Chapter 224: The NTR, Kobe Hikaru
Kiyosu Castle, the dungeon.
They called it a dungeon, but in reality, it was little more than a drafty wooden storage room converted from the bottom floor of the Tenshukaku. Flimsy paper walls enclosed all four sides, lacking even a proper iron fence. Owari Province was notoriously poor, so destitute that even their designated holding cell for high-value captives was a shabby, creaking mess.
Oda Nobuna sat cross-legged in the darkest corner of the room.
Her usually pristine golden hair puffed out in frizzy, dried tangles over her shoulders. Kobe Hikaru had ordered someone to find her a change of clothes, resulting in a loose grey-blue robe. The collar hung open carelessly, and the sash was knotted haphazardly around her waist, accentuating her slender figure. The hem bunched up around her bare knees in a completely unrefined manner, a far cry from her usual regal bearing.
Her golden eyes were half-lowered, staring blankly at the floorboards. Her jaw remained locked, her features frozen in a mask of absolute stillness.
She had been confined to this wooden box for five days.
Five entire days.
Imagawa Yoshimoto's ashigaru reliably provided her with food and water. Although every meal consisted of nothing but plain rice and pickled radishes, no one went out of their way to harass or humiliate her. They even allowed her to pace freely within the confines of the room.
They simply forbade her from stepping outside.
Through the thin paper walls, the silhouettes of two Imagawa guards stood at attention. But further out in the shadows—Nobuna could feel it—lingered the heavy, oppressive stench of Yao Qi. It was likely some minor yokai from the Night Parade of One Hundred Demons under Hikaru's command, crouching in the eaves, unblinking and watchful.
She couldn't escape.
More, there was no need to run. The lives of her most loyal retainers rested entirely in the Oni Samurai's pale hands: Shibata Katsuie, Maeda Toshiie, Niwa Nagahide, alongside the three or four hundred battered remnants of her army. If she fled, she might survive, but those people would undoubtedly be slaughtered.
Yet, her captivity wasn't the source of the dark irritation festering in her chest.
What truly gnawed at her sanity was something else entirely.
Over the course of these five days, her divine artifacts—Katsuie, Toshiie, and the others—had long since been released from their respective cells.
Nobuna could sense their presence with crystal clarity. The power of a divine artifact originated from the gods and buddhas themselves. Even after descending into the mortal realm, the spiritual tether remained intact. She knew exactly where her artifacts were, their current physical state, and whether they had sustained any injuries.
She knew her people were alive.
In fact, they seemed to be doing exceptionally well.
Katsuie, in particular. The spiritual fluctuations radiating from the silver-armored warrior were stable, highly active, and carried an indescribable sense of deep relaxation. It felt exactly like a warhorse that had been locked in a stifling stable for months, suddenly led out into a vast, sunlit grassland to stretch its legs.
Sitting in the dim corner, Nobuna glared at the slivers of afternoon sunlight piercing through the paper screen.
She didn't understand. Why lock the master away, only to let the retainers roam free? What was his endgame?
Just then, the paper door slid open from the outside. A blinding shaft of sunlight spilled into the dusty room, forcing the blonde girl to squint. An Imagawa ashigaru stood respectfully at the threshold.
"Lord Oda, please come with me."
The young daimyo let out a cold snort. Pushing herself up from the floorboards, she brushed the wrinkles from her knees with sharp, dissatisfied movements and stepped barefoot onto the wooden corridor.
She was led out of the Tenshukaku's bottom floor, guided through a winding open-air corridor, and up a flight of stone steps.
The courtyard of Kiyosu Castle's Honmaru basked quietly in the golden afternoon sun. Freshly pruned pine saplings lined the stone path—trees she had personally ordered planted just a few months prior. They hadn't grown much since then.
Then, she saw it.
Right in the center of the open courtyard, a low wooden table had been set up. Steam curled lazily from an elegant ceramic tea set resting on top.
Sitting leisurely behind the table was the grey-robed, pale-haired Oni Samurai. His Crimson Demon Eyes shifted, locking onto her approaching figure.
And flanking him on both sides—
Nobuna's bare feet ground to a sudden halt on the stone steps.
Half a step to the Oni's right, Shibata Katsuie knelt on the grass. Her heavy silver armor had been polished until it gleamed like a mirror. The jagged crack on the side of her breastplate—previously torn open by the cursed blade Onikiri—had been smoothly patched with a fresh plate of iron. Her brownish-red short hair was tied back neatly. Her amber eyes stared straight ahead, her expression carrying a heavy, solemn dignity.
Her massive great axe wasn't resting on the ground; it stood perfectly upright at her right side, supported casually by one hand.
