Chapter 132
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 132
Chapter Title: Okehazama (3)
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Finally, as the skies over Owari turned a dreary gray and the rain began to drizzle down, every front line ground to a standstill in deadlock.
Of course it was only natural.
Even setting aside the fact that matchlocks—arquebuses—had become useless, the power of bows weakened considerably. More than anything, there were all sorts of practical headaches like poor visibility and horses sinking into the mud.
...And the moment disease started spreading on top of that, it would be nothing short of hell.
Because of this, commanders had no choice but to hold back on maneuvering their forces whenever it rained.
With the front lines temporarily frozen like this, each faction was forced to confront their battle tallies so far—and as one might expect, the atmospheres could not have been more different.
"...Damn it. This gap in skill."
"At least the reinforcements made it in time."
"Fat lot of good that does. If the Daimyo fails, it's all over."
One side was left groping desperately for answers amid their grim situation—
"Hahaha!"
"Heaven's luck must be smiling on our Daimyo!"
"You can practically see Kyoto up ahead!"
While the other reveled in results that were not just solid, but surpassingly satisfying, bursting into contented laughter as they dreamed of a radiant future.
"With the Imagawa crest billowing as if to smother all of Owari, this has to be the grace of Amaterasu Omikami herself!"
Even though the sky was thick with storm clouds and the rain was starting to soak the earth, it hardly mattered on the fundamentally hilly terrain of Okehazama.
So what if it rained?
The Imagawa Clan had already seized the advantage.
Forget ten thousand—they barely scraped together five thousand troops, facing off against an enemy force pushing past thirty thousand. But even leaving that aside, they had already captured nearly ten castles and fortresses.
All that remained was to catch the Oda Clan's young girl Daimyo and shove her head into the mud.
"Dinner in Kiyosu tomorrow night?"
"Hell no—in Mino!"
The optimism had already infected not just the ashigaru on the front lines, but the commanders in the rear as well.
Of course, the textbook move when things were going this well was to tighten discipline even further—but their overwhelming superiority was more than enough to make even that sliver of caution melt away.
"I'm craving some sake."
And so Imagawa Yoshimoto could voice such a sentiment without hesitation, and not a single retainer dared gainsay him.
"Set up the sake tables!"
"Pitch the tents tight against the rain!"
A Daimyo's command was absolute to begin with.
Besides, how many could recklessly tell the man who had led the clan to victory through his personal valor, "You never know—there might be a night raid, so drinking is dangerous"?
'Who knows. If my teacher Daigen Setsusai were still alive, maybe he'd say it.'
Even those who viewed the sake-fest right in the heart of enemy territory with negativity could only swallow such grumblings inwardly.
The sake tables were prepared in short order.
Courtesans and pretty boys hastily fetched from nearby villages sat beside each hatamoto and retainer, filling their cups. The ground, which had been a muddy morass just hours before, was now covered in tatami mats under tents, transformed into a space for revelry with drink and song.
"Hahahaha!"
"That's right—pour me more!"
Though it was a battlefield and the samurai kept their armor on, the sake and food marking the end of a grueling day were plenty to loosen up even those clinging to their last shreds of wariness.
"Allow me to fill your cup."
"Kh, ahem. How cute."
The rough-hewn women samurai who had survived this age of strife blushed under the ministrations of the beautiful youths at their sides or gulped down sake in anticipation of the night ahead—and the men were no different.
"As expected from a gathering of the era's great generals—the mood is excellent. Hehe."
And it was then that the courtesan sitting beside Imagawa Yoshimoto covered her mouth demurely with a graceful hand and spoke.
"The era's great generals."
Imagawa Yoshimoto swallowed the flattery she had rolled around in her mouth, then nodded slightly at his empty cup as if to say fill it.
"Heh."
—Pour.
As one seated at the Daimyo's side, every one of her movements stood comparison to the geisha of Kyoto without the slightest shame, and the faint, perfectly measured whiff of powder from her makeup was enough on its own to set any man's heart racing.
Thus, Imagawa Yoshimoto gazed at her intently before downing the full cup in one go, then softly draped an arm around her shoulder as he said,
"All right then—who's Owari's top general?"
"Owari's, you say?"
She widened her eyes as if she had never dreamed of being asked who Owari's great generals were.
But that lasted only a moment. With a nod from Imagawa Yoshimoto indicating it was fine to speak, she cautiously began listing candidates.
"Well... probably Shibata Katsuie or Sakuma Nobumori..."
She racked her memory, slowly naming those making waves in Owari these days.
"Never mind them—what about that Hirate Hikage? I hear he's a new hotshot general they call the Yaksha."
But at that, Imagawa Yoshimoto cut her off with a question, and upon hearing it, she blinked a few times before covering her mouth and letting out a laugh.
