Aztec Eternals

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Hearing the words, Shulot's heart froze. His expression was cold, and he glanced at the old priest Thea indifferently.

Feeling the king's killing intent, the old priest Teya's knees went weak and collapsed directly to the ground, begging in a low voice.

"Your Majesty, I, I'm all for the kingdom, and I don't know anything about Arno!"

Shilot ignored the old priest. He was expressionless, suppressed the fear in his heart, and sneered.

"Hehe, Ashlot, there is a character like you among the dog breeds! In order to avenge Chichika, you were able to hide from everyone and come close to me?"

Hearing this, Bertard looked ashamed. He silently clenched the bronze sword and stared at Ashelot's neck, like a jaguar about to hunt.

"Your Majesty, I, I really am not..."

Ashlot trembled. He felt the breath of death.

Looking at the performance of his old opponent, Ozoma sneered disdainfully.

"Ha! Ashlot! Your case has been exposed, what else do you need to refute! On the night when the tribe fell, you deserved to die! You are still the chief of the big tribe in the wasteland, why don't you have the courage to die calmly? !"

"..."

Ashlot was speechless for a moment. He hesitated for a while and sighed.

"Yeah! I should have died a long time ago! So many warriors are dead, all the clans are gone, and the Chichika leader is also dead. What am I still alive? This is the end of the matter, but it's just a death!"

After speaking, Ashlot looked at the old priest Thea and nodded calmly.

"Priest Taia, I'm sorry for hiding my identity from you. I'm not Arno, I'm Ashlot!"

Shirott looked at this scene and nodded slowly. Warriors die calmly, blooming and withering like flowers, which is most in line with the aesthetics of the Mexicans. He solemnly praised.

"Ashelot, for the hatred of the tribe, you endured humiliation and took the risk of assassinating me, regardless of your life or death. You are a worthy warrior! Since you are a warrior, I will use warrior's etiquette to bid you farewell. What poetry do you have? Leave?"

"Poetry..."

Ashlot was stunned for a while, then whispered.

"I was a salamander trapped in a pool, suffering the pain of not being able to grow... Then, I climbed out of the pool, lost my gills and tail, but had no feet to walk... I was in the pool Die on the shore, from birth to death, to obtain eternal detachment!"

"it is good!"

After listening, the black wolf Toltek couldn't help but exclaimed in admiration. Bertard smiled quietly. Shirot lowered his eyes. In the ancient Mesoamerican mythology, the salamander's journey from birth to death is the process of liberating the imprisoned soul and entering the higher realm. And then, the salamander comes back to life, experiencing the cycle of birth and death.

"Bottard, with the courtesy of a warrior, send him on the road!"

The samurai chief nodded, put away the bronze sword, and held the sacrificial obsidian dagger. With a solemn expression on his face, he walked in front of Ashlot and stuck the sharp dagger on the opponent's neck, drawing a faint bloodstain.

"Don't worry, it will be soon."

Bertard said softly.

Ashlot closed his eyes and waited to die. An icy sting came from the skin of his neck, and his five senses seemed to be sharp in an instant. Then he heard a deep breath, a precursor to the samurai's long strength.

"In the next second, I will die!"

At this dying moment, a great terror suddenly struck. Ashlot was shocked, as if he had fallen into a bottomless abyss. He snapped his eyes open and shouted as much as Bertard looked surprised.

"Your Majesty! I surrender! I will serve you!"

The air was silent for a moment. This feeling is like one second, you were quietly sniffing a beautiful fragrant flower, and then the next second, a buzzing fly suddenly flew out of the stamen.

"Your Majesty, I'm really not an assassin! I was captured and headed south, and I just wanted to live the rest of my life honestly. I was hiding in the crowd today, and I didn't even think about getting close to you! And I really didn't know about the recommendation of the priest of Taiya. !..."

Ashlot tried his best to tilt his head away from the samurai chief's dagger. He prayed loudly, wailing mournfully like a mourning dove.

"...Your Majesty, I am familiar with the various tribes in the wasteland, and I am willing to serve you! I, I can give you advice on the governance of the tribal village!"

Shirot lowered his eyes and did not speak. It was not until Ashlot said the last sentence that he opened his eyes indifferently.

"Oh? What advice do you have for the governance of tribal villages?"

"Uh..."

Ashelot looked carefully at Bertard, and the samurai commander quietly put away the dagger. Afterwards, Chief Red Salamander gave a hesitant answer while thinking quickly.

"Praise Your Majesty! Praise the Lord God! I have been in the tribal village for several months, and many places in the village are a mess... Ever since you forcibly disrupted the tribe and formed flag teams, the traditional order of the wasteland has disappeared. Existing, the tribesmen are panicking, and no new rules have been established..."

As he spoke, Ashlot's thoughts became much clearer. After all, he has been in the wasteland for many years, and he has been in touch with the situation of the village, and has a clear grasp of the people's hearts of the tribe.

