By now, the entire territory of Owari Province had long since fallen into the hands of the Imagawa clan. The banners of the Imagawa flew over Kiyosu Castle, the triple turtle-shell flower crest snapping fiercely beneath the skies of Owari.
With seven thousand main-force troops and the surrendered soldiers of Owari absorbed into their ranks, the forces Yoshimoto could now mobilize approached nine thousand. The remnants of the Oda clan had been scattered.
Niwa Nagahide had been captured the very day Kiyosu Castle fell. She had never intended to flee in the first place. Fifty men defending an empty castle had been a facade for the outside world. The moment the gates opened, she had been seated in the main keep, waiting. Over half of Nobuna's twelve hundred soldiers had been lost.
The remaining three or four hundred were currently being held under guard, pressed into the supply train. Nobuna herself was confined under house arrest on the ground floor of Kiyosu Castle's tenshukaku.
The vessel of the Demon King of the Sixth Heaven could not be killed, nor truly imprisoned. But all of her people were in Imagawa hands. This chain was far stronger than any cage.
Shibata Katsuie had not, for the time being, joined the Imagawa camp. Maeda Toshiie had not, either. Yoshimoto understood this perfectly well, but pretended not to know. She was no fool. Whatever Shinji had been up to among her prisoners of war over those five days, Yoshimoto had seen it with her own eyes.
A yōkai, winning over the divine artifact of a god-buddha incarnation right before her very face, such a thing was unheard of in the Warring States era. But since that yōkai was on her side, Yoshimoto selectively ignored the implications. And she had no leisure to dwell on it now.
A map was spread across the low table in the main command tent. Owari was secured. The next step, was obvious. From Owari, push west. Cross Ise Province. Cross Ōmi Province.
There lay the capital, the city of Kyōto. The Kinai. The heart of the realm.
"The provisions within the province can sustain us for another twenty days." Matsudaira Motoyasu knelt in the corner of the tent. Her round spectacles were pushed up on her nose as she flipped through the ledger.
"Adding the seized Owari granaries, we can manage another five." Yoshimoto nodded. Her folding fan tapped against the table. Twenty-five days. From Kiyosu to Kyōto, a forced march could reach it in seven days at the fastest. But two walls still stood between them, Ise and Ōmi.
Ise would not be difficult. The daimyō there, the Kitabatake clan, had weak troops and crumbling castles. The Imagawa's nine thousand would roll over them without much effort. Ōmi, that was the true gate.
The Asai and Rokkaku clans encircled Lake Biwa. Though neither was overwhelmingly powerful on their own, together they could field over ten thousand soldiers. And what was more critical, behind Ōmi lay Kyōto.
And what dwelled within Kyōto, Yoshimoto had now fully investigated. Hagoromo Gitsune. Yōkai. A horde of yōkai. A human daimyō leading tens of thousands into the capital would not merely face the court nobles and the shogun, but the thousand-year daiyōkai coiled beneath the earth. However…
"Lord Shinji." She turned toward the other corner of the tent. The demon warrior in gray robes leaned against a tent pole. His crimson demon eyes were half-lidded.
Kikyō, naturally, still sat beside him. "The road ahead, from Ise to Ōmi to Kyōto, I can walk on my own." Yoshimoto spoke these words as she folded her fan shut and gripped it in her hand.
"You don't need to follow me the entire way. Your battlefield, is not here. It lies within Kyōto itself." Yoshimoto had made up her mind. Yōkai. Demon Gods. They must be deployed on the battlefields they were suited for. She spoke the words decisively.
But her voice, in the final half-sentence, had dipped ever so slightly. Don't need. What she had said was "don't need." Not "don't want."
Shinji glanced at her. The young daimyō of sixteen or seventeen sat upon her cushioned dais, draped in brocade. Her twelve-layered kimono of deep purple and gold thread was layered in immaculate folds.
The golden headdress gleamed atop her head. The folding fan was gripped in her hand. Her grandeur was sufficient. Her presence, commanding. But that hand gripping the fan, seemed, somehow, apprehensive.
