Owari Province. Kiyosu Castle.
To call it a castle was, in truth, an embarrassment. The ramparts were mottled and crumbling. The stone walls were missing chunks in several corners. The moat was so narrow one could practically leap across it.
The tenshukaku was only two and a half stories tall, the third story had been left unfinished when the funds ran dry, its roof capped prematurely. From a distance, it looked like a tower that had been decapitated. But this was the headquarters of the Oda clan. The entire assets of the mere half-province of Owari.
By the time Shibata Katsuie, riding a borrowed horse of mixed colors, led the remnants of her forces back to Kiyosu Castle, the sky had already darkened.
The motion of dismounting was considerably slower than usual. The gash Onikiri had torn into the side of her breastplate was still there. The split in the battle-dress beneath had been hastily bound with strips of cloth. The blood that had seeped through had long since dried into dark brown scabs.
The tall, powerfully built warrior maiden passed through the main gate, strode down a corridor so narrow two people could barely walk abreast, and shoved open the shōji door of the main keep. There were already people inside. Not just Oda Nobuna.
On the floor of the main hall, three figures knelt in a row. The one closest to the front was slender of frame, wearing a light gray kosode under a dark blue haori. Her collar was fastened immaculately. Her deep blue hair was bound in a low bun at the nape of her neck, a few stray strands falling beside her ears. Her features were refined and proper. Between her brows was a steadiness that belied her age.
Niwa Nagahide.
The strategist of the Oda clan. In terms of her role under Oda Nobuna, she was roughly equivalent to Taigen Sessai for Imagawa Yoshimoto, though her seniority and standing were still far from that of the Black-Robed Chancellor, she had the advantage of youth.
To her right knelt an even younger girl. Fourteen or fifteen. Short hair. A tiger-eared hood perched on her head. She wore ashigaru gear, but the fabric was clearly of a far better grade.
A short sword that seemed far too short hung at her waist. A round face. Large eyes. She looked far too honest and guileless to be a military commander, yet a military commander she was. Maeda Toshiie. Katsuie's vice-commander. And Nobuna's personal attendant since childhood.
Oda Nobuna sat cross-legged directly before the two of them, at the center of the floor. Her golden hair cascaded loosely over her shoulders. The collar of her deep crimson kosode hung open, revealing a broad expanse of pale skin below her collarbones.
The diagonal wound stretching from her left shoulder to her right hip, the one carved by the fused Blood-Demon slash, had completely healed. Not even a scar remained. Smooth and unblemished, as though nothing had ever happened.
Spread out before her was a map. Not a map of Owari Province. A map of the entire realm. From Kyūshū to Mutsu. From the Kinai to the Kantō. Mountains, rivers, castles, and fortresses, all marked. Over a dozen points had been circled in vermilion ink.
"Katsuie, you've returned." Niwa Nagahide spoke first. Her voice was not loud. Her pace unhurried. Light and lilting. She bore the air of a kindly elder sister. She asked, "How are your wounds?"
"Superficial." Katsuie strode in and knelt on one knee, her great axe planted at her side. Her amber eyes swept across the room before settling back on Nobuna. "My lord—I—"
"I already know." Nobuna raised a hand and cut her off. Her tone was as casual as if she were discussing what to have for dinner. "That yōkai was indeed terrifyingly strong. This is not your fault. A yōkai who could take a full-force strike from your axe head-on, you'd be hard-pressed to find even a handful in the entire Kantō. This time, the fault is not yours. I simply didn't anticipate that such a creature would actually appear on a human battlefield."
Niwa Nagahide then flipped open a few sheets of paper on her lap. It was the intelligence summary she had compiled through the night after Katsuie had sortied.
"Kishin Shinji. Lord of the Hyakki Yakō. Shōshin of the two provinces of Musashi and Sagami. Guardian Deity of the Imagawa clan." She read them off one by one.
"Facing such an opponent head-on… our chances of victory are nonexistent." If it were only a yōkai, perhaps there would still be room. But this opponent was also a god.
Maeda Toshiie shrank her neck and muttered under her breath, "Then what are we supposed to do…"
"We have seven days of provisions left. If we don't force a result in seven days, we won't need the enemy to attack. We'll dissolve on our own."
