The wilderness sunset was a profound red, sinking slowly into distant mountains. The mountaintops were bathed in a myriad of sunset hues, painting the sky a fresh red, which in turn soaked the earth with a bloody hue. In the blood-red twilight, the brutal battle had ended.
The main camp of the Red Dog at the valley’s entrance was full of wreckage, the edges charred and blackened, the interior a dark red stained with blood. Thousands of broken warrior bodies layered like fallen maple leaves; countless snapped bone arrows and copper arrows were as dense as grass. The closer to the center, the more so it beca.
A pair of deer hide shoes stepped into the camp, surrounded by a throng of straw sandals. The deer hide shoes moved slowly towards the interior of the camp, passing over fallen bodies, until reaching the Red Dog’s flag. By then, the Red Dog flag, passed down through many years, was already broken, its face subrged in the blood-mud, tattered and fragnted.
And there, a robust body lay supine next to the Red Dog flag. His eyes were wide with rage, his face covered in blood, hair dyed red, a wolf robe draped on his back, his hands clenched around a war club. He had over a dozen feathered arrows stuck in his body, but the fatal wound was likely the two-finger-wide blood hole in his left chest, pierced by a copper spear through the heart. His limbs still retained the posture of his last monts, as if he was still fighting. For in the mont of death, his body exerted itself trendously, his muscles contracting in spasms, resulting in the rigid form of his corpse.
The owner of the deer hide shoes finally stopped walking. His gaze lingered on the body, and after a long pause, he asked in a deep voice.
"Ozoma, is this the leader of the Guajili Alliance, the Chieftain of the Red Dog Tribe, Chichika?"
"Yes, respected God of Death Great Chief."
Ozoma’s face bore a hint of bewildernt. Although he was prepared, he still felt a sense of unreality: The Red Dog Chieftain, fierce and brave, who road the wilderness like a Wolf King for over a decade, was now lying here in silence? He stared intently at Chichika’s corpse and couldn’t help but reach out to feel Chichika’s breath.
Seeing this, Xiulote shook his head. He looked at the blood hole in Chichika’s chest, lost in thought.
"Your Highness, please forgive !... I was unable to capture the enemy leader Chichika alive, and his heart was damaged..."
Bertade knelt on one knee, his expression one of sha. As the nominal significant objective of the northern campaign, the heart of the Canine Descendant leader Chichika needed to be offered as a sacrifice to the Chief Divine to proclaim the victory of the campaign. It was for this very sacrifice that Chichika, even after his death in battle, had not been beheaded by the samurai.
"It doesn’t matter. The victory ceremony will not be affected. The Chief Divine blesses us and will surely be satisfied with the sacrifices."
Xiulote smiled slightly, affirming. Before long, he would preside over the grand victory ceremony outside Pamus City, to announce the blessing of the Chief Divine.
"Chichika died fighting without retreating?"
"Yes, your Highness."
Bertade stood up, his expression regaining its composure.
"Five hundred Hunters from the eastern mountains shot down at the camp from above, killing many red-haired Hunters. The spirit of the Red Dog Tribe plumted, the line quickly disintegrated, and they could no longer hold. The heavily armored Jaguar Warrior Brigade then launched a charge and utterly broke the Red Dog Tribes...Chichika stood fighting under the flag until his death without taking a single step back."
"I see."
Xiulote nodded slowly.
"Where is the warrior who killed Chichika? I want to reward him generously!"
Hearing this, Bertade paused slightly. He extended his hand and pointed towards Chichika’s side.
"Your Highness, that corpse holding a spear is the one."
Xiulote looked in that direction, only to see a samurai wearing an eagle helt, clutching a broken short spear, tangled with two red-haired Canine Descendants, dead together. Centered around Chichika’s position, a dense ring of corpses from both sides lay, many with distinctive red hair.
"After Chichika died, the Chieftain’s guard went mad! Over a hundred red-haired ones charged at the legions without concern for their lives, dragging the assaulting samurai to their deaths together. Even the heavily armored Jaguar Warrior Brigade lost five... However, after this batch of Chieftain guards died, the remaining thousand or so Red Dog warriors all knelt and surrendered."
"Four thousand Red Dog warriors, nearly half dead, hundreds scattered, only a little over a thousand surrendered..."
The King watched in silence for a while, voicing his sentints.
"Chichika indeed does not die a wrongful death as he was honored with a warrior’s sacrifice!"
Bertade nodded in agreent. Then, he cast a faint glance at Ozoma. Up to that mont, the Red Monkey Chieftain still seed distant and disbelieving. By this, one could infer the impact Chichika Chieftain had in the hearts of the mbers of the various Canine Tribes.
"The warrior who killed Chichika wore an eagle helt... was he a newly enlisted Prepetcha samurai from the Imperial Guards?"
Xiulote pondered, asking in a deep voice.
"Yes, your Highness. His na is Neikawaer, born in the Prepetcha Lake Region, a Surrendered Army from the Capital City during the western campaign. After joining the army camp for a year, due to his devout faith in the Chief Divine and outstanding battle technique, he was then included in the Imperial Guard Legion."
Bertade recalled briefly and recounted in detail. He commanded the Imperial Guard Legion and thus had an impression of well-known valiant warriors within the legion.
"A Prepetcha man, of Surrendered Army origin, with devout faith in deities, and sacrificed during the northern campaign..."
Hearing this, Xiulote’s eyes brightened, and he nodded.