"Your Majesty, after all, the tribe respects the strong. When they were in the wasteland, there were three levels of red hair, warriors, and Ding Zhuang. The red-haired hunters were both the most elite warriors and the captain of the hunt. They actually managed the tribe. A team of people. Only under their command can the entire tribe move thousands of miles like an arm and a finger..."

"...Now, you have forcibly disrupted all the tribes, and recruited all the warriors, leaving only Ding Zhuang from different tribes, and the tribal villages have lost their ranks. Our Guaquili tribe has always feared only the strong, relying on The priests or village chiefs dispatched cannot control them."

"Well, it makes sense."

Sherlot listened for a while and nodded in agreement. The problem with the Canine tribes now is that they have lost their hierarchy and order. Through the selection of elites, although the kingdom disintegrated the ability of the canines to cause chaos, it also made it difficult for them to command.

"Ashelot, what advice do you have to solve this problem?"

"Your Majesty, the easiest way is to send some red-haired warriors back to the villages, and then restore the traditional order of the wasteland..."

Hearing this, Shilot shook his head. The kingdom finally recruited the elite Canines and disintegrated the traditional tribal order, how could it be possible to let them back.

"...Your Majesty, the second method is to select warriors from the cactus tribe and dispatch them to the tribe's village to directly lead them!"

Hearing this, Shulot raised his brows. The kingdom's warriors were also limited and could not station too many in the village. He stared into Ashlot's eyes and asked lightly.

"You said one, two, there must be a third."

"..."

Ashlot nodded, but said nothing. He opened his eyes wide and looked at the king hopefully.

"Say it. Say it well, and I will spare your life."

"Yes, Your Majesty!"

Ashlot licked his dry lips and answered in a deep voice.

"Your Majesty, you have set up a flag team of 8,000 people and a small flag team of 400 people. Then, under the small flag team, you have to add another level, a tent."

"account?"

Shirott listened to this familiar concept and was thoughtful.

"Yes. There are 50-100 people in one tent, 15-30 people, which is roughly equivalent to the smallest tribe in the wasteland. In a small flag team of four hundred people, you can set up a large tent with a leader of one hundred people, four to six dozens of people. There are small tents. There are about three small flag teams in a Guajili village, more than a thousand people and hundreds of people.”

Ashlot paused for a moment, counting the numbers silently. His mathematical ability is obviously higher than that of other dog breeds.

"Then, in each village, there must be at least three powerful and elite warriors who will be the managers of the village. Each of them has a large tent of 100 people, commanding four to six smaller tents. As for the leaders of the smaller tents, you can let the Dozens of people tweeted, usually the strongest male among them."

"What do you mean, I recruited some warriors and assigned them to take charge of the flag team's big tent. Then the leader of the small tent let the tribesmen fight by themselves. After passing the level of the tent, actually manage the village?"

Shilot became interested. The low-level system of this tribe always gave him a wonderful sense of familiarity. Now, he has more than 150 small flag teams of canine descent, and after all, he only needs 150 senior warriors. And it just so happened that after a northern expedition, there were almost one or two hundred senior warriors who needed to be sealed.

"Your Majesty is wise!"

Ashlot prostrated with difficulty. His eyes flashed, looked at the king's expression, and said with a smile.

"This is the first suggestion, set up an account in the flag team."

"Oh?"

Shirot pondered for a while and looked at the samurai chief.

"Bertard, bring him here!"

The samurai chief nodded and brought Ashlot to the king.

"Smart Ashlot, what's the second suggestion?"

"Your Majesty, the second suggestion is to naturalize the wasteland priests. Naturalize the wasteland priests into qualified priests of the Lord God, and then manage the tribal villages."

Ashlot glanced at the old priest Thea and replied in a low voice. To tell the truth, with the weak physique and soft temperament of the old priest Teya, if he hadn't been controlling the tribes in the village, he would have been tied with sacks by the vicious tribesmen and sank into the lake.

"Naturalized Wasteland Priest?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. Most of the wasteland priests are strong in physique and strong in character. They can jump and roar, and are good at archery or fighting. Even the old wasteland priests have a 'magic' that they can use, and the tribes that can bluff. The people are afraid to obey."

Speaking of this, Ashlot smiled vicissitudes of life. In the wasteland, if there is no real ability to calm people, how can it be possible to live to old age.

"Tribes always have a simple perception. The stronger the god, the stronger his priests are. If the priests of the gods are weak, how can they convince the tribesmen?"

"The more powerful the god, the more powerful his priests will be..."

Shirot raised his brows. He understood the subtext in it. Guaquili tribesmen believe in the strong, and their ideas are simple and pure. No matter how good the priest's theory is, it's useless, it has to be able to fight and scare people!

"Well, naturalized wasteland priest, the kingdom is already doing it. Now it seems that it can be appropriately accelerated."

The king is somewhat satisfied, Ashlot is indeed a talent, which is worthy of his name.

"What about the third suggestion?"

"Well..."

Ashlot pondered for a while, and scenes of village life flashed before his eyes, turning into words in his heart.

"Your Majesty, the third suggestion is to organize Ding Zhuang to hunt."

