Aztec Eternals

With the sound of an unusually sharp conch horn, on every wall, the warriors and militiamen suddenly half leaned out and shot death arrows viciously. They half-drawn the new-style longbows, and shot sharp copper arrows, piercing the cotton armor of the running warriors. They fully drew the traditional single wooden bows, and let out fangs and bone arrows, piercing the heads and faces of the stagnant warriors.

Giova under the city held up his shield and looked up. Afterwards, his pupils shrank, his body subconsciously squatted down, and he raised his shield over his head. Thousands of Tarasco archers fired their arrows at the same time, and a wave of deadly arrows suddenly shot out from the top of the city, roaring through the air. The shield in Giova's hand squeaked again and again, and then there was an obvious stabbing pain in his shoulder, obviously he had been hit by an arrow. Several guards beside him rolled to the ground like gourds, covered their heads and faces with screams, and struggled to be shot into hedgehogs.

Almost at the same moment, hundreds of Tarasco militiamen half stood up and shouted. They raised their arms, took aim for a while, and threw pointed wooden spears as long as their arms and round stones the size of fists down the city wall. The wooden spear was condescending, and accompanied by the dull sound of the wind, it mercilessly penetrated into the warrior's body, pinning them all to the ground. The thick stone continued to accelerate, and with an irresistible force, it slammed on the warrior's leather helmet, knocking down both the man and the helmet.

Giova crouched on the ground, hiding his body directly behind the large shield, no longer caring about watching the battle. There was a violent collision sound "bang bang", and the screams of the guards were endless, and then quickly became weaker. In the current siege battle, the leather armor on his body seemed so weak. Even for a strong warrior, death can come at any time, and withering is only a moment.

Not far away, Xiulot could see more clearly without blinking. This long-prepared volley cleared a blank space in an instant, nailing hundreds of Otomi warriors to death!

The young commander quickly waved the flag, and the same sharp sound of the conch horn sounded, and more than a thousand Mexica crossbowmen shot arrows at the top of the city together. Feather arrows and crossbow bolts were like a raging torrent, knocking down the weeds on the top of the city in a moment.

A capable Tarasco warrior held a longbow with a fierce expression on his face. With a distance of forty steps, he shot an arrow precisely into the cheek of the Ottopan warrior, and immediately became the target of the archers in the city. The stalwart warrior was about to take another arrow, but his movements suddenly stopped, and then he let go of his hand feebly, letting the copper arrow in his hand fall.

A bone arrow pierced through his unprotected chin, and with the sound of "puchi" resounding from the flesh, it obliquely pierced through his mouth. The unbearable pain came instantly, and the samurai didn't die immediately, but was still trying to open his mouth in vain. Then, another crossbow roared, piercing the warrior's chest. He knelt down in an instant, his hands still struggling. It wasn't until an extremely precise arrow pierced the eye, two inches deep, that he was finally freed, and fell backwards on the wall.

Four or five Tarasco militia shooters were close together. Dressed in commoner clothes, they squeezed their arrows between the narrow shield gaps and shouted to shoot down the enemy. More than 20 feathered arrows came following the shouts, most of which were blocked by the shield, bringing the continuous "bang bang" sound.

Only four or five long arrows pierced through different gaps, and then penetrated into the weak body without stopping. The long arrows at close range were powerful, unstoppable by the cloth and flesh and blood, and passed through the body directly, stringing the militiamen together with a "chi chi", and the blood immediately mingled. The militiamen cried out in pain and struggled hard, but they were still unable to separate. They just tore open their wounds, bleeding more bright red, and then solidified into a group of static sculptures.

And the brave Tarasco militiaman raised his right arm high and threw a powerful short spear. As soon as the short spear was shot, the powerful crossbow bolts were thrown into the vital points of his exposed chest, and he fell down the city wall without saying a word. In the last moment of his life, he saw only his spear hit the target and plunged into a charging Ottopan warrior. The other party staggered and took two steps, then fell headlong, his face buried in the soil. Then, the brave militiamen also smashed down the dust, two steps away from the warrior who fell to the ground with the spear, head to head, and died together silently.