Half a step to the Oni's left, Maeda Toshiie mirrored the kneeling posture. Her light brown hair framed her round face and wide eyes, and she wore a crisp, dark brown ashigaru uniform. A short sword rested peacefully beside her knees.
The rigid, respectful posture they maintained while waiting beside Hikaru—
They didn't look like prisoners of war. They looked exactly like his personal retainers.
Nobuna's golden slit pupils constricted into tight needles.
She felt it. The divine artifact power radiating from Katsuie was still present; the familiar grey-iron light continued to circulate across the heavy blade of the great axe.
But the directional flow of that power had shifted.
Originally, Katsuie's divine energy used Nobuna as an absolute anchor point—a spiritual projection bestowed by the descent of the Demon King of the Sixth Heaven, permanently locked onto Nobuna's aura.
Now, right beside that primary anchor, a second thread had formed.
It was an extremely thin, almost imperceptible thread of spiritual connection. But it undeniably existed. And it led directly into the chest of the tea-sipping Oni Samurai sitting behind the low table.
Nobuna froze completely, her bare toes gripping the edge of the stone step.
She had no idea what dark, manipulative methods this yokai had employed—but the results were glaringly obvious.
Five days. Her people had been released, contacted, spoken to, and integrated into this monster's daily life. Five days wasn't a long time, but for a master manipulator, it was more than enough to plant a seed of loyalty deep within the heart of a divine artifact.
Especially when their true master was locked in a box, entirely out of the picture.
What was this? A deliberate display of dominance? A mockery?
Nobuna's fingernails dug so hard into her palms that they nearly drew blood.
It was a pity she wasn't a modern person, nor a transmigrator from another era. Otherwise, she would have instantly found the perfect, highly vulgar terminology to describe the scene unfolding before her.
This is called getting NTR'd right to your fucking face.
Hikaru picked up his teacup, took a slow sip of the hot green tea, and inexplicably thought that exact phrase in his heart.
Watching the fierce blonde girl stand paralyzed on the stone steps, a rare, dry hint of mischief rose in the Oni Samurai's chest.
As for what he was actually doing? It was incredibly simple.
Conquering.
Conquering a Sacred Artifact was a mechanic he had wanted to test for a very long time, but the right opportunity had never presented itself. Sacred Artifacts were overwhelmingly powerful. He could kill them in combat without much difficulty, but capturing one alive without damaging its core essence was a logistical nightmare.
The Heavenly Kings under the Takeda Clan had fought to the bitter end. The Hime-mushas in the previous Uesugi Clan's army were exactly the same.
But right now, the stars had aligned perfectly.
Katsuie was the living incarnation of a Sacred Artifact. Strictly speaking, her biological essence wasn't entirely human; she was a semi-living entity formed from the physical manifestation of mortal faith. She was an existence akin to an Artifact Spirit, bestowed a true name by the gods and Buddhas to serve as a vessel of war.
And the system judged her as a valid, conquerable target.
Over the past five days, operating strictly under the premise that he would not harm Nobuna, Hikaru had successfully earned Katsuie's baseline trust.
Then, he just talked to her.
No grand tactical debates. No political manipulation. He simply talked to her about weapons, the philosophy of martial arts, the rhythm of combat, and the subtle things she enjoyed.
Katsuie was, at her core, a pure warrior.
What a true warrior feared most wasn't death on the battlefield, but living a life without ever being truly understood. Nobuna deeply appreciated Katsuie's martial prowess and raw destructive power, but the young daimyo had never once asked about the foundation of her actual martial arts—the blood, sweat, and technique that existed entirely separate from her Sacred Artifact powers.
Yet, the terrifying yokai who had defeated her actually cared enough to ask.
It was absurd to the extreme. Yet, during one of those quiet afternoon conversations, his words had struck a chord deep within her soul.
The glowing blue numbers hovering in Hikaru's vision explained the rest.
`[Shibata Katsuie: Favorability 31 (Obedience)]`
`[First Talent Unlocked — Sacred Artifact Resonance: The holder can borrow this Sacred Artifact to release a one-time explosive slash of faith power; long cooldown period.]`
Thirty-one. Just barely over the threshold.
The starting point and scaling difficulty of favorability varied wildly for each artifact. A value of thirty for one weapon might mean unbreakable trust, while for another, it merely indicated simple friendliness.
The result, however, was highly profitable.
He was still a long way from truly claiming her as his exclusive property—this was only the most preliminary stage of obedience, a fragile state where she was simply willing to sit quietly and listen to his commands. But for a Sacred Artifact still actively bound to a living master, reaching this step in a mere five days was a ridiculous achievement.