"Details."

"Tens of thousands of tribes have traveled thousands of miles south, and everyone is very poor. In the Satskars wasteland, there were several places in the Silver Mountains, but unfortunately no one saw these cumbersome stones. I didn't expect the south The tribe is so respected..."

"...Now the tribe is settled here and has come into contact with so many fresh things. The tribe likes melons, fruits and meat, but can't afford it; likes comfortable cotton cloth, but can't afford it; likes convenient pottery, but can't afford it; likes I can't even afford the shiny copperware..."

"...The tribesmen can't afford anything, and they want it. According to the tradition of the wasteland, they go to steal and **** it. The nearby Prepecha people are very soft, and they dare not come to fight after stealing their belongings. ..for a long time, there will be big trouble!"

Ashelot knew in his heart that although the peasants of Prepecha were docile, their warriors were equally murderous. The Legion of the Great Chief Reaper is not a decoration. Once it really starts, it will be a river of blood.

"That's right, keep talking."

Sherlot listened patiently.

"The tribe is very poor, and can only find ways to get some property. Farming is only a livelihood, and the only thing everyone can rely on is the hunting skills. Which tribesmen can't shoot arrows and wield spears? You can trade what you need.”

"Well, what are you good at hunting?"

"Shooting birds, catching rabbits, digging mice, trapping deer, hunting wolves...and capturing prisoners."

Hearing this, Shirou fell into deep thought. There were some new ideas in his mind. After a while, the king nodded.

"When the flag team is reorganized, I will arrange the leaders of each flag team to organize hunting. The kingdom is short of mouths and slaves. After the autumn harvest, there will be a special capture team, led by jaguar warriors, to the south or west. Ding Zhuang from all divisions in Keili can join.”

"Praise Your Majesty!"

Ashlot kowtowed heavily.

"I will also tell the kingdom to set up a market in the tribal gathering place to trade your hunting harvest. The market will be supervised by special personnel, and try to keep the transaction price as fair as possible, so that you will not be deceived by profiteers."

With that said, Shulot instructed the guards to write down the Wang Ling just now. Then, he asked with a smile.

"Do you have any other suggestions?"

"Uh..."

Ashlot racked his brains and reluctantly answered.

"Your Majesty, there is one last suggestion, which can temporarily appease people's hearts, especially the tribal warriors who have been recruited."

"Say!"

"According to the wasteland tradition, the tribe highly respects red, and is even willing to sacrifice their lives for the sacred red. If you can give warriors red fur, red feathers, or red dye, you are the most generous warchief! Of course, if there is Red-haired woman, that's even better!"

Hearing this, Shilot was slightly startled. When he remembered the Spanish colonists in later generations, when he "purchased peace" from the Chichimek dog, he specifically listed one item: for hundreds of red-haired women.

"Good advice. Red fur, feathers, dyes, the Alliance has no shortage. Bertard, you record it, go back and reward as appropriate."

"Follow your will, Your Highness."

"Your Majesty, then I..."

Ashlot knelt on the ground and looked at the king with hope in his eyes.

Shirott smiled.

"Ashelot, you've just died once, and you've eliminated all guilt. The divine salamander will come back to life, and then be transformed. Next, what do you want to do?"

"Ah, praise Your Majesty! Thank you for your kindness! ... I would like to cross the river, return to the wasteland, and guard the city of Palms for you..."

"No."

"...Uh...I want to stay in the village of Guaquili here, be a devout village priest, and spread the glory of the Lord God for you..."

"No."

"... er... everything is subject to His Majesty's arrangement."

"very good."

Shirot nodded with a smile and announced the answer.

"Ashelot, from today onwards, you will join my personal bodyguard and follow the king's flag."

In the cruel northern wasteland, there is no one who can mix with the chiefs of the big tribes. Ashelot has both the experience of a tribal chief and the tempering of large-scale wars, how can he be thrown into the canine group at will! Or take it with you, more assured.

"Praise Your Majesty!"

Ashlotov closed his eyes~www.readwn.com~ and knelt on the ground, as if he had exhausted all his strength.

Two steps away, Ozoma and Coca looked at each other, and they both had a lot to say, but didn't say anything. And the old priest Teya knelt alone in the corner, no one took care of him, and he didn't dare to make a sound. He had been preparing for this plan for a long time, but he almost got into trouble.

"Priest of Teia."

"Ah! Your Majesty!"

"Soon a new priest will come and take your place."

"...with you, Your Majesty."

The old priest Teya fell to the ground and lost all his strength in an instant.

"You are transferred to the river mouth fortress and serve as a second-level missionary priest."

"Ah! ... with you, Your Majesty!"

The old priest Teia was shocked and his strength suddenly recovered. He bowed his head vigorously, and even his voice became louder.

"Well, Bertard, let's go!"

Shirot smiled indifferently.

"Ashelot, you are with me too."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

The king pondered for a while, and for the last time, looked at Ashlot.

"Remember, you have already died once. From now on, your name will be Arno!"

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