Chapter 140
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 140
Chapter Title: Okehazama (11)
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There's a common misconception.
People often imagine that battles between swordsmen are nothing but mindless clashes where blades collide and tangle in chaotic frenzy, but true swordsmanship is predicated on an intense contest of techniques.
Of course, to be precise, a Japanese blade is technically a sword with a single edge—a katana, not a double-edged sword—but that's beside the point.
'For a swordsman, the essentials are quick reflexes paired with mastery, and the physical conditioning to embody them.'
It was a phrase from who knows who, but one firmly etched into Il-yeong's mind. Probably something someone had said to the original owner of this body, Baek Il-yeong.
'Who said it doesn't matter.'
What mattered was that Il-yeong knew it, and the battle unfolding before him was the perfect embodiment of that truth.
Chaaang!
"Urgh!"
"Hup!"
Baek Il-yeong and Imagawa Yoshimoto.
Every time the two men's blades tangled in a frenzy, strikes that could claim each other's lives intertwined wildly.
Even though both were already covered in serious wounds, neither yielded an inch, and those watching the spectacle had no choice but to realize it soon enough.
'The outcome of this entire battle hinges on these two.'
—That much was clear.
The armor rattled along the arcs of their swinging blades. The frantically crossing edges clashed against the clanging iron plates of their armor, and their close-quarters strikes with elbows and fists soon devolved into a blood-spattering melee.
Overhead slashes that seemed aimed at the shoulders veered toward the throat.
"Urgh!"
Chaaang!
The chill of the blades spurred adrenaline racing up their spines, and before they knew it, the two were swinging their swords in a trance-like state, oblivious even to the grins creeping onto each other's faces.
"My lord!"
"Don't interfere!"
They couldn't help but acknowledge each other.
'So this is Imagawa Yoshimoto!'
Il-yeong felt a thrill in blocking and countering the blade of the man who breathed history to life.
The title of Tokaido's greatest warrior was no empty boast.
'I thought he was just some greenhorn...!'
Imagawa Yoshimoto was equally stunned. When he'd first heard of Il-yeong, it had merely piqued his interest.
Of course, the man's accomplishments were impressive enough.
For a Korean-born outsider to become the adopted son of a key minister and play a pivotal role in Owari's internal strife—that was no small feat for a novice.
But that was all.
In Imagawa Yoshimoto's eyes, Il-yeong was just a lucky foreigner who wielded a decent sword and had a pretty face that earned him favor.
'But I was wrong!'
Imagawa Yoshimoto curled his lips in a feral grin, dodged Il-yeong's arrogant thrust at his solar plexus, and drove his knee into the man's gut.
"Guhk!"
A dry cough burst from Il-yeong's mouth.
Judging the strike had disrupted his movement, Yoshimoto altered his blade's path—but moments later, he swallowed another gasp of admiration.
'What kind of lower body strength...!'
Armor might deflect blades, but not the shock of impact. A direct hit to the solar plexus should have left Il-yeong gasping and doubled over.
Yet the man didn't even bend at the waist.
'He endured the blow and read my blade path!'
His eyes flashed.
Discarding all prior judgments of Il-yeong, Imagawa Yoshimoto bellowed.
"I acknowledge you! You're a worthy adversary! Kra ha ha ha!"
When was the last time?
That he'd crossed blades with such joy.
Every day had been a struggle.
Even born to the principal wife with inheritance rights, having two older brothers meant he'd been doomed to a wretched monk's life—how despairing that had been!
So he'd killed his brothers.
For the clan, he'd entered a loveless marriage and bowed to the Oda tiger—only then did he find his path.
For what? For what purpose?
"I will go to Kyoto!"
—Chaaeng!
Imagawa Yoshimoto parried Il-yeong's tenacious strikes and roared again.
Bloodshot eyes.
Lips curled to their limit.
And madness laced in his breath.
Everything screamed his sincerity, silencing the surroundings.
But Imagawa Yoshimoto didn't care.
He knew it well.
That these words, if spread, would give his enemies justification; that revealing ambition too soon would invite checks and opposition.
Yet he couldn't hold them back.
How could he?
This moment might be the last the world remembered Imagawa Yoshimoto.
"I will go to Kyoto and become shogun as the rightful heir of a prestigious house with the legal mandate to appoint one! I will bring the realm to its knees and open a new shogunate!"
Hear this.
This is my ambition.
The goal of my lifelong struggle, my guiding star.