She was forcing herself to stand tall. But Taigen Sessai was no longer here. She had no choice but to stand on her own. Yoshimoto waited two seconds. No response. The folding fan spread open once more, veiling half her face, revealing only a pair of bright, luminous eyes.
"What I mean is, you should still have your own affairs to attend to, no? Don't you need to return to Musashi and check on things?"
This was a way out. A way out for herself. And a way out for Shinji. She didn't want a yōkai to think that Imagawa Yoshimoto was helpless without him, though, in some sense, she truly couldn't manage without him. He had saved her twice now. If not for him, she would already be dead.
"Mn." Shinji straightened. He took the opening she offered. "It's time to head back." He did, indeed, have his own affairs. Banryū's Affection had reached forty-eight. Only two points remained until the Second Talent unlocked at fifty.
Yet the progress was growing increasingly difficult. Banryū craved power. It also craved things that were heavy. The heavier, the better. He needed to go find such things. Beyond that, the Black Pearl continued its slow ascent.
The Shikon no Tama's Affection was at ninety-one, drawing ever closer to its maximum. And here, with Yoshimoto… with Kikyō present, certain matters were inconvenient. It was better to return.
Hearing his reply, Yoshimoto's lips, behind the folding fan, pressed together briefly. The fan veiled most of her expression. Only the rims of her ears flushed faintly.
"Then.... safe travels." She finished speaking and immediately turned her head to study the map. She didn't look at him again.
Shinji and Kikyō walked out of the great tent. The instant the tent flap fell, Yoshimoto lowered the fan from her face. Matsudaira Motoyasu stole a furtive glance at her lord's expression. Y
oshimoto was staring at the direction of the tent flap. Her cheeks were faintly puffed. Motoyasu ducked her head back behind the ledger. She dared not look any further.
Yet before their footsteps had even left Kiyosu Castle, Shinji abruptly halted. Kikyō stopped at the very same moment. Both of them turned simultaneously toward the northeast.
Not toward Musashi, where they were meant to return. Toward Mino. Yōki, no. Not yōki. A power far more ancient. Far deeper. Surging from the mountain ranges of northern Mino Province. Spreading along the veins of the earth in every direction.
The texture of that power was utterly different from the yōki of demons. Not impure. Not heavy. Instead, it was piercingly, crystalline clear. It carried the distinct flavor of the hōriki unique to Buddhist monks and priests, the vow-power born of pure ascetic cultivation.
And it was vast to the point of absurdity. So vast that it nearly surpassed the maximum reiryoku capacity of Kikyō herself, who stood beside him. Yet within it, was hidden a deep, gnawing unwillingness. Carrying… a grudge.
Shinji's demon pupils contracted violently. Deep within his eyes flickered a light like ghostly green phosphorescence.
The soul anchor of the Soul-Chasing BowArm Transformation had shifted. But it was not from Tamayo, who was far away at Honnō-ji in Kyōto, who would never dare step out without Shinji's command.
This anchor came from that figure who had traveled from Kyōto to the Kantō. That young onmyōji from the Kyōto Onmyōryō. Tsuchimikado Kokoro.
At the time, that girl had seemed harmless. Yet because she had come from Kyōto, Shinji had still planted an anchor within her. Silently. For surveillance. But now, that anchor had been severed. Cut off by that fusion of demonic and Buddhist power.
At the very same instant, the Shikon no Tama, which Kikyō wore against her chest, also stirred. She lowered her head. Her right hand pressed against her heart.
The Shikon no Tama emitted a searing heat. The balance of the four souls within had fluctuated. It was the Naohi. Alert. Or perhaps, it was Midoriko's residual soul, telling her something. The Naohi was, in its very essence, the lingering will of the great miko Midoriko of ages past.
Kikyō lifted her head. On her cold, clear features, a rare gravity surfaced. "That direction… something has awakened."
Shinji's demon eyes were fixed upon the northeastern horizon. The sky above northern Mino Province was shifting in color. A faint layer of gold was bleeding into the pristine azure, as though someone had brushed a wash of paint across the canopy of heaven.
He knew what it was. A great mountain. Buddhism. Rising mist. And… a grudge of deep, unwilling resentment. Without question, it was what he had mentioned to Kikyō before. Mount Hakurei.
