Aztec Civilization: Destiny to Conquer America!

The wind howled, and dark clouds hung low, casting a hush over the large tent. This was the moment that would determine the fate of the north, as the flickering campfire illuminated each solemn face.

Xiulote scrutinized General Jiowar for a while. Then, he pondered for a moment before looking towards the elder Priest.

"Priest Olte, what kind of alliance do you wish to forge? Alliance, city-state, or personal?"

Priest Olte was well-prepared. He spoke loudly,

"All three, a brotherhood pact if you will. The Mexica Alliance as the elder brother, the Otomi Alliance as the younger, the Holy City as the elder, Otapan City as the younger, you as the elder, and Jiowar as the younger brother. Both sides will establish a pact, maintaining harmony with one another. When one is under attack, the other must send troops to assist; when one goes on the offensive, the other has the duty to support!"

Hearing this, Bertade's complexion changed dramatically. He stepped forward and rebuked loudly,

"Your Highness, as the nascent sun of the Mexica, and the future master of all under heaven, how can you be sworn brothers with a general from the Otomi?"

Xiulote pondered for a brief moment, nodded slightly to the Head Warrior, and then spoke,

"Priest Olte, I am not yet in the position to fully represent the Alliance. The Alliance will never agree to a brotherhood pact, as the Mexica only accept subordinates! Besides, can you represent the nobility of the various states within the Otomi Alliance?"

Priest Olte bowed his head slightly, revealing his full head of white hair. Since the last treaty, when he had to forfeit Xilotepec City, his prestige had greatly diminished. It was quite sometime later that the elder Priest spoke in a deep voice,

"Indeed, I cannot represent the nobility of the various states. I am a religious leader, only representing the ancestral state of Otapan, and to the best of my ability to constrain the states of Guamare and Pamus. The negotiations this time will be in the form of a treaty between the Mexica Alliance and the Otomi Alliance. The Otomi will send a full legion to respond to war in exchange for food support from the Mexica people."

Then, Priest Olte calmly said,

"As long as I live, the treaty between the two alliances will be secured. If I die, Jiowar will still need your support to control Otapan City."

Xiulote watched for a while and nodded,

"I agree, you will send troops to war in exchange for a new batch of food. Similarly, I can support Jiowar, but it cannot be a brotherly relationship—the line of the Holy City cannot accept this condition!"

Priest Olte closed his eyes, his aged face quivering. After a long while, he suddenly opened his eyes and roared in a low voice,

"Then let the two city-states be sworn as brothers, with you two nominally brothers but actually subordinates! Jiowar needs enough prestige to take control of Otapan City. Henceforth, the two states will be closely related politically and united in secret. The military will respond in war, allowing each other's armies to pass, and we will present hostages in exchange for your protection within the Alliance!"

Hearing this, Jiowar's expression changed dramatically, and he clenched his hands tightly. He looked at the Young Commander, who was only the age of his own son. Then he turned to look at Priest Olte, an elderly man whose face was withered and energy nearly exhausted. After a long moment, he bowed his head deeply, saying nothing.

Xiulote's expression was serious, and he fell into deep thought. With the talk having reached this point, the Priest's intention was very direct. Jiowar represented Otapan City, pledging allegiance to him alone. The Otapan line would secure protection from the Holy City line by means of an unequal treaty, henceforth binding them together. This was a path he had never anticipated.

After a while, Xiulote laughed aloud. His eyes sparkled, no longer concealing the heroic aspirations in his heart.

"Olte, you've managed to achieve this! You've seized the most ingenious opportunity to find the most suitable chances for the Otomi people. I truly admire you for that! At this time, I cannot refuse your proposition. Come then, let us make an unbreakable blood oath under the most sacred of ceremonies, witnessed by the gods and ancestors alike!"

Upon hearing this, the elder Priest nodded calmly. No trace of joy appeared on his face. He simply performed a respectful ritual, honoring the path he had found.

Soon, the Priests accompanying the army became busy. Fragrant holy smoke rose within the large tent, and the roaring Sacred Fire was lit at the center. Priests played the distant sound of bamboo flutes. The commanders beat the deep tones of wooden drums, and the remaining Samurai began the War Dance around the center of the ceremony.

In the center of the large tent, a young Priest was the first to dance. He took up the long-unused Divine Staff and danced the Priest's dance of the Holy City, chanting clear and melodious prayers. His movements were slow and dignified, like a stalking Jaguar; his singing was high-pitched and sharp, like the cry of a soaring eagle.

The elder Priest took out an ancient ceramic mask. Half of the mask was black, and the other half was white. It was a treasured item inherited by the Otomi people for a thousand years, from the distant Olmec Era. He covered his cheeks with the mask and began an ancient dance, then rapidly swayed and shook like the Feathered Serpent of myth. Throughout the ancient ritual dance, he intermittently made low hissing sounds, the frequency of the serpent's voice was spine-chilling, making one's hair stand on end. Sometimes, he would also emit a low chant, speaking of age-old legends in an incomprehensible cadence.

A mysterious atmosphere permeated the large tent; everyone wore a stern and focused expression. In their hearts, such a sacred ceremony was real and imbued with Divine Power. To violate such a high-oath would be to suffer a devastating blow to one's reputation.

The sacred Priestly dance lasted for a full half hour, and then, both old and young Priests stopped. Xiulote was covered in sweat, while Olte swayed on the brink of collapse. Both men approached the center where the Sacred Fire burned, each calling upon different deities to descend. As the names of the gods were invoked, the commanders and the Samurai also halted their actions, kneeling on one knee and praying towards the center.