Chapter 133
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 133
Chapter Title: Okehazama (4)
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At the very moment when Imagawa Yoshimoto was raising her cup and getting into high spirits.
“Hm~”
A lowly footsoldier of the Imagawa army hummed a tune as he dashed into the woods, then fumbled with his waistband and pulled out his tiny manhood with his hand.
“Ahhh... Finally, some relief.”
He hadn't been able to hit the latrine on time because he'd been busy preparing for the officers' banquet, and he'd only just managed to squeeze this in while pretending to scout the perimeter.
“Sigh. Damn it all.”
Having hurriedly taken care of business, the footsoldier grumbled under his breath as he tied his pants strings again.
And who could blame him? What kind of bullshit was this?
“They get all the power and riches, but guys like us just get dragged along and die for nothing. Yeah. Ptoo!”
No matter how hard they toiled at farming and paid those endless taxes, nothing ever changed. But these damn samurai? The moment something popped off, they grabbed their spears and swords and ordered everyone to fight...
“This is just great. What am I supposed to do, leave my poor mom hanging if I die...?”
He was just finishing tying his pants strings, grumbling all the while.
—Rustle.
“Huh?”
A sound came from right behind him.
He paled, wondering if any superior had overheard his muttering, and whipped around to check.
—Stab!
A sickening slice of flesh brushed past his ear.
“Ah—.”
In that split second, he rolled his eyes downward to see his neck heating up, but his vision went black even faster. He realized it then.
This was the end.
—Thud.
The fallen footsoldier tilted forward as if about to crash into the underbrush, but his killers didn't even allow that. They propped his already lifeless body against a tree. Sensing that the area was fully cleared, Takigawa Kazumasu signaled the main force with ninja hand signs.
—Nod.
The main force, which had split up to muffle their footsteps, now regrouped as one. They held their breath just before the Imagawa army's main camp, not far off.
“......”
“......”
All eyes turned silently to Oda Nobunaga.
Whether retainers of the clan, mere samurai, or ashigaru foot soldiers, no one there failed to sense that this battle would decide the fate of Owari Province.
So they held their breath, awaiting only her command.
—Swish.
Meanwhile, Nobunaga glanced at Il-yeong.
The two had already shared their thoughts in their earlier conversation.
This was a gamble.
A massive win that would sweep the entire pot if successful, or total ruin if it failed.
Yes, everything.
...Maybe even their lives.
“Suuuup...”
She drew a deep breath through her dry lips amid the tension. Now that they were this far in, her words didn't need to be some grand speech or stirring historical quote to rally morale.
She simply parted her red lips.
“All troops.”
Her low voice rang out.
“Take.”
Soon after, she bellowed it like an explosion.
“Imagawa Yoshimoto's head—!!”
“Waaaaah!”
“Kill the Imagawa vermin!”
“Wipe them all out!!”
Thus began the curtain rising on the historic Battle of Okehazama.
*
“Waaaaah!”
“Kill themmm!”
The enraged war cries erupting right behind him made Il-yeong's heart pound unusually hard.
“Uwaaaah! You sons of biiitches—! I'll curse you if I die! I'll really curse youuu!”
Of course, Itsuki's inexplicable howling came from right behind him too, but Il-yeong ignored it completely and just charged forward.
His beloved sword, Onimaru Kunitsuna, gleamed sharper than ever.
“N-Night attack! Ambushhh! Gahk!”
His black armor effectively blocked the spears and swords of the panicking Imagawa troops trying to respond.
“Th-That mask! It's the Yaksha! The Yaksha's here!”
The Yaksha mask covering his lower face and his massive build unfilteredly revealed the notoriety Il-yeong had earned.
“Y-You beast!”
Of course, the enemy couldn't just back down blindly, so some samurai fearlessly swung their katanas at him. But Il-yeong took their strikes on his shoulder without a shout or strain, then pierced one's throat in a single motion.
“Gurgle—!”
Not even a death rattle escaped as another life turned into a massive hunk of meat and collapsed.
The first thing to do.
Il-yeong thought as he slashed and slashed at the enemies charging in a frenzy.
Find Imagawa Yoshimoto!
Japan was, well, downright bizarre.
Maybe because it was an island cut off from the continent, or some gene etched into their blood, or their peculiar form of feudalism—who knew.