"Oh, come on—even so, he's just a Korean. Word is he's got a pretty face and serves as the Oda Daimyo's pageboy or something."
"Heh."
Oda Nobunaga's pageboy.
Imagawa Yoshimoto, clearly in high spirits at the words, laughed as he downed another full cup, then gripped her shoulder hard with the hand that had been resting there.
"Kkh?"
The brutish grip clamped her shoulder like a vise, and at once, the eyes of every retainer, courtesan, and pretty boy turned to them.
"Gh, guh...! I-it hurts!"
But Imagawa Yoshimoto paid the gathered stares no mind whatsoever, pinning her in place with his characteristic strength. Unable to withstand it, the courtesan finally burst into tears and bowed her head.
"I-I don't know what I did wrong, but please spare my life...!"
"D-Daimyo! Please calm down first—!"
Imagawa Yoshimoto meant it.
His retainers, sensing as much, jumped up in a panic to soothe him—but right then.
"You can drop the act now."
"Pardon?"
Imagawa Yoshimoto addressed not the retainers before him, but the courtesan bowed and weeping. At that instant, the retainers staring straight at her saw it.
—Shing.
She drew a dagger no bigger than her palm, hidden below her ankle. At the same time, as if she had never shed a tear, her hand shot toward Imagawa Yoshimoto's throat.
"D-Daimyo!"
"Wh-what is this!"
For a split second, it felt like time itself slowed—an illusion born of torment.
The fear that her blade might pierce the Daimyo's throat any moment swept through the tent like a gale.
"Nooo—!"
But there was one fact the courtesan and retainers alike had overlooked.
...Namely,
That even a man who powdered his face white, blackened his teeth, and rode to battle in a flower-decked palanquin as the height of ostentation—
—Crunch!
—was still hailed as Tokai's Number One Bowman.
The gruesome sound of rending flesh echoed through the tent.
And the blood trickling down the dagger.
Staring at it, the courtesan blankly gazed at where the blade had met his hand before murmuring unwittingly,
"...Caught it with his bare hand? From this range?"
A trained ninja needed just one breath from drawing her weapon to eliminating the target.
Especially at such close quarters—her honed assassination arts would pierce the throat before most could even react.
Yes, that's how it should have been.
"Hm. Since the rest aren't moving, this must be your doing, not some brothel-wide plot."
Why was the man before her scanning the room with utter calm, not even thinking to wipe the blood from his split palm?
"For now."
The courtesan froze in the face of the sudden reversal, unable to act—and that proved her fatal mistake.
"Slay every last one by the retainers' sides."
"What?"
The courtesan whipped her gaze around.
And what filled her eyes was—
"P-please spare me! I-I really had no idea!"
"A, aaaaagh!"
"M-my belly... my belly hurts. P-please..."
Imagawa samurai impassively slitting the throats and bellies of courtesans and pretty boys they had been drinking with moments ago, and the boys and girls dying while cursing her.
"A, ah. Gack!"
And then, without so much as glancing at her despairing eyes, Imagawa Yoshimoto jammed the dagger in his hand straight into the back of her neck. She convulsed, feeling the blood surging up her throat, and collapsed to the floor.
'Does blood fill your eyes too when a dagger's stuck in the back of your neck?'
She took in the sight of the brothel children, all slain, through her reddening vision, then closed her eyes as she thought,
'I'm sorry... Lord Motoyasu, and... Lord Hanzo.'
With that, her vision faded to black.
"Tch. You've ruined the taste of the sake."
Meanwhile, Imagawa Yoshimoto lightly swept his gaze over the samurai who had just butchered the boys and girls at their sides and murmured as much. He then turned to a trembling retainer and asked,
"Goro. You're the one who prepared them."
"Y-yes."
"You're not even worth seppuku. Ii Naomori."
"Yes!"
"Kill him."
"W-wait, have mercy...! Gack!"
The bronze-skinned woman samurai, Ii Naomori, severed the neck of the retainer named Goro in one stroke. Imagawa Yoshimoto stared down at the courtesan's fully lifeless form for a moment before murmuring lowly,
"Oda... or perhaps..."
But right then—
—Waaaaah!
—Kill them all!
—Wh-what the hell is this!
His body froze at the sudden unearthly screams erupting from outside the tent, and his retainers—who had kept straight faces until moments ago—likewise twisted their features as they looked toward the commotion.
An ill omen flashed through his mind.
And sure enough—
—Flutter!
"Th-this is bad!"
As the tent flap was roughly thrown open, a samurai with one arm slashed came dashing in, shouting,
"It's an ambush! They're all way too strong—!"
That was the moment Imagawa's face twisted for the first time.