The sun hung overhead, scattering a scorching radiance; heads hung high, dripping beads of blood. Beneath light and crimson, more than ten thousand Tlaxcalan captives were terrified and uneasy, forced to gather in the center of the village. Sharp spearpoints closed in from every direction. Powerful warriors showed merciless killing intent. Even in the humid air, the scent of death seemed to permeate everything.
"Tlaxcalan! The Main God's Divine Force is the sun, is flame, is light! He shines upon all things on the earth from the highest clouds! And all who resist, rebel, disbelieve, and do evil have only one road—to death!"
Pimon gripped his long spear and stood before several hundred warriors, facing the tens of thousands of frightened Moth People. His expression was cold and stern as he shouted, word by word, in not very fluent Nahua Language.
"His Majesty is moving you to the south of the kingdom! There, you will receive new fields, new thatched huts. You will have plentiful food and receive the Main God's protection! And so long as you dare to fight and slaughter bravely, even lowly Moth People will have the chance to rise to warriors, even become nobles! This bright future is all His Majesty's grace, and also the God of War's promise!"
Hearing this, the Tlaxcalan fell silent, complex looks appearing on their faces. Most of them were used to obedience, feared the Mexica People's military force, and did not dare hold too many expectations. Likewise, the Mexica His Highness, in the name of the Death God, had also brought them a hazy awe.
However, when the noble Cloud Snake divine descendants called on the captives to riot, many young and strong tribesmen still joined in muddleheadedly. The divine rule of the nobles had truly lasted too long; how