samurai. He knew that this was a high honor, signifying the samurai's allegiance and their willingness to fight for him.
The funeral was over, and dawn had arrived.
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