Aztec Civilization: Destiny to Conquer America!
Chapter 918 - 531: The King’s Sorrow

Chapter 918: Chapter 531: The King’s Sorrow

The moon hides, stars are sparse, Samurai return to the South. Fifty Mexica Warriors are hurrying through the night, guarding the High Priest’s holy body, rushing urgently to the South.

Eva carries the High Priest, hastening along without rest. The High Priest’s body is extremely emaciated, like a light leaf, perched on the body of the Personal Guard Warrior without hindering his run at all. He traverses the outer city filled with houses, bursts through the outskirts where Warriors patrol, crosses the dim flat plains, ascends the undulating hills, and finally arrives at the camp of the Southern Legion at the dawn of light.

The patrolling Warrior squad verifies the identity and hurriedly lets them pass. In just a quarter, Eva crosses the camp and arrives before the general’s tent.

The sky has just brightened, Xiulote is sitting cross-legged in the tent, drinking a bowl of hot black bean soup. Last night he tossed and turned, always feeling an inexplicable palpitations, and couldn’t sleep. Nashu brewed a pot of black beans with some herbs, hoping to calm his highness.

"The Southern army presses their borders, Cholula City is in fear, sending envoys for help... Hmm, grandfather went to Cholula City for talks, surely there won’t be any problem!... Chief Divine bless, may grandfather return soon!"

Xiulote mutters to himself softly, chanting repeatedly, even praying for a while.

"In at most two days, I can see grandfather again... I have to persuade him, he is getting old, can’t keep running around anymore! He keeps worrying me..."

"Your Highness, the envoy of the High Priest’s Personal Guard requests to see you!"

Bertade suddenly opens the tent door and steps in quickly. His face is extremely unpleasant, pale with worry, shock mixed with sorrow.

"The envoy of the High Priest’s Personal Guard? At this time?"

Upon hearing this, Xiulote feels a sudden thud in his heart, shrouded in ominous premonition. He frowns, feeling the near-convulsing palpitations, calls out in a deep voice.

"Let him in to report! What happened in Cholula City?"

"...Your Highness, you must prepare yourself..."

Bertade purses his lips, quietly begins.

"The High Priest he..."

"What?!"

Xiulote suddenly rises, still holding the black bean soup. His expression changes abruptly, his hands slightly trembling, and he asks sternly.

"Grandfather?! What’s happened to grandfather?!"

"Ah!... You come in! Be careful, do not touch the High Priest..."

Bertade turns around, sighs, and calls out solemnly to the outside.

Eva strides in, dusty with tears in his eyes. He cradles a frail old man, a deeply sleeping High Priest with eyes closed and a smile on his lips!

"..."

Seeing that familiar face, Xiulote’s mind instantly goes blank. At this moment, he stands like a spellbound stone sculpture, unable to utter a word or move an inch. He can only stare at the frail figure, the silver-white hair, at the grandfather worried about day and night, his pupils dilating as if losing his soul.

"Your Highness! The High Priest he... he..."

Eva collapses with a thud, kneeling on the ground. With tears flowing, he carefully places the sleeping High Priest on the cotton blanket in the tent. Then, biting his teeth, suppressing the anger in his heart, he cries out quietly.

"The High Priest was poisoned by the priests of Cholula!"

"Boom!"

As if a thunderbolt suddenly explodes in his mind. Xiulote’s body trembles, his eyes redden, stumbling forward. The clay bowl in his hand slips to the ground, "bang" shattering into pieces, like the heart of a King breaking. The calming black bean soup spills everywhere, like the fallen soul of a King.

"Grand...Grandfather? Are you pretending to sleep?..."

Xiulote falls beside his grandfather, his voice stammering. He trembles as he reaches out to his grandfather’s nose, quickly pulling back as if electrocuted, leaving only murmured whispers.

"Grandfather, wake up, wake up!... Open your eyes, look, it’s me! It’s me, your grandson Xiulote, your most beloved grandson from childhood!... Don’t sleep anymore, I beg you... I never beg anyone, just this once for you!... Please, just look at your grandson once more!..."

As he speaks and speaks, tears gradually fill the eyes of the King. Those tears overflow the eye sockets and trickle down the corners, turning into two streams of silent tears. The entire tent is dead silent, only the King’s painful and despairing pleas.

"Please..."

The High Priest lies silently on the ground, unresponsive to Xiulote’s plea. Facing his most beloved grandson, he’s never been so cold nor hard-hearted... He just closes his eyes, with the brightest smile reflecting in the eyes of the King. It’s his final smile, a proud smile for his legitimate grandson, in the dying dream.

"Please..."

The King’s voice turns low and hoarse. He cries, powerlessly lowering his body, placing his cheek against his grandfather’s. He wants to convey the warmth of life to his nearby grandfather, but feels only stiffness and cold. At this moment, so close yet worlds apart, never to meet again!

"Drip drop!..."

Warm tears fall on the High Priest’s corner of the eye, like new tears from him. And these tears grow more and more, thicker and thicker, finally forming one line that links the living and dead. Xiulote can no longer bear it, crying "ooo" like a desperate and powerless child.

"Ooo!...Grandfather...don’t...don’t leave me...You promised me...You promised me!...You broke your word..."

Past memories flood his heart scene by scene. His grandfather’s encouragement in his youth, teachings in adolescence, expectations in his young adult years, and the unchanged affection!

He knows that there will never be another person like this in his life, who he can rely on like a child, accompanying him through the most vulnerable times. There will never be another person who will gently ruffle his hair, tenderly gaze at him, sparing no effort, paving the future road with his own life...

He knows that the little child inside him will die along with the grandfather who loved him. From now on, on this path, there will only be him alone, a growing and solitary King...

"Grand...father!..."

The King’s voice is already hoarse, like the sorrowful cry of a departing raven. Nashu kneels beside him, eyes full of caring tears. Bertade closes his eyes, deeply sighs. Then he opens his eyes and waves his hand.

"Everyone out!... Let his highness be alone, and quiet."

People quietly exit the tent, leaving only the solitary weeping King, and a corpse with a cold smile. The cloth door of the tent slowly closes, and no one can see inside anymore.

"Ah!..."

A moment later, a cry unlike human voice suddenly bursts in the tent, like thunder before the storm. Then the thunder gradually turns low, tinged with endless hatred, rubbing through the teeth, turning into cold and hoarse roars.

"Cholula... Twelve Priestly Families... must all die!"