"Bertade, give a substantial reward to the family of this valiant warrior! When we return to the Kingdom, erect a statue for him in the Warrior’s Grove below the Chief Divine Temple in the Capital City Akatla! And let soone write a poem about the northern campaign to be sung throughout the Kingdom!"
"Understood. Your Highness."
Bertade nodded, comprehending. The Warrior’s Grove was a newly built construction in the Capital City, located under the Main Divine Temple of Akatla, dedicated to the commoration of the valiant warriors who sacrificed themselves in war. The building had significant religious aning, not only to encourage samurai to brave battles, but also to bond the spirits of the people of various parts of the Kingdom. Neikawaer would now enter the Warrior’s Grove as the first Prepetcha samurai, to be revered by future generations, his legacy eternally tied with the nation.
After pondering for a mont, Xiulote spoke up to inquire.
"Before Chichika died, did he leave any last words?"
Bertade recalled with concentration for a long while before he spoke.
"The samurai said that Chichika died in combat. The battle at that ti was very fierce; he kept shouting like a beast, inspiring the guards around him. After being struck in a vital spot, he instantly lost his strength; there was no ti to speak. He just glanced toward the north and then fell backward on the ground... probably with reluctance in his heart, he died without waiting for reinforcents."
"The reinforcents from the Canine Descendants will never arrive. The scout reported that thousands from the Red Crow Tribe are fleeing to the East, and the other tribes in the valley are scattering."
Xiulote had already received the latest intelligence and sent out troops to pursue them. Now, three thousand Red Frog warriors and six thousand Otapan legions are all charging into Pamus Valley. They will split into three groups, advancing day and night—a group to march directly on Pamus City, another to block the eastern exit, and one more to block the northwest exit. Once all the exits are blocked, they will turn back and sweep through, subduing all the tribes in the valley.
"Before Chichika died, he should have left so last words."
The King pondered for a while, speaking with deep aning.
"Indeed."
Bertade nodded his head.
"Your Highness, what do you think would be appropriate last words?"
Xiulote didn’t imdiately respond. He patted Ozoma on the shoulder.
"Ah! The holy God of Death, Great Chief!"
"Ozoma when there is a bloody change of leadership among the tribes of the wilderness, what would the victor do? What would he say?"
"A bloody change..."
So distant, blood-stained mories flashed through Ozoma’s mind, sending a shiver through his body.
"Great Chief, according to the customs of the wilderness, the victor will burn the forr chieftain to ashes and scatter them with his own hands into the wind. He will pray to the Earth Mother Goddess, wishing the dead to be reborn as infants of the tribe, and for the future prosperity of the tribe!"
"...Such a simple custom."
Hearing this, Xiulote nodded slightly and instructed Bertade.
"Then, Chichika’s last words are, ’The Cactus Tribe is also a tribe of the wilderness. What is there to grieve about dying at the hands of the great chief, the God of Death? Please scatter my body in the wind; I want to return to the embrace of the earth, to be reborn as an infant in the Cactus Tribe... And this position of wilderness king, I leave to you! Please treat the people of the Guajili Canine Descendants kindly, for we are born of the sa root...’"
Bertade took out pen and paper, recording the King’s words. After writing them down, he added.
"Your Highness, I will arrange for people to spread Chichika’s last words among the surrendering Canine Descendants tribes."
"Very well! In a few days, I will hold a sacrificial ceremony in Pamus City. First, I will offer him to the Chief Divine, then chant the poetry of death, and finally process according to the customs of the wilderness!"
"I will obey your command, Your Highness."
The two shared a knowing smile. The military campaign to the north was basically over; now it was ti to consider these political arrangents. If the Kingdom wanted to mobilize tens of thousands of Guajili Canine Descendants or even draft legions, brute force alone would not suffice.
Ozoma stood aside, his eyes wide with astonishnt. It took him a while to co back to his senses.
"The God of Death Great Chief truly has the head of a fox on the body of a Jaguar, indeed much more cunning... ah, wise than the Great Chief Chichika, like a Wolf King."
With this thought, Ozoma’s gaze flickered for a mont before he suddenly knelt to the ground.
"Great Chief!"
"Hmm?"
"The tribes in the valley have been confused by rumors and fear the reputation of the Great Chief, and thus they have fled every which way. By the witness of my ancestors! I am willing to toil for you and call the scattered tribes of the wilderness to surrender."
"Oh? You want to go to the valley and recruit the tribes for ?"
Xiulote’s expression was serious as he scrutinized the kneeling Ozoma.
"Indeed! Great Chief, the Red Deer Chieftain, Masate, has always been familiar with . Just give one night, and by early morning tomorrow, he will co to pledge allegiance to the Great Chief!"
Ozoma knelt at the feet of the King, waiting like a loyal hound.
Xiulote watched Ozoma for a mont, then reached out and grabbed his hair. This was the ritual of accepting allegiance. Then the King spoke solemnly.
"Ozoma, I give you this opportunity—do not disappoint ! Tell the tribes in the valley that as long as they surrender willingly, they will not be sacrificed by the Kingdom. Although I bear the na of the God of Death, I do not relish in killing..."
As he said this, the King looked up, gazing into the distant skyline. The sun was sinking low, and night was falling upon the land. The northern campaign was nearing its end, yet the long journey of conquest seed endless. To build a lasting Empire, one must cage the heroes from all seas and unite the different tribes under one banner. All the tribes of the world are to be the subjects of the King; and just as the moon shines clear and bright, so too does the heart of the King.
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