Niwa Nagahide also turned her gaze toward Oda Nobuna.
"Who said anything about a direct confrontation?" Nobuna spoke, even as she used the brush in her hand to circle the location of Suruga Province on the map. The others blinked.
"My lord, do you mean…" The words hadn't even finished. From outside the door came the sound of urgent footsteps. A guard threw open the shōji door and dropped to one knee.
"Reporting to my lord! An army has arrived outside the castle, bearing the banners of the Saitō clan of Mino! The guard reports that the head of the Saitō clan, the ruler of Mino Province, Saitō Dōsan, the Viper of Mino, has personally led his forces here! Roughly two thousand men!"
Nagahide, Katsuie, and Toshiie all frowned simultaneously. Mino Province. Owari's northern neighbor. The daimyō who ruled there was named Saitō Dōsan. The world called him the Viper of Mino.
His legend was infamous: a humble oil merchant who rose to assassinate two successive lords and ultimately seize the entire province of Mino for himself. Cunning. Treacherous. The quintessential embodiment of gekokujō, the low overthrowing the high, in the Warring States era. His reputation was utterly foul. But the fact that he was still alive proved he was ruthless enough. And intelligent enough.
"Furthermore—" The guard's voice faltered for a beat. "Lord Saitō also said… that he has sensed an immensely powerful yōki enveloping the Imagawa forces in the Mino region. To prevent the calamity from spilling over into Mino's borders, he has come specifically to join forces against this common enemy. He wishes to aid you, my lord, in driving them back."
Nobuna did not respond immediately. Her pupils narrowed to razor-fine lines. She stared at the position of Mino Province on the map for three full seconds.
"The Viper came of his own accord…" she muttered under her breath. Then she lifted her head and spoke a single word to the guard. "Invite him in."
Half an incense stick later, Saitō Dōsan knelt across from Nobuna in the main hall of the keep. A man past fifty. His face was gaunt. His cheekbones sharp and prominent.
A pair of triangular eyes were perpetually half-lidded. A smile forever hung at the corner of his lips, a smile that made it impossible to tell whether it held goodwill or malice. He wore a dark gray kosode under a dark green haori. An unremarkable short sword was tucked at his waist.
"Lady Nobuna. It has been a long while." Dōsan spoke. His voice was drawn-out. Slippery. Oily.
"Cut the nonsense. Why are you here? I don't recall our Oda clan having any ties of friendship with your Saitō clan." Nobuna sat cross-legged. Her golden hair spilled over her shoulders. Her golden slit-pupils locked dead onto the old fox.
Though later historical records would claim Oda Nobunaga was Saitō Dōsan's son-in-law, in this altered timeline where Nobunaga had become Nobuna, such a relationship clearly could not exist.
Dōsan merely smiled, utterly unperturbed. "I have heard that Imagawa Yoshimoto is bearing down with an army of twenty thousand. This old bones, unworthy as he is, has brought two thousand men to lend his fist. And what's more, this old bones can help the young head of the Oda clan resolve that yōkai. That so-called 'Demon God Who Cleaves Thunder.' That daiyōkai who subdued the Dragon of Echigo."
Ordinary mortals did not understand the true hierarchy of yōkai. In their perception, any yōkai with renown was a daiyōkai.
"What are your conditions?"
"No conditions."
"Don't give me that." Nobuna rolled her eyes. Dōsan's smile only deepened. "Then… one small request. In the future, if the Oda clan should unify the provinces of the Kantō, this old bones merely hopes the Saitō clan may retain its holdings in Mino."
Niwa Nagahide did not speak. Her expression remained utterly still. The faint smile never left her lips. But in that single instant, she had grasped the other's true intent. He was placing a bet. The classic Viper play.
The Imagawa forces were bearing down. Owari seemed doomed beyond all doubt. But Saitō Dōsan had caught the scent of a variable. He had long since heard that this new head of the Owari Oda clan, Oda Nobuna, possessed the power of a divine artifact. He had also heard of the fearsome might of her subordinate, Shibata Katsuie.
He was betting that the Oda clan would not lose. At the very least, would not be annihilated. That they could withstand the Imagawa assault. Nobuna didn't agree on the spot. She didn't refuse, either. She looked at Dōsan. "You brought two thousand men. How many did you leave behind in Mino?"