Xiulot nodded expressionlessly. The shooting Tarascos were difficult to cover completely, and this wave of arrow rain at close range also took away nearly a hundred defenders. The projectile firepower at the top of the city stagnated, and the archers hid their bodies again. They shot down the city intermittently from the gap between the wooden sign and the earthen platform, and their accuracy was greatly weakened.

The fierce drumming never stopped, Ottopan's warriors roared and charged, and finally came under the top of the city. More than a dozen warriors desperately built a heavy wooden ladder to the bluestone city wall, and they could climb the city.

The Tarascos on the top of the city poked their heads out again. Under the strong urging of the warriors who supervised the battle, the militiamen suddenly threw clay pots of different sizes, and then threw down heavy wood and stones. The clay pot fell to the top of the city, bursting violently, releasing a piece of gray powder. The Ottopan warriors below the city let out a scream that didn't sound like a human voice, covered their eyes with their hands, and rolled on the ground in pain. This is exactly the raw and slaked lime that is common in volcanic areas and has been used for many years in construction and agricultural production.

The warriors under the city turned their eyes away, let go of their hands, and ran around in a daze. Then the wooden ladder fell to the ground at a slant, directly crushing the two warriors. The wood and rocks at the top of the city also fell with a "boom", smashing several warriors into a ball on the ground, and the ground was quickly dyed red and gray.

Witnessing this tragic scene, the nearby archers quickly adjusted and began to give priority to shooting the militiamen throwing clay pots. On the city wall, a Tarasco militiaman frantically shouted the name of God, raised the clay pot in his hand, and was about to smash it down. Several feathered arrows arrived with a "swoosh", shooting him from top to bottom. The militiaman suddenly fell back, and could no longer lift the clay pot filled with lime, and the pot slipped down silently.

Behind him, several militiamen from the same village turned pale with fright, and pushed him back without hesitation. The fanatical militiamen brought the slipped clay pots and fell from a height of six meters together, and then bloomed on the ground with a "bang", bringing out a white mist that scattered in all directions. The shrill screams sounded from below the city, but it was the Ottopan warriors who were suddenly blind.

Just as the militiamen in the city breathed a sigh of relief, the whistling feather arrows struck again, nailing most of the militiamen to death, and only one escaped by chance. The militiamen who escaped were heartbroken and lay motionless in the pool of blood on the top of the city, unwilling to stand up and defend the city again. When the warrior overseeing the battle saw this gap, he waved his bronze spear and drove the next batch of militiamen to the city. Then, without hesitation, he ordered that the last militiaman be thrown into the city together with the corpse of the same village. Soon, there was a final scream in the city.

The crossbowmen of the earth platform and the shield car strongly suppressed it, and the archers of the nest car cleaned up on a fixed-point basis. Soon, several sections of chaotic city walls appeared on the left side of the southern city. Hundreds of Ottopan warriors finally built wooden ladders and climbed up these chaotic gaps. In just a dozen breaths, dozens of warriors climbed to the top of the wall, shouting excitedly. They waved their shields, resisted the stabbing copper spears, and then struck out their batons, fighting with the large Tarasco militiamen.

Shulot's eyes lit up, and his face showed anticipation. He waved the command flag, and the tall and strong temple guards lined up, ready to go to support at any time. Then, the crossbowmen on the high platform received orders one after another, and concentrated shots on both sides of the city walls, crucifying a group of militiamen.

On the top of the wall, a Tarasco militiaman was shot in the head suddenly, died on his back, and the Tlaxcala wooden bow in his hand fell aside. Two steps away, the young militiaman Wei Ziti's eyes were red, and he was about to reach for the wooden bow. Then with a "bang", he was hit hard on the forehead, interrupting his movements suddenly.

"Stupid wood! Don't take that wooden bow, you're dead!"

The accent of his hometown came from behind Wezti, awakening him from the urge to fight. The young militiaman squatted and turned around, and saw the familiar old militiaman Chihuaco. The old militiaman also squatted down, pushing a chest-sized stone in his hands. There is a thick wooden shield on his head, which is firmly tied to his chin with a sisal rope, like a turtle with a shell.

"Uncle, where did you get this shield? Aren't there gentlemen's helmets over there?"

