Chapter 139
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 139
Chapter Title: Okehazama (10)
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―Crunch.
"...Brat."
Imagawa Yoshimoto's face, which had shown no great agitation until now, twisted in fury. He ground his teeth, muttering under his breath, and without even thinking to pull the dagger from his knee, he swung his sword straight at Il-yeong.
"Kgh!"
Imagawa Yoshimoto closed the distance in an instant and unleashed his strike. This time, even Il-yeong could only let out a low groan as he leaped back.
It was only natural.
After all, what madman in the world would charge at an enemy with a dagger dangling from his knee?
'Oh, right. Mine was in the gut.'
The thought crossed his mind briefly.
Il-yeong recalled the dagger that had pierced his belly on that rainy day long ago now and let out a smirk.
"Still curling up that arrogant lip of yours."
But to Yoshimoto, Il-yeong's smile seemed to carry an entirely different meaning.
Like a wounded beast baring its fangs, Imagawa Yoshimoto's face was distorted in feral rage at a glance, his mood clearly foul.
"Damn Joseon bastard. So cocky. Too cocky..."
Yet whether it was experience from countless battlefields, the weight of his years, or a warrior's instinct, Imagawa Yoshimoto did not charge madly at his foe with a flushed face.
Instead, he extended his sword forward to keep Il-yeong at bay, slowly lowering his hand to grip the hilt of the dagger embedded near his knee.
―Sss.
He drew in a low, deep breath.
―Hoo.
Exhaled it.
―Crunch!
"Guh!"
He yanked the dagger free without a moment's hesitation.
In that instant, the pent-up blood sprayed into the air before splattering into the mud. His pants beneath the armor, dark as they were, were soaked crimson from the knee down, but Imagawa Yoshimoto paid it no mind.
'The knee itself isn't damaged.'
―Splash!
Assessing the wound's severity, he supported himself on his opposite knee, blocking Il-yeong's sword strikes with eyes still burning with rage—or perhaps irritation—and thought.
'No pushover.'
Setting aside that this wasn't just a lanky giant but a man backed by real power, the precision of his thrusts and his occasional quick thinking were downright chilling at times.
And what about just now?
'He stole my move in that split second. Something no young samurai chanting about bushido would ever do.'
Imagawa Yoshimoto ignored his throbbing knee, deflected Il-yeong's sword with his opposite knee, then felt the impact in his solar plexus and realized it had been a shoulder strike. He coughed dryly.
"Cough!"
Il-yeong didn't miss the opening.
He swung his sword, but Imagawa Yoshimoto, now alert, blocked it once more.
"...Hah."
"L-Lord Daimyo."
Their duel was fierce in itself, but something felt off beyond mere words.
For one, they'd each inflicted an indelible wound—Il-yeong to the mouth, Yoshimoto to the knee—not to mention the massive men ignoring minor cuts as they pressed each other relentlessly, a sight that drew the eye on its own.
Of course, to those watching from the sidelines, it was pure agony.
"Please... please..."
"Be ready to jump in at any moment. If anything happens to the Lord Daimyo, we're done for."
The Imagawa retainers' worry for Yoshimoto went without saying. But Il-yeong had his share of concerned onlookers too.
...If anything, theirs burned even hotter.
"H-His face?"
Shibata Katsuie glanced at Il-yeong amid the chaos, her eyes widening round. She recalled the wound beneath his mask and froze in place.
Not out of helpless trauma or fear, but sheer fury.
"Dieeee!"
And the unlucky target of that rage?
―Slash, thunk.
"Shut up, you ugly mutt."
It was merely a pitiful samurai whose head was lopped off in one stroke after foolishly attacking the stunned Shibata Katsuie.
―Anyway.
Shibata Katsuie's reaction had been particularly fierce, but no one who knew Il-yeong remained unmoved by the scar on his face.
It was only natural.
No matter how handsome Il-yeong's face was otherwise, who would be pleased to see a scar marring the features of someone they'd grown fond of, each for their own reasons?
"...Ah."
Oda Nobuyuki spotted the wound on Il-yeong's face, her eyes darkening as her body trembled faintly.
It was shock.
Shock that Il-yeong, whom she believed stronger than anyone, was hurt—and pity for the one she'd bonded with being injured.
Of course, the irony was that their bond bordered on enmity.
"Y-Young master!"
Itsuki snapped back to his senses.
"...Heavens."
Akechi Mitsuhide, who had been supporting the wildly rampaging Itsuki to keep him from a stray blade, clamped a hand over her mouth after seeing the wound, stifling the raw words that nearly escaped.
At the same time, she glanced aside at one spot.
It was Mori Yoshinari and Oda Nobunaga, who had just cut down nearby foes and gained a brief respite thanks to reinforcements.
"...".
"...".
Mori Yoshinari, her ash-gray hair tied up like a horse's tail, gripping her blue spear.
Oda Nobunaga, her black hair in a bob, uncharacteristically wielding a sword with golden eyes flashing amid the battlefield.
Il-yeong's women had frozen the instant he was wounded, silently staring into the fray. And as expected, the samurai shielded them with their lives.
Now, with Il-yeong stabbing a samurai's throat, landing another blow on Imagawa's knee, and everyone bearing wounds in this chaotic brawl...
"Yoshinari."
"Yes, my lord."
Oda Nobunaga, silent until now, finally spoke, and Mori Yoshinari nodded in response.
"Time to take his head?"
"I suppose so."
Ash-gray and gold eyes met in the air. But Akechi Mitsuhide couldn't help a slight shiver upon hearing it.
'...No, surely not.'
It was just that they hadn't specified whose head. Though it was probably just her imagination.
*
"Is that all you got? The supreme warrior of the Tokaido? Are all you Tokaido lot just scrawny weaklings?"
"Shut that mouth of yours!"
"Make me, you monk bastard."
Il-yeong taunted even as he winced at the sharp pain in his wrist and cheek, but Imagawa Yoshimoto, losing his composure under the relentless mockery, didn't notice.
'This... this little punk!'
Imagawa Yoshimoto suppressed his rising irritation and the burning desire to cleave the brat in two. Of course, he'd do it if he could, but excess rage was always a hindrance.
But now it was getting dicey.
'We're both worn out.'
It was a thought they shared.
A typical sword weighed around a kilogram, but since both wielded famed blades heavy enough to test their strength, the stamina drain was worse than expected.
And that was just the start.
Minor scratches aside, the blood from wounds they'd inflicted on each other, the weight of their armor, the rain-soaked heaviness of their bodies, and the constant loss of body heat—it all added up. They'd already shown monstrous endurance.
...Time to end it.
No need for words or bets on who fell first; they both knew it was time to stake everything on a decisive blow.
―Splash.
Thus, without a word, they shook off their rain-heavy bodies and drew deep breaths in unison.
"Hoo."
"Sss."
Il-yeong rolled his aching wrist once.
He curled his grip on the hilt diagonally like wringing it out, the blood-rinsed blade thirsting for more with deadly menace.
Imagawa Yoshimoto ignored his knee wound. Untreated, it might leave him lame, but right now, he didn't care.
He lowered the massive oodachi's blade.
Opposite to Il-yeong's high guard, he felt rain trickle past his nose and bellowed.
"Come at me!"
And with that...
―Splash-splash!
They charged through the mud together.