Chapter 122
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 122
Chapter Title: Prelude to War (5)
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"There is a way, Lord Sakuma."
Baek Il-yeong responded to Sakuma Nobumori's words, and Sakuma Nobumori shot back at him.
"Well... Lady Niwa, tell us about the difference in forces."
"Ah, yes."
Sakuma was, after all, a senior retainer of the clan and ranked higher than her, so Niwa Nagahide answered immediately. She glanced briefly at Il-yeong before reciting the estimated figures based on the intelligence from the ninjas and projected supplies.
"The Imagawa clan controls not only their home base of Suruga but also Totomi, Mikawa, and parts of Owari, so they can muster somewhere between twenty and thirty thousand troops. In contrast, Owari..."
"Even scraping together every last man, we won't reach six thousand."
Hirate Masahide was the one who replied to her softly delivered report.
He continued, his face showing he could already guess what Kawajiri and Sakuma were about to say.
"It's certainly a disadvantageous situation."
His flatly stated words were nothing more than plain fact.
The Imagawa clan was at the height of its power, while the Oda clan had only just unified Owari—the difference in scale was immense.
"Ahem."
"Hah..."
As a result, defeatism, fear, or despair lingered on the retainers' faces.
It wasn't all that surprising.
In their eyes, the coming battle with the Imagawa clan would look like eggs smashing against a rock.
...Perhaps because of that atmosphere.
One elderly retainer, who had in fact been sidelined from clan politics, finally spoke up cautiously after remaining silent until now.
"What if we cede some territory and submit...?"
His aged face showed only greed and personal ambition; he spoke as if surrendering brought no shame.
Naturally, Oda Nobunaga's eyebrows twisted in anger at that moment—but someone stepped forward even before Il-yeong could.
"Hah, how pathetic."
It was none other than Oda Nobuyuki.
She recited the words in a dry voice, glared at the elderly retainer who had urged surrender, and snapped at him.
"If we confiscated all your fiefs and offered them up, could you still say that?"
"Th-that's..."
"Of course you couldn't. To begin with, your lands aren't even in Mikawa—they're in Mino."
"Ahem, ahem..."
Stung by Oda Nobuyuki's sharp retort, he grimaced but tucked tail without any rebuttal, looking utterly pathetic.
Watching the scene, Il-yeong could only click his tongue inwardly.
'Tch.'
Was there anything more selfish and repulsive than refusing to let go of even the small things one held while demanding sacrifice from the clan?
He was certain.
There absolutely wasn't.
"...Hm."
"Hah."
Perhaps because Nobuyuki had exposed the elderly retainer's hypocrisy, the mood sank back into heavy silence.
And at that moment, Mori Yoshinari, who had been sitting quietly off to one side, put on a resolute expression and addressed Oda Nobunaga.
"Entrust troops to me, and I will gladly drive them off, Milord."
Her bold declaration stood in stark contrast to the elderly retainer's words from before, tipping the atmosphere slightly toward the hawks. Il-yeong didn't miss the opening.
"Milord."
"Speak."
She nodded readily, as if she already knew what he intended to say. Soon, he responded to Sakuma—who had questioned him earlier—while addressing all the gathered retainers.
"Our forces may be few, but we know Owari better than they do. Moving a large army comes with heavy logistical burdens by default. So all we have to do is hold out. Just hold out."
His words seemed persuasive at first glance, but the generals who would actually stand on the battlefield looked sullen.
It was only natural.
Il-yeong's solution was far too optimistic and idealistic.
Just hold out and we'll win?
It wasn't a phrase that held water on any battlefield, and it meant especially little to the Imagawa clan, who had the Matsudaira clan's Mikawa Province as an excellent forward base.
Sakuma Nobumori and Kawajiri Hidekata were among those thinking that way, and they opened their mouths as if to object.
But then.
"Do you have a better plan, then?"
Il-yeong asked them.
Sakuma Nobumori and Kawajiri Hidekata exchanged glances before letting out low groans in response.