"Kikyō."
"Mn?"
"It seems we won't be able to return to Musashi just yet." He gazed toward the direction of Mino Province. The violet veins within his crimson demon eyes began to swirl.
....
Mino. The northern mountain ranges. The layered, overlapping ridges were cloaked beneath a canopy of dark jade-green forest beneath the afternoon sun.
The calls of birds rose from the valley floor, carried by the wind into the far distance. A stone path, nearly swallowed by wild grass, wound its way upward. Moss filled the crevices between the stone steps.
Tsuchimikado Kokoro had been walking along this stone path for a very long time. She still wore the standard attire of an onmyōji, a white kariginu over a deep black hitatare, with a haori embroidered with the five-pointed star crest draped across her shoulders.
Her deep chestnut hair hung to her waist, loosely bound in a single section by a black cord. Stray strands fell beside her ears. Her features were delicate and small. Her features were even, but not striking.
A pair of disproportionately large amber eyes were nearly transparent beneath the dense canopy of shade. She did not walk fast. Her steps were steady. But her expression was one of utter misery.
After leaving Imagawa-kan in Suruga, she should have returned directly to Kyōto to report. The imperial decree had been delivered. Though Yoshimoto had gently, courteously blocked her at every turn, the errand itself could be considered complete.
The problem was, she had gotten lost.
The daughter of the head of the illustrious Tsuchimikado house. The seventeenth-generation direct descendant of Abe no Seimei. Lost in the mountains of northern Mino Province. Her onmyōdō compass had failed. The directional spell of her pentagram talismans had been in complete disarray since the second day.
North, south, east, west, the characters upon the talisman's face spun wildly, as though being interfered with by something. Kokoro had tried to turn back. But she couldn't find her way out. The stone path vanished behind her, replaced by mountain cliffs and dense forest she had never seen before.
She had also tried to climb to higher ground to get her bearings. Halfway up the slope, the stone beneath her feet had suddenly crumbled. She had tumbled down the hillside, bruising her knees and scraping her palms. The hem of her pentagram haori had been torn in two places by the sharp rocks.
No matter which direction she walked, she always ended up back on the same stone path. And at the end of that stone path, was a deep pit like an ancient well. Beside the pit stood a massive boulder. Its surface was carved with ancient Sanskrit. The edges were mostly swallowed by moss.
"Back here again…" Kokoro crouched beside the boulder, hugging her knees. Her large amber eyes stared at those indecipherable Sanskrit characters. The corners of her mouth drooped downward.
She had already confirmed it. This place, was Mount Hakurei. The old archives of the Onmyōryō had records of this name. Centuries ago, an eminent monk named Saint Hakurei had entered eternal meditation here. His physical body had become a "buddha."
It had absorbed the spiritual energy of heaven and earth for hundreds of years. Gradually, it had expanded. Petrified. Fused with the very earth. And finally, it had risen from the ground, becoming a colossal mountain that stretched for several kilometers.
Mount Hakurei. This entire mountain, was the corpse of Saint Hakurei. The problem was, she had never intended to come here. She was only passing through Mino!
"It must be this mountain's barrier… it pulled me in…" Kokoro muttered to herself. Her voice carried undisguised helplessness. She reached out. Her fingertips hesitantly touched the Sanskrit.
She only wanted to sense the barrier. To see if she could find a way out. The reiryoku of her onmyōdō seeped from her palm into the stone wall. Golden patterns of light spread along the Sanskrit, as though blood had been injected into long-dead veins.
And then, the mountain sounded. A deep, sustained resonance, like the lingering echo of a great temple bell. It reverberated from the mountain's very core.
The entirety of Mount Hakurei trembled in that single instant. Flocks of birds erupted from the forest canopy in terror. Loose stones tumbled down the cliffs.
Kokoro was so startled she scrambled backward two steps and fell squarely on her rear. "I-I didn't do it on purpose—!" She panicked. Her large amber eyes went perfectly round. Her hands waved frantically before her like windmills.
