The East was still dark, and the night was deep. Shadows swayed and fled within the Mexica camp, weapons clashing. Occasionally, someone screamed and fell, transforming into silent corpses. Blood sprayed freely, even turning the air sweet and metallic. The flames of the roaring bonfire flickered, illuminating samurai clad in armor; the legendary flags torn, instigating chaotic shouts!
The night raid came suddenly, plunging the entire camp into chaos. The battle conducted in the dark tested not the numbers, but organization and tenacity. The city-state militia were blind at night, fleeing in terror, breaking down in panic. But the Mexica warriors from different families scattered, huddling together, guarding the noble flags of legacy, battling wildly under the moon. The largest and fiercest battle group was located centrally at the back of the camp, the place of the legion's commander.
