Capturing Captives

The setting sun spilled across the vast Forest Sea, clouds stained crimson rising and falling like waves. The sky was as clean as a tranquil lake, and a thin wisp of cooking smoke rose alone.

Beneath the smoke stood a crude settlement, huts scattered about, built from branches and tall grass. Dozens of tribespeople wearing only leather skirts gathered around the central fire pit. They cooked, laughed, talked, and roughhoused. Soon, the air filled with the fragrance of corn, wild vegetables, and the meat of unknown animals.

Twelve-year-old Xolotl stood deep within the forest. The boy watched the distant settlement in silence, thinking quietly. He knew what was about to happen.

He had refined features, black hair, black eyes, yellow skin, and a clean little face. On his head sat a pointed conical cap, while he wore a dark green vest that could wrap around his entire body. A brown loincloth was tied around his small belly, its hanging flap covering his private parts. On his feet were little deerskin shoes. It was an exquisite outfit utterly unlike those of the tribespeople.

In his right hand, he held a foot-long Obsidian Dagger. A small shield was bound to his left arm. Though the shield was small, it was enough to cover his little body. Most eye-catching of all was a specially made obsidian necklace that hung from his neck to his chest, clearly a symbol of important status.

Young Xolotl looked ahead. A group of fierce, powerful warriors could be faintly seen amid the shadows of the trees.

The warriors wore green leather armor that outlined the powerful lines of their upper bodies. Their cuffs and trouser hems were dyed red, and they wore the same loincloths below, with pointed leather caps on their heads. Most were barefoot, ropes tied around their waists. In their left hands, they gripped half-meter wooden shields covered in hide and carved with terrifying patterns. In their right hands, they held obsidian-studded wooden clubs over a meter long, though the sharp inserts had already been removed.

At that moment, the warriors crouched in silence like beasts of the jungle, dangerous and excited light flickering in their eyes.

Perhaps sensing Xolotl's gaze, two warriors rose and silently approached. The leading warrior was in his thirties or forties and exceptionally powerfully built. Red and green stripes were painted across his face. He wore a savage jaguar-head helmet, bright feathers draping from the back onto his yellow, patterned leather armor. He looked like a ferocious beast walking upright.

He was an elite of the Mexica Alliance, the leader of a twenty-man squad—a Jaguar noble warrior.

The Jaguar Warrior walked before Xolotl and instructed him solemnly.

"Xolotl, we're about to attack. This is your first time in battle, so you don't need to charge with us. Stay on the outskirts. If you see any Wildmen trying to escape, tell Tercer. If you spot a suitable opponent, you can go up too. Use your shield and knife well!"

"Remember! You don't need to capture captives. Don't hold back!"

After saying that, he turned and instructed the young warrior beside him.

"Tercer, you know Xolotl's identity. Stay close to him! Don't let him face the wrong opponent. If he can handle it, don't interfere either. This is his first battle. Let his hands taste blood. I'll bring you two captives."

Finally, the Jaguar Warrior nodded to Xolotl. He grinned, revealing teeth that gleamed coldly, then silently departed once more.

The young warrior Tercer was around twenty, quite strong in build, with well-developed muscles. Having received such a task of looking after a novice, he squatted beside Xolotl in disappointment and sighed helplessly.

"Xolotl, I'll stay by your side the whole time. Later, you can find a lone little Wildman or an old Wildman and get some practice."

"Tercer, why are we taking the initiative to attack these tribespeople? They haven't threatened us."

Resistance filled Xolotl's eyes. Memories unlike anyone else's had always lingered in his mind. Though those memories had begun to blur, the values of several centuries in the future still stubbornly survived in his heart, within this cruel age of the jungle.

"Uh, why?"

Tercer scratched his head, thinking of why their squad had come out.

"Because... the new Tlatoani, Mexica King Tizoc, has just ascended the throne in Tenochtitlan, the Lake Capital! We need more offerings for the sacrifices at his coronation ceremony!"

"Then why does the Alliance sacrifice so many lives during its rituals?"

"Because... that's what the gods like!"

Just then, a ringing eagle cry suddenly tore through the sky. Then dozens of swift figures burst from the forest, howling.

"Roar! Roar!"

Terrifying howls erupted from the warriors' mouths as they surrounded the settlement from all directions. A "jaguar" charged at the very front, the stripes on his jaguar hide flashing and dancing as his heavy obsidian club moved like leaping lightning.

With a light strike, he knocked a young Wildman unconscious. Then, with a backhand blow to another man's waist and belly, he sent him collapsing to the ground, rolling about in pain. The other warriors continued to gain results as well. Though the tribespeople outnumbered the warriors four or five to one, the battle was a one-sided slaughter.

The short spears hastily raised by the tribal warriors were nimbly dodged, leaving only shallow marks across the warriors' leather armor. But the answering club strikes were fierce and powerful, knocking men down with a single blow.

Several tribal hunters began shooting as well. They fired homemade Bone Arrows from crude Hunting Bows, embedding them in the leather armor of several warriors. This was their final effective resistance. The hunters who fired were quickly singled out and knocked down by drawn warriors.