They're conservative. And they value strict obedience to superiors above all.
Even modern Japan churned out politicians from political families and dutiful tofu makers—or rather, tofu artisans—from tofu shops.
The bizarre trait this freakishly vertical structure bred was that when the head died, the underlings immediately surrendered.
No wonder Hideyoshi's plan for invading Joseon later was basically “grab the Joseon king fast, and they'll fold.”
In other words, simple goal.
“Find Imagawa Yoshimoto! Kill her, and this shitshow ends!”
Il-yeong shouted as he beheaded another samurai, turning him into so much ronin fodder. The Oda generals echoed him in response.
“We need to capture Yoshimoto!”
“Break through first!”
But no matter the surprise attack, the Imagawa side couldn't ignore that they'd all die if they stayed put, so they gradually regained composure and began counterattacking.
“Block them! Hold the line!”
“We outnumber them!”
Indeed, the instincts honed on battlefields for a lifetime couldn't be dismissed. Even stumbling out from the feast, the Imagawa retainers quickly grasped the situation. Realizing frontline samurai snapping out of it would doom them, the Oda samurai pushed their speed even harder.
“I don't care anymore! Die! Diiiie!”
“Uwaaaak! It's a madman!”
Forced to the vanguard, Itsuki was half-mad, eyes rolled back, splitting the brows of blockers dead-center with some mystery axe he'd picked up somewhere.
“I'll split your ugly mug in two!”
“......How dare you.”
Shibata Katsuie, her lower face hidden by the mask Il-yeong had gifted her, tore apart the fool who'd dared declare he'd smash it, even more viciously than usual.
“Hup!”
“Hyaaah!”
Maeda Toshiie and Niwa Nagahide leaned on each other, slashing through enemies like maniacs.
“......Hoo, hoo.”
Meanwhile, Il-yeong caught his breath amid ragged pants as he cut down foes charging toward the newcomer in front of him.
And just like that, Akechi Mitsuhide arrived at his side from across the battlefield, frowning as she spoke.
“......My lord. It seems.”
“Yeah.”
Just looking at her armor told you she wasn't some random grunt.
And sure enough.
She locked eyes with Il-yeong briefly, then lifted the mask from her face with a hand exposing her distinctive coppery skin, curling her lips into a smirk.
“So it's you. Hirate Hikage. Or should I call you Baek Il-yeong?”
“Oh? You even know my name.”
Her face was quite the looker, truth be told.
If he had to describe it, like a track team girl brimming with healthy athleticism?
“I'm Ii Naomori. I'll cross swords with you—.”
Her armor, which boldly showed off her healthy, vibrant body, clanked as she shifted to lunge at Il-yeong right then.
But at that moment.
—Bang!
“Huh?”
Il-yeong stared straight ahead, something whipping past his cheek at unbelievable speed before he could even turn his head. Only then did he notice the familiar spear thrusting toward Ii Naomori.
A spear gleaming blue.
Il-yeong knew its owner well, and as he shuddered unconsciously.
“Kuh!”
Ii Naomori swung her sword at the spear shaft targeting her, deflecting it into the air.
“Such cowardly—!”
Did the Oda samurai have no sense of honorable combat? She started to rage, but in the end, she said nothing more.
—Bang!
“Huh?”
A gunshot rang out.
At the same time, her left eye—exposed when she'd removed her mengu—turned red and burst.
“G-Gaaaahhh!”
It didn't take long to accept that the bullet had blown out her left eye. Ii Naomori clutched it in agony and dropped to her knees.
And in that instant.
“Hah!”
Mori Yoshinari, who had slipped past Il-yeong unnoticed, gripped the spear shaft planted in the ground and swung it straight for Ii Naomori's neck.
“N-No! Th-This can't—!”
No matter her scream-mingled plea, Ii Naomori's fate didn't change.
—Slash, thump.
Her copper-skinned face, contorted with her left eye burst, rolled across the ground.
At the same time, Il-yeong dazedly watched Mori Yoshinari shake blood from her spear and Oda Nobunaga approach from behind, matchlock rifle slung over her shoulder. The two women spoke.
“Where'd.”
“that cheap bitch-stink come from. Tsk.”
It was a chilling warning.