, he had achieved it right in front of that master's face.
During this grinding process, Hikaru also discovered a fascinating loophole. For a personified, living artifact, the activation requirement for their system talents was actually much lower than that of standard inanimate objects.
A normal sword had to be physically held, swung, and actively used in combat to trigger its effects. But a personified 'Artifact' only needed to be given a verbal command.
In other words, as long as Katsuie remained under his tactical command, he could trigger her talent remotely.
Obviously, he couldn't exactly pick up the silver-armored girl by the ankles and swing her around like a literal blade. But the next tier of unlocked talents might offer even more broken utility.
Hikaru suddenly felt a strong urge to collect a few more 'Sacred Artifacts' for his growing faction. But there was no rush; the Sengoku era was vast, and plenty of opportunities would present themselves later.
Nobuna remained rooted to the stone steps, her golden eyes burning holes into the peaceful courtyard scene.
She didn't speak. Not a single word left her throat.
From beginning to end, she maintained a suffocating silence. The fire in her eyes raged, but her lips were pressed into a bloodless, tight line.
Katsuie felt her lord's intense gaze boring into the side of her head.
The silver-armored warrior's amber eyes swirled with wordless, conflicting emotions—heavy guilt, deep confusion, and a strange sense of belonging that was difficult to define.
But she did not stand up. She did not rush back to Nobuna's side.
She remained kneeling beside the Oni, motionless as a statue. It wasn't that she had abandoned her loyalty, but Hikaru had sworn an oath not to harm her lord. And currently, her lord was perfectly safe.
Nobuna stood there for a long, agonizing minute.
Then, without a word, she spun on her heel, marched back down the stone steps, and retraced her path toward the drafty wooden cell at the bottom of the Tenshukaku. Her back remained ramrod straight, her barefoot steps heavy and steady.
She never once looked back.
The sliding paper door slammed shut from the inside.
The courtyard descended into a thick, awkward silence. Katsuie finally lowered her head, her amber eyes dropping to the heavy great axe resting by her hand. The grey-iron light pulsed softly under the sun.
Silence reigned until the soft crunch of footsteps echoed from outside the courtyard walls.
White robes paired with a vibrant red hakama, long black hair cascading down her back like a waterfall.
Kikyo walked gracefully through the side gate of the Honmaru. Her signature Japanese longbow was slung securely across her back, and she cradled a small bundle of freshly picked medicinal herbs in her hands. She had spent the last few days wandering the fields around Kiyosu Castle, foraging to pass the idle time.
She stopped beside the low table, her dark eyes drifting toward the empty stone steps, before finally settling on Hikaru.
"She's gone?"
Kikyo placed the bundle of herbs neatly on the corner of the table. Tucking her robes beneath her, she sat down in a flawless kneeling posture and poured herself a fresh cup of tea.
She took a slow, elegant sip.
Then, she set the ceramic cup down with a soft clink.
"Whenever you do things like this, the expression on your face becomes very strange."
Hikaru raised a pale eyebrow, his deadpan facade perfectly intact. "What expression?"
"A deeply smug expression."
Kikyo held her cup, her cool, beautiful face showing neither distaste nor helplessness. The atmosphere around them instantly shifted, radiating the comfortable, unbreakable vibe of an old married couple. "It looks exactly the same as the face you made that night with Yura of the Hair."
"I don't care what underhanded methods you use to win someone over to our side. Or who it is that wins you over."
Kikyo released the cup, her tone as flat and casual as if she were discussing the afternoon weather. "But for you to sit there and smile like that at someone else's blade... I just feel..."
She paused for a fraction of a second, her dark eyes searching for the most accurate word.
"Perverted."
Hikaru's eye twitched slightly. "...That's a bit much, don't you think?"
Kikyo didn't bother continuing the argument. She simply raised her dark eyes, locking her gaze with his Crimson Demon Eyes.
Seeing the subtle challenge in her stare, Hikaru was slightly startled, but he reacted naturally. Leaning forward across the low table, he closed the distance between them until their foreheads gently touched.
Mm... as expected, Kikyo thought to herself, feeling the familiar, cold comfort of his demonic skin against hers. The expression he makes when he looks at me is still the best one.
Her trust in him never required verbal explanation. She supported whatever dark, pragmatic path he chose to walk; that absolute loyalty had never wavered.
But occasionally, she felt the distinct need to remind her lover that she wasn't blind.
And more, that she would always be his undisputed 'number one'.
Katsuie knelt stiffly to the side, her amber eyes darting awkwardly between the two of them as the intimate atmosphere thickened. Eventually, the silver-armored warrior just lowered her head, staring intensely at the grass and pretending she didn't exist.
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