The great tent was simple and spacious, ringed with bright feathers. Everyone sat on the ground, drinking the vanilla beverage that was ruinously expensive in the Old World, and for a time no one spoke.
The youth Dark Snake sat in a corner, holding a cup of vanilla cacao and sipping it in tiny mouthfuls. Here and now, of course, there was no place for him to speak; he could only wait patiently. He stared blankly at the blue paper painting of the Main God on the ground. The supreme Main God stood atop Snake Mountain, surrounded by gods who had either died in battle or submitted. And a huge Feathered Serpent lay at the Main God's feet, being flayed and sinewed with an Obsidian dagger.
At the sight, the youth Dark Snake shuddered, lowered his eyes, and did not dare look again. In these years, the faith of the Aztec was spreading violently through the world in the footsteps of Mexica Warriors! Every city-state that was conquered had to hold a grand conversion ceremony: drink down blood-wine, cut off their hair, and offer their souls to the God of War. And those who refused to swear the blood oath and convert would be sacrificed and put to death without mercy.
"Cruel Aztec. They don't just want to conquer the body, but the soul as well, to change the whole world completely! And every warrior who dares resist is destroyed without mercy. Wuwu! This terrifying tide, this blood-red color across the world—when will it ever end!"
The youth Dark Snake, descendant of the Cloud Snake god, was sunk in gloom and said nothing with his head lowered. Across from him, Silver Crow chieftain Papata was stroking his chin, also thinking.
As a distant vassal of the Mexica Alliance, the Huastec