The Spanish army planned to launch their attack from Bundalakoon village, located along the banks of the Bundalakoon River deep inside the Mexican jungle.
Cortés entrusted this responsibility to his chief commander, Richard.
As the Spanish troops marched into the forest, breaking the eerie silence, monkeys leaped from tree to tree, shrieking warnings. The jungle echoed with cuckoos crying out and crows cawing in agitation, as if nature itself sensed the approaching danger.
When the army entered Bundalakoon village, it appeared completely deserted—a barren stretch swallowed by wilderness.
Richard shouted:
"Soldiers! Leave no place unchecked. Search everywhere. They must be hiding nearby."
The troops combed through the village thoroughly, but not a single Mayan was found.
A soldier said nervously,
"It looks like they fled the moment they knew we were coming, Commander."
Richard paused. Within seconds, realization struck him—this was a trap.
Cortés' words echoed in his mind: Guerrero, trained in Spanish warfare, is leading the Mayans.
The Spanish tactic was clear—when enemies advance into your land, strike them in theirs.
Richard now understood: Guerrero was using Spanish strategy against Spain itself.
Richard barked:
"Soldiers! Back! Retreat immediately!"
He began retreating toward the military camp, hoping to return before Guerrero launched a counterattack.
But Guerrero's plan was entirely different.
Midway through their retreat, hundreds of arrows rained down upon the Spanish cavalry.
Before Richard could react, soldiers fell from their horses one after another. Panic spread—the Spanish couldn't even see where the attack was coming from.
They leapt off their horses and hid behind trees, scanning their surroundings. Yet there was no sign of movement.
Following Guerrero's guidance, the Mayans were hidden atop dense, leafy trees, firing arrows from the branches.
Within twenty minutes, sixty Spanish soldiers lay dead.
Terrified and blind to their attackers, the remaining troops fired wildly into the forest.
Cheran pulled back his bow and released an arrow toward Richard.
Richard fell backward, escaping death by a hair's breadth.
He knew instantly—staying any longer meant certain death.
"Run! Run!" Richard screamed as he fled with the remaining soldiers.
Watching them retreat, the Mayans descended joyfully from the trees.
Cheran laughed and shouted,
"Pariyas! We crushed them! They won't dare come back again—Pariyas…? Pariyas?!"
There was no reply.
Alarmed, Cheran climbed the tree where Pariyas had been stationed.
At the top, he froze.
A bullet had pierced Pariyas' chest.
Pariyas' eyes began to lose focus as his body slumped. Cheran caught him just before he fell.
"Open your eyes, brother… please… don't leave me alone…"
Tears streamed down Cheran's face. With trembling hands, Pariyas touched Cheran's cheek, wiped his tears, and whispered,
"Friend…"
And then—he was gone.
"PARIYAS!"
Cheran's scream echoed through the jungle.
Guerrero stood helpless, unable to find words to console him.
The Mayans gathered below as Cheran carried his friend's body down from the tree.
The elders prepared a warrior's funeral. Ceramics, ornaments, and the ceremonial mask reserved for fallen heroes were sent to Pariyas' home by royal decree.
When Pachama heard the news, she ran there immediately. Everyone was present—except Cheran.
Later, at the royal assembly, silence filled the hall as the king and nobles debated how to face Spain.
Guerrero stood and addressed them:
"To defeat Spain, we need one thing above all—unity.
The four divided Mayan kingdoms must stand together as one. Only then can we resist Cortés."
His words resonated deeply.
Princess Jajilha, watching from above, rested her hand on her belly.
She wondered what kind of land her unborn children would inherit.
Meanwhile, Richard reported the losses to Cortés.
Cortés burned with rage.
If Guerrero hadn't been there, Caracol would already be half under Spanish control.
By evening, Cheran waited near the Spanish camp.
Later, Richard wandered toward the forest to relieve himself. Spotting a wild turkey, he chased it eagerly, imagining dinner.
The turkey led him straight into Cheran's trap.
The ground gave way beneath Richard's feet, and he fell into a six-foot pit filled with water.
Before he could rise, piranhas attacked.
Agony ripped through him as blood filled the water.
Cheran stepped out from behind the trees.
"You fired one bullet into my friend's body," Cheran said calmly.
Richard's screams echoed all the way to the camp.
By the time Cortés and his soldiers arrived, Cheran was gone.
Only Richard's remains remained—stripped to bone.
Cortés' hatred for Guerrero deepened into something darker.
Soon after, King of Caracol sent letters to the kings of Tikal, Calakmul, and Dos Pilas, calling for unity against Spain.
That night, at Pariyas' grave, Cheran embraced his friend one final time.
He placed the lion-shaped whistle on Pariyas' chest and blew it.
The fallen warrior was laid to rest with full honors.
Cheran scattered red mineral dust across the grave.
As he stepped away, Pachama stood waiting.
Without words, she embraced him.
At a grave where life ended, love quietly began.
Cheran took the sacred cord from the Kukulkan statue and tied it around Pachama's neck.
Even in death…
a new life was born.