Imagawa Yoshimoto slid along Il-yeong's blade like water, closing in to sever his head in one stroke, swiftly shifting stance and slashing through the air.
But then.
"Grah!"
Il-yeong kicked the knee where his dagger was lodged as if he'd been waiting, and as Yoshimoto's stance faltered even slightly, Il-yeong surged into his guard and smashed an elbow upward into his jaw.
—Puk!
No matter how well-trained, no warrior of similar build could withstand a gritted-teeth uppercut, especially when Yoshimoto's mouth was agape in excitement.
His tongue naturally took the brunt.
—Kwaduk!
"Grk!"
The mouth that had been spittle-flecked in rant slammed shut, the tip of his tongue crushed between teeth as crimson flesh tore free.
Blood followed, of course.
The pain from his tongue-tip was enough to twist his face, but even so, Imagawa steadied himself to block Il-yeong's follow-up.
He tensed his legs, which had briefly buckled.
Gripped his sword hilt tighter, seized his momentarily blurred vision, and grimaced as he tracked Il-yeong's vanished silhouette.
'Where?'
Though mere seconds had passed, Yoshimoto's muscles writhed and twisted, ready to respond to his command.
'Flank!'
Instinct more than sense—the chill of Il-yeong's presence—had him raise his blade at an angle to block.
—Chaeng!
As expected.
Il-yeong slashed from the side just as anticipated, and Yoshimoto flashed a triumphant smirk, opening his mouth to shout something.
"I've been thinking this for a while now."
Yes, he meant to shout.
"You talk too much, Yoshimoto."
"What?"
In that instant, Imagawa Yoshimoto felt it.
The weight on their locked blades suddenly lessen, followed by the sensation of Il-yeong pressing in again with his body.
And killing intent rising once more from below his jaw.
But different this time...
Yoshimoto realized the source of that eerie discrepancy and gaped.
"Th-this is...!"
Urgency flashed in his eyes.
This wasn't the death he'd sought—perhaps that's what he meant to say.
But.
But still.
Il-yeong, feeling the lingering sting in his jaw and the long gash on his cheek, intoned coldly with a sneer.
"So what? You fucking bastard."
At the same moment, the dagger in his hand pierced Imagawa Yoshimoto's jaw from below without a hint of hesitation.
—Kwaduduk!
The jawbone crumbled under Il-yeong's strength.
Muscles tore, and Yoshimoto's tongue lolled in his mouth before being impaled by the blade surging upward, fixed half-protruding.
"G-g-graaaaaah!"
Pain tore his eyes wide.
No, the sudden shock had forced them open so fiercely that the corners actually split.
"U-u-uuuuugh!"
Blood streamed in a long line from his slack, unclosing lips down his jaw, and Imagawa Yoshimoto's body collapsed backward, unable to withstand the impact.
"M-my lord!"
"Uwaaaaaah!"
The Imagawa samurai and retainers, who had watched in stunned silence, cried out in horror and charged at Il-yeong—but right then.
"Hold."
Oda Nobunaga's icy voice halted them in their tracks. She stepped forward slowly, her golden eyes swirling with signature madness.
"Do you lot lack even the samurai's sense of honor? Your lord has fallen. So surely..."
She stood before the fallen Imagawa Yoshimoto, gently wrapping her arm around the weary Il-yeong's waist, and continued.
"...you should start by getting on your knees. You vermin."
The samurai faces twisted with insult, rage, despair, sighs, defeat, and daze. But at that moment.
"Looks like we need to help them choose, my lord."
Oda Nobuyuki arrived, having rallied the troops, stepping up behind her. Soon, Oda Clan samurai who had subdued the Imagawa forces advanced without needing orders.
"...Hah, hahaha. I survived. I made it."
Itsuki trembled in relief, clutching an axe from who-knows-where in both hands, more bloodied than anyone.
"Haa. I miss Kicho now."
Akechi Mitsuhide followed, her silver-and-pink eyes heavy with fatigue.
"......"
Shibata Katsuie stared blankly at Il-yeong's wounds.
"You okay?"
"I said I'm fine."
"Hmmm."
Maeda Toshiie hid her visibly painful arm wound, tended by Niwa Nagahide.
And finally.
"......I'll kill you for that face. Kill you. Kill you......"
Mori Yoshinari watched them with eyes overflowing murderous intent more than ever, her expression daring them to charge.
—Thud.
The Imagawa forces dropping to their knees upon seeing it all was, in a way, only natural.