But the mountain paid her no mind. The trembling continued. And grew even greater. The ground began to fissure. White mist seeped from the cracks, carrying an ancient, heavy scent, like incense that had been burning in a temple for centuries.
Kokoro realized something. She realized, she had touched Saint Hakurei himself. The onmyōdō of Abe no Seimei's descendant had come into contact with the soul of a centuries-old living buddha.
"A descendant of Abe no Seimei…" A voice suddenly resounded. Like wind blowing from within the mountain. Mournful. Lingering. "Why have you awakened this old monk?"
Kokoro's entire body went rigid. She hadn't awakened anyone! She just wanted to find the road home! Y
et the soul of Saint Hakurei, wandering within the mountain, had been roused by the onmyōdō of Abe no Seimei's bloodline. "If it is Abe no Seimei's words you bring, then this old monk shall deign to listen. But if you stand on the side of Nue… then halt your steps at the foot of this mountain. This old monk's abode does not welcome defiled demons."
Kokoro cried out, "I don't stand on either side! I'm just lost!" Her voice was filled to the brim with tearless despair. Saint Hakurei did not respond. The mountain continued to quake.
The white mist continued to surge. Kokoro staggered to her feet. Her expression grew ever more bitter. She couldn't get out. She couldn't go forward. She couldn't retreat. Trapped at the foot of the mountain by a living buddha of centuries. She really was just passing through.
And then, something even worse happened. Kokoro's body suddenly went rigid. Yet it was no longer the rigidity of fear or helpless grievance. Her limbs no longer obeyed her will. Her large amber eyes flew wide open.
The color of her pupils shifted in a single instant. From amber, to gold. Slit-pupiled. Serpentine gold. Her lips moved. But the voice that emerged was utterly different from before. "Does the venerable saint still feel that unwillingness within his heart?"
The voice spoke each word with deliberate weight. It carried an ancient calm that transcended the ages.
This was absolutely not the voice of Tsuchimikado Kokoro. It was, Abe no Seimei. No. It was the aspect of Abe no Seimei that belonged to the demonic, the existence born of his half-demon blood. Nue.
Centuries ago, the great onmyōji of the Heian era, the very founder of the Onmyōdō tradition, Abe no Seimei had been a half-demon, born of a white fox. In life, he had balanced Yin and Yang in perfect harmony, human and demon in equal measure.
After death, his human aspect had passed into the legacy of the Onmyōryō. His demonic aspect… had persisted to this very day in another form. The successive heads of the Tsuchimikado house knew this secret.
Kokoro also knew it. But knowing it was one thing, she had never imagined that the demonic aspect of her ancestor, the existence of Nue, would speak through her body at this time.
Under these circumstances! Even if the ancestor's descent through the bloodline was recorded within the family archives… Kokoro's consciousness was screaming. But her body was utterly controlled. Her mouth was speaking words she had absolutely no desire to speak.
"Our ancestor, from the depths of the underworld, has entrusted a 'person' to bring a message to you, venerable saint… I can lend you my strength. To make amends for your regret." Nue, borrowing Kokoro's tongue, spoke each word with deliberate, measured weight.
The soul of Saint Hakurei remained silent within the mountain for a very, very long time. After that long silence, the light of Mount Hakurei expanded. White radiance poured forth from the mountain's body, illuminating the entire foothills with blinding brilliance.
The hōriki of a Buddhist monk, the vow-power of a priest, surged from within the mountain and spread outward along the earth in every direction. Kokoro's body, after Nue had receded, collapsed limp upon the ground. Her limbs were utterly devoid of strength. Her forehead was drenched in sweat.
She lay upon the shattered stone, staring up at the ash-white canopy of Mount Hakurei's sky. Her large amber eyes had already returned to their original color. "…I just knew… this mission would bring nothing but trouble…"
As expected. The moment her words fell, an even greater trouble arrived. The white light continued to expand. It formed a wall of Buddhist power that stretched across heaven and earth. Then it seemed to begin devouring everything around it.
Kokoro was swept up by an intangible force and dragged into the interior of Mount Hakurei. She didn't even have time to struggle.
"HEEEELP—MEEEE—!" Her voice, in the end, vanished into the white radiance.