Dōsan smiled. His triangular eyes revealed absolutely nothing. "Enough to guard the home."
It was at this moment that Niwa Nagahide spoke. Her voice was, as ever, soft. But it reached every ear with perfect clarity. "My lord. With the reinforcements of two thousand men, added to our own main force, the gap in military strength is still vast, but we can at least buy more time."
Concise. Direct. Nobuna glanced at her. The corner of her mouth curved upward. "…Fine." Her slit-pupils swiveled back to Dōsan. "Then let's cooperate. For now." The corner of her lips hooked upward.
That curve, Shibata Katsuie knew it all too well. Because it was exactly the same smile her lord had worn when she decided to launch the surprise raid on Okehazama.
"However, you're the one who said you'd deal with that Demon God. If things go wrong… don't come blaming me."
At the same moment. Okehazama. The Imagawa main camp.
After the chaotic battle that afternoon, Imagawa Yoshimoto made a decision. She split the seven thousand main-force soldiers and the thirteen thousand auxiliary and logistics troops, originally crammed together at the western end of the valley, into three separate encampments.
They were arranged in a triangular formation upon three elevated positions west of Okehazama, each supporting the others. This was, in truth, the standard encampment strategy Taigen Sessai had bequeathed to Imagawa Yoshimoto before her death.
When camping in the field, never concentrate all forces in a single location. Divide into three camps so they can provide mutual support and avoid being annihilated in a single strike.
As the head of the Imagawa clan, though Yoshimoto rarely took to the front lines herself, she still understood these principles. She simply hadn't used them before. Because she had felt a paltry little house like the Owari Oda didn't warrant such serious effort.
Now she felt differently. Because the Oda clan actually possessed individuals of personal martial prowess seemingly no less than the Takeda or Uesugi. This fact still made Imagawa Yoshimoto grind her teeth even now, cursing the injustice of the heavens.
And because Shibata Katsuie had carved a path straight to her tent and nearly brought her axe crashing down on her face. That lesson was deep enough. The three camps split. The main camp was still positioned on the tallest of the three low hills.
Bearing the grand entourage Yoshimoto so adored. Conspicuous enough. But compared to before.... far, far safer.
Night fell. Campfires blazed to life. The camp of seven thousand glittered like a sea of fallen stars when viewed from the heights. Matsudaira Motoyasu, who had been tasked with escorting the follow-up provisions and supply train, arrived just before dark.
A girl of ten. A round face still carrying baby fat. She wore those round-rimmed wooden spectacles with crystal lenses, a plain gray kosode, and an oversized dark brown haori. Her sleeves were rolled up. She was half a day late.
"Motoyasu." Yoshimoto sat beside the campfire before the main tent. Her folding fan tapped against her knee. Motoyasu knelt three paces away, her forehead pressed to the ground. Trembling. Shrinking. "Th-this subordinate is guilty—"
"You are indeed guilty." Yoshimoto's laugh was cold. "Half a day late."
"Yes… a section of the road from Mikawa was washed out by a flash flood. We had no choice but to detour—"
"Then you should have checked the road conditions in advance." Yoshimoto's voice wasn't loud. But every word carried crushing weight. She had just crawled back from the brink of death. Coupled with other factors… at this moment, her temper was at its absolute worst.
Matsudaira Motoyasu had walked straight into the line of fire. "If we had lost this afternoon's battle, your provisions being half a day late would have been late for a lifetime."
Motoyasu's round spectacles had slipped to the tip of her nose. Her forehead was drenched in sweat. She didn't dare lift her head. The most important quality for a hostage was to keep one's mouth shut.
That was the rule the Matsudaira family had drilled into her. But an even more important quality was to get things done properly. And she hadn't. She truly was guilty. Fortunately, though Yoshimoto was stern with her tongue, she was, in truth, magnanimous.
"Don't let it happen again." Yoshimoto withdrew her fan and turned her head, no longer looking at her. Motoyasu felt as though she'd been granted a full pardon.
She retreated softly behind the tent, wiped her sweat, and pushed her spectacles back up her nose. Terrifying, she muttered in her heart.