Wezti shook his dizzy head, and carefully looked at Chivako's appearance. Last time, the old militiamen took them all the way to escape from the battlefield. They even rowed for three days and returned to the fortress one step ahead of the marshal. Since then, the old militiaman has been promoted to the leader in everyone's mind, a convincing old uncle.

The sound of fierce fighting was flying all over the sky, and the "swish" arrows passed through the top of their heads. Chivaco shuddered, looked left and right, but didn't see the samurai master. He just said in a low voice.

"Don't wear a man's helmet, and don't wear a man's leather armor, the Mexica just stares at that outfit and shoots! Go find a shield, or put a clay pot on it. Then come with me, squat Push the stone down!"

Wezti vaguely understood something. He bent down, found an empty clay pot and put it on his head, and then pushed the stone with the old militiaman.

Soon, the supporting samurai gentlemen climbed to the top of the city with spears in their expressions. They hurried past and rushed towards the city wall on the other side of the river, loudly driving away the militiamen along the way. The arrows whistling under the city also shot straight at the top of the city over there, bringing down teams of defenders from time to time.

Chivaco pressed the stone in his hand and looked carefully in his eyes.

He watched the brutal fighting not far away, dozens of lean warriors kept rushing to the top of the city, fighting with the supporting masters. From time to time, people screamed and fell to the ground, either outside the city or inside the city. There was like a fire for cooking soup, and the gentlemen on both sides were like firewood thrown in, constantly boiling the city, making blood splash like boiling soup.

The old militiaman shuddered again. He took out the blood-stained herbal medicine bag and took two deep breaths. The medicinal smell of the medicine bag became weaker and weaker, but the smell of blood increased a lot. But somehow, the gesture calmed him down.

When the old militiaman came back to his senses, he saw that Wezti was already one step ahead of him, and was about to push the big stone off the city wall. He was so angry that he grabbed the trousers of the young militiaman and pulled him to the ground.

"Weizti, come back to me! Are you stupid?! Are you really going to throw this big rock down? Open your eyes and take a look, this is the only big one nearby. After pushing it down, the old man will have to force Now that you are shooting arrows and throwing spears, push them back!"

The young militiaman was taken aback for a moment. He looked around, there was a lot of fighting around, and the gentlemen passed by in a hurry, and no one cared about it. Afterwards, he obediently pushed the big rock back, and together with the old militiamen, he made a squatting motion to push the rock.

"Uncle, the Mexica are very fierce today, do you think we can hold on?"

In the fierce fighting on the top of the city, the old militiamen squatted down and looked around while looking around. He said casually.

"Now all the young masters are newcomers. The hundreds of old masters behind are waiting under the city wall. Today's situation is estimated to be able to hold. But seeing the vicious momentum of the Mexica, the future Ah, I'm afraid I can't bear it for long!"

Having said that, the old militiaman sighed and muttered to himself.

"Why can't the rocket I picked up become a fire demon? Otherwise, ask the nobles for a job as a water gate guard, so that you can survive at critical moments!"

Not long after I came back last time, some noble lords came down and reorganized the militiamen. The old militiaman Chihuaco took the opportunity to offer the rocket he had picked up.

The gentlemen were overjoyed, and took the rocket to study it again and again, opened the round paper shell in the middle, and identified the charcoal powder inside, and what "dead man's stone" was. Then the gentlemen dried the damp powder and set it on fire carefully. As a result, this thing is actually no different from ordinary charcoal powder, even if it burns normally, it produces very choking smoke, and it doesn't suddenly burst into a ball of fire.

Chivaco couldn't figure it out, and neither could the gentlemen, so the promised reward was gone. The old militiaman was just promoted to be a small militia leader, in charge of more than a dozen militiamen, and then threw them to the most fierce Nancheng, becoming a group in the firewood pile. In just over ten days, almost all the militiamen under him were dead, and now there are only a few obedient fellow villagers left, fishing together at the top of the city.

The old militiaman was pondering carefully, but in the rain of "swooshing" arrows, he heard Wezti's terrified call.

"Uncle, Uncle! The Mexica are coming up!"

Chivako shuddered and looked forward. At some point, another group of thin warriors stepped forward, picked up the fallen wooden ladder, and built it again towards the top of the city. Accompanied by the actions of the warriors, the rain of arrows from behind crossed the city head first, passed through his prostrate back, and directly shot the militiamen behind him to death.