"...No."
"None at all."
It served to remind them once more that, win or lose, the only options left were to fight or submit.
In the end, they had to choose.
Whether to stand and fight, steeling themselves for total annihilation.
Or to beg pathetically for their lives and volunteer as a bridgehead for the Imagawa's advance on Kyoto.
Sakuma Nobumori.
Kawajiri Hidekata.
And Mori Yoshinari, Hirate Masahide, and the many other retainers thought, after a brief silence.
'Submit?'
'Ridiculous.'
He didn't know what the old retainers, already purged from politics, might think—but for them, who led the realm alongside the current lord Oda Nobunaga, submission had never been an option.
Thus, they finally grasped the true intent behind Il-yeong's earlier point.
—The essence of this meeting had gone astray.
What he meant was simple.
Rather than wasting time on pointless arguments, they should search for even the slimmest path to victory.
And so, Sakuma Nobumori nodded, lifted the sake cup before him, downed it in one go, and declared.
"We fight."
Kawajiri Hidekata followed suit, downing his sake. Il-yeong and Mori Yoshinari lifted their own cups, drank, and addressed Oda Nobunaga.
"We fight, Milord."
Nobunaga's golden eyes flashed.
"Ha ha!"
At the same time, she grinned as if finally pleased by the retainers' fiery resolve—like spreading flames—and slammed the butt of her matchlock rifle on the floor, bellowing as if she'd been waiting.
"Finally, words I like to hear!"
That was the moment war was truly decided.
A room decked out in obviously lavish style.
"Hm, hmm."
Inside, adorned with bonsai and paintings one might typically see only in Kyoto, a man hummed while gazing into a mirror. He wore armor that looked exorbitantly expensive at a glance.
—Tap, drip.
He applied white powder to his face.
With his teeth dyed black, he glanced at the massive nodachi sword hanging long along one wall and smiled.
"A fine day."
He slowly rose from before the mirror.
Then, moving his appropriately slender frame, he approached the window of the Tenshu keep.
"Haa."
The air from the high sky was always sweet.
He—or rather, Imagawa Yoshimoto—had finished all preparations and gazed out at the vista of Sunpu, the capital of Suruga.
Streets bustled with infants not yet fully grown scampering about, merchants setting up stalls everywhere to ply their trades.
A far cry from the ravaged villages of Mikawa Province.
But he rather liked it that way.
All this prosperity was his achievement.
In these chaotic times, exploiting others' people to feed one's own was no flaw—it was the mark of a true lord.
"Hm, hmm."
He resumed humming the tune from before. But then.
Knock knock—.
"My lord, it's me."
"Tch."
He frowned slightly, as if his mood had soured, but quickly reverted to an expressionless face and said.
"Enter."
"Yes."
With the sound of sliding doors, the Tenshu door opened, and a samurai entered.
Well aware of Imagawa Yoshimoto's temperament, he skipped needless preamble and got straight to the point.
"Lord Daigen Sessai has passed away."
"Sessai..."
At his words, Imagawa's face briefly twisted in regret, and he quietly stroked his chin.
"A precious talent lost..."
Daigen Sessai.
He was indeed worthy of the name.
He'd handled routine duties well enough, but the Imagawa clan's secure rear lines were largely his doing.
'He forged the alliance of three provinces: the Hojo of Sagami, the Takeda of Kai, and us.'
The death of such a capable man was regrettable in itself, but precisely because of that, Imagawa resolved himself.
"I won't waste the foundation you built, Sessai."
It was an opportunity that would never come again.
He scanned the map of the islands spread on one wall, his gaze soon settling on none other than Kyoto.
What kind of house was the Imagawa clan?
Kin to the current shogunal Ashikaga house, with the pedigree to open a new bakufu if they wished.
"The justification, the timing—everything has aligned."
He murmured, lips curling into a smile.
"Truly, heaven's mandate to march on the capital."
It was a murmur brimming with ambition.