The light of the central campfire flickered across Yoshimoto's face, now bright, now dim. She didn't continue venting her fury. Because her attention had been drawn elsewhere.
On the eastern side of the main camp's bonfire circle, near the edge. Two figures sat side by side.
Gray robes and white-and-crimson. The dying glow of the campfire traced two starkly different yet intimately close silhouettes. Shinji leaned against a stone. His right hand rested at his side. Onikiri and Yomi-giri hung at either hip. His crimson demon eyes were half-lidded, as though resting.
Kikyō sat to his right. Her longbow lay beside her knee. Her black hair cascaded over her shoulders. The cuffs of her white uwagi were slightly rolled, revealing slender wrists.
The two of them didn't speak. But their hands, in the shadows beside their knees, were intertwined. Ten fingers laced together. Very still. Very natural. As though it were the most logical, inevitable thing in the world.
Yoshimoto stared at those two clasped hands for a very long time. The folding fan spun once in her palm. She let out a cold huff. Her heart still quailed with lingering fear… She was somewhat afraid of that miko.
That Kikyō, who seemed to hold considerable renown among the common folk. She still remembered that arrow that had grazed past her cheek. The residual reiryoku of that spirit-cleansing arrow had stung her face for a full half-hour before it faded.
Though that miko had smiled and said she was purifying…Purify my head! Yes.
Besides fear, what Yoshimoto felt even more was irritation. Defiance. And envy. She watched the way Kikyō leaned against Shinji's shoulder. The miko's face still held that cool, detached expression befitting her nature. But as someone who had ascended to the position of head of the Imagawa clan from a very young age, Yoshimoto could see her ease.
That sense of absolute security. Yoshimoto wanted that so desperately it hurt. She had never felt at ease, not since childhood. Her father had died young. Taigen Sessai had raised her single-handedly. But Sessai was a strategist, not family. What she had taught her was always statecraft and governance, never how to feel safe. And now, that place of security belonged to Kikyō.
Yoshimoto withdrew her gaze. Her folding fan covered half her face. "…What's so great about that." Her voice was very small. So small only she could hear it. Beneath the fan, the corner of her mouth twisted downward. Very much displeased.
On the other side of the campfire, Shinji was not truly resting. Though his crimson demon eyes were half-lidded, his gaze had never left Imagawa Yoshimoto in the distance. Not because of Yoshimoto's little gestures. Because of what he saw.
The Black Agate Pearl hung against the inside of his chest. That pitch-black bead, the size of a fingernail, ever since its Affection had passed thirty and unlocked the First Talent Illusion-Breaking, had been altering his vision. To pierce through falsehood. To see through all illusions.
This talent had been of little use in daily life. There were no illusionists around him. No one had tried to deceive him with phantasms.
Illusions involved the mind. But let alone yōkai, whose transformations were primarily physical mutations, even miko and mages who specialized in reiryoku and hōriki rarely possessed such skills.
To this day, Shinji had only ever encountered one being capable of it: Himemushimaru. But now, he discovered that the visual amplification brought by Illusion-Breaking was not limited to seeing through phantasms.
It allowed him to see things that should have been invisible. For instance, at this very moment.
Imagawa Yoshimoto sat beside the campfire, her fan covering her face. Her twelve-layered kimono of deep purple and gold thread glowed with warm hues in the firelight. But behind her, or rather, above her head, something was slowly manifesting. An illusory, semi-transparent outline.
As though condensed from coils of smoke. Six curved shapes extended from within that haze, like tusks. Elephant tusks. Six tusks. It was unmistakably the blurred silhouette of a colossal elephant. Immense. Majestic. Radiating an aura of deep, abiding stillness. Like a great, surging mass of condensed spirit. Like a vast, converging formless entity.
Shinji's demon eyes lifted slightly. Kikyō, at his side, seemed to sense the shift in him. She didn't turn her head. Her fingers only tightened faintly around his. "You see it too?" Her voice was very soft. Only the two of them could hear.
Shinji turned his gaze toward Kikyō. The cold, refined features of the miko had softened in the glow of the campfire. Her dark pupils reflected the distant silhouette of Yoshimoto, and, above that young daimyō's head, the illusory outline of that spectral entity.
"Too?" Shinji was faintly startled.
Kikyō… could also see it?
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