The old militiaman had cold hands and feet, and his face was pale. In a critical moment, he showed unimaginable agility, crawled backwards with his hands and legs, and shouted in his mouth, "I'm going to get the stone, everyone, hit it down!"

Wezti was obedient and the first to push the boulder down, directly smashing an Ottopan warrior into the soil. The wooden ladder at the bottom of the city swayed, and then climbed towards the top of the city again.

The militiamen behind rushed forward, threw a short spear at the wooden ladder, and then was brought down by the crossbow with a "swish". Another militiaman hurriedly picked up the wooden bow on the ground, shot an arrow down and killed a warrior. A moment later, a feathered arrow struck accurately, piercing his throat, and the tip of the arrow came out through his neck.

Wei Ziti's heart trembled, and he also crawled to get the stone. Several warriors who supervised the formation at the rear rushed forward, kicking and beating the militiamen to the front, and then personally held the spears to press the formation. The wooden ladder was finally stabilized at the top of the city, and the copper hooks hooked the city wall. Two militiamen tried hard to push it down, but they were only strung into gourds by arrows. Then, more than a dozen Otomipan warriors, like dexterous apes, ascended the city with awe-inspiring killing intent.

The current samurai rushed forward, and the militiamen retreated a few steps. Then, more than a dozen warriors climbed up, wielding sharp-edged battle sticks, cutting the fragile bodies of the militiamen. More than a dozen copper spears stabbed at him, but they were accurately blocked by the opponent's shield. Years of martial arts were like instinct. The Tarasco warriors in the rear led the charge, followed by the militiamen, and the spears and clubs fought together, and both sides fell.

A kneeling corpse suddenly moved, and the old militiaman Chivaco poked his head out from behind, quickly looking around the situation. He looked at the gathering of more and more enemy warriors, and at his own militiamen who were constantly being killed, and felt a chill in his heart. If things go on like this, even if follow-up reinforcements arrive and drive the enemies from the top of the city down, I won't be able to last until then!

Chivako tried his best to think, was stunned for a moment, and then shouted loudly to his side.

"Woods, come here with spears and squat beside me!"

Hearing the familiar voice, Wezti seemed to have found his backbone. He picked up a spear that could be seen everywhere from the corpse on the ground, and joined five or six militiamen from the same village.

"I'm yelling, you all come with me and stab the leg in the center!"

"Uncle, the center can't punish the enemy and our people, how can we stab them?"

The young militiaman asked in a daze.

"Don't talk nonsense! Even if he is from there, he can't hold on for long anyway, he was stabbed by me!"

The face of the old militiaman Chihuaco showed a rare ferocity. he shouted angrily.

"One, two, three, stab!"

Six or seven spears passed through the crossed legs and stabbed at the center at the same time. The two fighting sides immediately fell several people, half were Ottopan warriors, and half were Tarasco militiamen. They struggled with their legs covered, and then they were trampled on the soles of their feet by the crowd, and they were silent for a while.

"One, two, stab again!"

Several people fell down again, and the two warring parties stagnated slightly. The Tarasco militiamen began to push the first Ottopan warriors towards the ladder.

"Stab! Stab again! Stab again!"

Continuous shouts sounded, and new militiamen joined in. A dozen crouched, stabbing the unshielded legs and feet of the warriors. This kind of wound is not fatal, but it can make the wounded lose the ability to fight.

The Tarasco militiamen continued to stab their spears again, and the newly boarded warriors had to stop, squatting half-squat and covering the ground with their shields. The Tarasco warriors supporting from the rear finally rushed to the top of the city, cooperated with the militiamen, and drove the Ottopan warriors down.

"Hoo, hoo!"

Chivaco, an old militiaman, slumped on the ground, still wearing his shield on his head. He smiled a little, and was about to say something to the militiamen around him. A horrific rain of arrows struck again, killing several militiamen beside him in the blink of an eye, and the gentlemen at the top of the city also fell down screaming.

There was a "bang" on the old militiaman's head, and the momentum directly brought him down to the pool of blood on the ground. After a while, he stretched out his blood-stained hands, touched the feathered arrow stuck on the shield, and muttered to himself.

"There is really no way out for this kind of day."