Chapter 113
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 113
Chapter Title: To Mikawa (3)
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"...The current Mikawa is nothing short of hell."
That was the bandit leader's explanation.
He swallowed hard, the razor-sharp edge of Il-yeong's blade pressing against his throat.
"I-I'm not exactly well-educated, and I've only been at this banditry a bit longer than the new recruits, so this isn't everything I've seen or heard myself, but from the rumors... it seems like a few years ago, things suddenly started getting chaotic. Villages losing their young men and women to forced conscription as ashigaru is standard now, and then there's the outrageous tyranny from the officials sent by the Imagawa Clan—it's said to pierce the heavens."
But the stories that followed were even graver than he'd imagined.
The bandit leader seemed to believe that spilling every last bit of information plainly was his only shot at survival, so he started unloading everything he knew.
"Fr-From what I've heard, the castle lord proxy's garrison troops are carrying out extortion beyond imagination."
"How so?"
"Raising taxes is the baseline, but they say they're pushing Mikawa-born soldiers to the front in every big and small conflict while paying them far less than Imagawa troops..."
"Hah."
The more he heard, the easier it was to understand why farmers had turned to banditry. From hiking taxes to everything else—it was straight out of a textbook on how to shatter public sentiment.
Il-yeong listened silently to the bandit leader, then recalled a historical fact he'd tucked away in the back of his mind.
'No major changes.'
Even if history had shifted in places, it was still just a butterfly's wingbeat. That was why Mikawa Province hadn't seen any big upheavals yet.
'Actually, that's a relief.'
Which meant he didn't need to revise the grand strategy he'd set for heading to Mikawa. Of course, whether it succeeded would depend entirely on his own capabilities.
"...M-Me."
It was then.
The bandit leader, cowed by the chill of the blade at his throat, rolled his eyes, his blackened, rotten teeth chattering.
"I-I've told you everything I know. So, y-you'll let me live, right?"
He asked cautiously, but there was a subtle glimmer of hope in his eyes, as if he truly believed Il-yeong wouldn't kill him.
Il-yeong looked down at him with impassive eyes, and the bandit leader immediately launched into excuses for himself.
"I-I was originally a farmer's son. But when my father was drafted as a foot soldier and died, I had no way to support my remaining mother and my chirping little siblings. So I figured, if I'm going to get conscripted anyway, better to turn to banditry. It wasn't something I wanted to do—so if you just spare me, I'll repay this kindness for the rest of my life!"
It was a story all too common in these chaotic isles, which made it hit all the harder. With a click of his tongue, Il-yeong spoke.
"What's your name?"
"M-My name is Ma-M Manabu..."
A flicker of hope crossed the bandit leader—no, Manabu's—eyes. Asking his name had to mean Il-yeong would let him live.
But in that instant.
Il-yeong gripped his slightly trembling sword with both hands and said,
"Right. I'll remember that."
"Pardon?"
—Slice. Thud.
In a flash, blood soaked into the mud.
At the end of the red streaks splattered like paint on the fallen leaves lay Il-yeong's Onimaru Kunitsuna. He steadied his trembling wrist with effort and forced a bitter smile, as if vowing to himself.
"Not everyone turns to banditry just because it's tough. Even so, your life will buy mercy for the rest."
Of course, the others faced harsh fates too. This wasn't about whether hurting others eased one's immediate pain.
It was a simple truth.
They were far too weak to stand against Il-yeong and the regular samurai forces—and so they would face the societal punishment decreed by the strong.
—Clang.
He sheathed his sword.
Fresh blood welled up, staining his fingers.
—Tingle.
His trembling wrist ached.
Il-yeong furrowed his brow slightly and stared at his shaking hand, as if seized by a fit.
When had it started?
The hand tremors.
When he'd first felt the terror of the battlefield?
Or when he'd wandered the border between life and death?
He couldn't pinpoint it.
But it wasn't so strange, was it?
'This world's too brutal for a modern man from the 21st century.'
Even if he'd adapted well, he was still a product of an era where ethics and justice were ingrained.