The battle that followed became a one-sided pursuit and capture. The tribespeople fled in every direction. The warriors either chased them down or took out ropes to bind the captives they found satisfactory. A veteran warrior began poking the fire from the fire pit toward the thatched huts. Before long, firelight and weeping stained the sunset clouds, like a prelude to the night.

"Xolotl, let's go too!"

The young warrior Tercer followed behind him and urged him in a low voice. Xolotl stared blankly at the firelight of the village, at the flickering figures before his eyes. Cries and laughter seemed both near and far. Then a thin figure suddenly darted out from ahead, each footfall carrying ragged, violent gasps as he charged directly toward Xolotl.

"Watch out!"

An urgent shout came from behind. The figure ahead had clearly noticed Xolotl as well. Without hesitation, he raised the sharp wooden spear in his hand and thrust it straight at the Mexica boy before him.

Xolotl's vision blurred. His left hand instinctively raised his shield, and the wooden spear scraped over the thick hide covering and slid aside. The movements drilled into him over two years of forced training had already been carved into his muscles, flowing like clouds and running water. Then he stepped forward, thrust out his right hand, and drove the dagger deep into something soft. Warm liquid quickly soaked his small palm.

The figure before him froze at once. The wooden spear struck the shield again weakly, then once more, its strength swiftly fading.

Only then did Xolotl clearly see the person before him: a disheveled tribal boy. He was painfully thin, clearly malnourished for a long time, full one meal and hungry the next. He was only fifteen or sixteen. Before dying, he fixed Xolotl with eyes full of hatred.

Soon, the boy's pupils slowly scattered. His body went limp, and he slid off the dagger. He fell helplessly before Xolotl, yet those lifeless eyes still stared fixedly at him.

Seeing that unclosed, dead-eyed stare, Xolotl felt as if something had struck him. He staggered back a step, the dagger slipping from his right hand to the ground, his knees suddenly going weak. Then a pair of strong hands reached from behind and steadily held the boy by the shoulders.

"Ha-ha! Not bad!"

Tercer nodded and praised him with a smile.

"Your shield raise and thrust flowed together in one breath. Very skillful! Looks like the commander and captain trained you well!"

"Ah..."

Warm liquid ran down the back of his hand, then dripped down drop by drop. Xolotl trembled slightly, his eyes unfocused. Reality tore apart his peaceful past, as if waking him from a dream he had been immersed in and unwilling to leave. This was the first time he had stained his hands with blood as a warrior, killing a man as though cutting grass. Yet in this life, he was only twelve years old. Even his body had not fully grown.

"Congratulations, Xolotl! Once your hands have tasted blood, you're a qualified Mexica Warrior! Battle is the greatest glory, the greatest joy. Of course, so is sacrifice! Once we capture a few more offerings, we can wait for this year's coronation ceremony. Tsk, tsk. Those wonderful sacrificial rites then will truly be something to look forward to!"

The young warrior Tercer wore an innocent smile, joy shining in his eyes. In his heart, fighting, killing, capturing captives, and sacrifice were the duty and daily life of an Aztec warrior.

"Aztecs... blood, sacrifice, and death..."

Xolotl murmured absentmindedly as countless memories flashed through his mind. During the past twelve years, a child's brain had been unable to bear a mature soul, and he had always remained in the state of a true boy. But now, under stimulation unlike anything he had experienced before, within his rapidly growing body, fragments of memory began to reorganize and gather. His purified mind would swiftly recover. A tremendous change was about to come—for him, and for the world!

"Xolotl, what are you saying? Speak louder, I can't hear you!"

Tercer scratched his hair and helplessly shook his head as he looked at the still-dazed boy.

"Forget it. It's normal to feel a little dizzy after tasting blood for the first time. I was like that my first time too. Of course, you're younger. Oh, it looks like the captain's side has finished up. Let's hurry over."

With that, Tercer picked up the bloodstained dagger and tucked it into Xolotl's waist. Then he half-pulled the boy along, walking quickly toward the "jaguar."

Behind them, a boy's corpse lay slanted in the grass, his lifeless eyes gazing at the sky. The evening glow gradually faded, and darkness swallowed him at once, burying him beneath wild grass in the savage mountains and forests of the Americas.

A word about the setting: 1. A protagonist who grows. He would encounter danger and setbacks, continuously experience, think, clash, change, and become stronger. From an ignorant and fearless, kind-hearted, pure, innocent boy, he would gradually grow into a king who had walked through mountains of corpses and seas of blood, whose heart was like iron and stone, and whose eyes had seen all the vicissitudes of life.

2. Reincarnation. The passage of souls lay near the Pyramid of the Moon. The protagonist's soul could reincarnate there again and again. But at a price: with every reincarnation, part of his memories and emotions would blur, and part of his mind would regress into childhood, allowing him to be reborn. However, if he died far from the Pyramid of the Moon, it would be a permanent death. Likewise, once Europeans destroyed the Pyramid of the Moon, he would lose the ability to reincarnate. Of course, he himself did not know any of this.

3. Rebirth. At the start of this book, the protagonist was in his second reincarnation. In his first reincarnation, he died at birth, and before his mind could develop, it directly regressed. Therefore, at this point, he could be regarded as a true twelve-year-old boy, kind and sincere at heart, but carrying memories from a later age.

Please keep reading patiently. Cat Cat's writing will definitely not disappoint you!