It was then.
—Roll.
Manabu's severed head rolled through the mud and bumped against Il-yeong's foot. There was no pain on his face—only lingering bewilderment.
Il-yeong stared blankly at it.
At the same time, the tremor in his hand began to fade.
"...Guess I should scrounge up some tobacco."
With connections to the Ikoma merchants, he could probably get some. Assuming tobacco even existed in the isles at this time.
Il-yeong grabbed Manabu's matted hair, turned, and walked away.
The sucking mud clung to his feet, and behind him, Manabu's slumped body seemed frozen in a grotesque pose, gazing after its departing head—but he didn't look back.
—Rustle.
How long had it been since he'd left?
A breeze whispered through the trees, and a man who'd been hiding among the early-waking grass carefully straightened up.
"..."
His ragged clothes screamed peasant, but his eyes were anything but ordinary.
—Swish.
Sure enough.
He pulled a scroll, ink, and small brush container from his loose, shabby garments and began silently writing something down.
The message was concise.
Entry.
He tied it to the pigeon's leg after retrieving it from a nearby rock crevice.
"Deliver this."
He tapped the pigeon's head lightly with a finger, cupped its feet in both hands, and released it gently skyward.
—Flutter!
The pigeon soared up and soon vanished into the blue sky, heading straight for its trained destination.
The Imagawa Clan's main castle.
"Welcome. Heh heh."
An Imagawa vassal—self-proclaimed 'castle lord proxy'—spoke from horseback. But the Mikawa retainers eyeing him wore anything but pleasant expressions.
"...Hah."
"...Tch."
He was openly working as castle lord proxy, yet he hadn't dismounted to greet the girl—who was practically the Matsudaira lord herself.
And all he could muster was 'welcome'? Talk about inverted guest-host propriety.
What did 'castle lord proxy' even mean?
He was merely managing affairs in place of the girl receiving heir training under Imagawa orders. For him to act so laxly? Naturally, the Mikawa retainers tasked with supporting her couldn't hold their tongues sweetly.
Perhaps sensing their reactions...
"Hmm."
The middle-aged proxy stroked his chin beard lightly, scanning the girl and her surrounding retainers before asking,
"Is there a problem...?"
A question tossed out oh-so-casually.
Yet the Mikawa retainers around the girl could only grit their teeth in silence, offering no reply.
...It was inevitable.
They knew their position all too well.
What was Mikawa like these days?
They might have been its rightful rulers once, but after the Matsudaira Kiyoyasu—lord two generations back—was assassinated in the Moriyama Incident, their power had plummeted.
It happened in 1535, over twenty years ago, but Mikawa had ended up half-subjugated to the Imagawa Clan as a result.
"Oh, come to think of it."
How could the proxy not know that?
No—he knew better than anyone, which was why the middle-aged wretch eyed the girl with a lecherous glint as he spoke.
"I heard the formal rites are done, and you've got a betrothal lined up with Lord Sekiguchi's son. Quite the joyous occasion."
Sekiguchi Chinaga.
A vassal serving the Imagawa lord, even connected by marriage as Yoshimoto's brother-in-law.
The proxy clearly resented it.
Not that it was hard to see why—he couldn't fathom such treatment. Hadn't Imagawa Yoshimoto personally taught her strategy and scholarship, lavishing her with benefits and conveniences?
So his words dripped with venom.
"Proof that our lord cherishes Matsudaira's little princess, eh? Tsk tsk."
But his retainers—and even Hanzo behind the girl—couldn't help fiddling with concealed weapons at the words.
She was the Matsudaira's sole legitimate heir. Calling her a mere 'hime'—a pampered lady—was an extreme dismissal of her status.
"Such—!"
Just as one samurai could bear no more insults and opened his mouth,
"Castle lord proxy."
The girl, who'd silently endured the slights until now, finally spoke. Her distinctive hair swayed.
Brown locks threaded with faint gold framed eyes of the same hue. She fixed them on the proxy—who looked down at her like a child—and offered a faint smile.
"So, what's your name?"
It was quite the brazen line.