Chapter 144
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 144
Chapter Title: Whoever It Is, You're Dead
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Owari Province's surrounding power dynamics had been shaken to their core.
The daimyo, upon hearing the results of the Battle of Okehazama, gazed at their maps with varying expressions, but the underlying shock and bewilderment was something they all shared.
'...Imagawa Yoshimoto lost?'
It was more accurate to call it Imagawa Yoshimoto's personal defeat, rather than the clan's.
That went without saying.
The Imagawa clan still had plenty of reserves left.
Even if they were rapidly losing control over Mikawa Province, that was merely a fleeting moment. If the successor quickly seized the reins and applied pressure, it could be prevented before it became an issue.
"Indeed."
A daimyo shrouded in a tent, having received the news from his ninjas, murmured softly.
"If the successor has the leeway, that is."
The smile shining through from beneath the tent flap was, well...
Like that of a tiger eyeing its prey.
"Hm."
A pitch-black night had fallen.
Hirate Hikage—no, Il-yeong—sat neatly dressed on the tatami mat, silently flipping through documents.
—Rustle.
The once-unfamiliar scent of ink on the paper now simply meant documents to read and sort.
The papers coming before Il-yeong fell into two main categories.
The first were matters concerning the Hirate family, which he had to review as the heir.
'This one's actually easier.'
The Hirate family's authority stemmed from the loyal and powerful retainer Hirate Masahide, and the fief providing their financial base was no small scale either.
'Roughly over 15,000 koku, I'd say.'
15,000 koku.
In other words, kokudaka.
Not an insignificant amount as absolute territory, but for a hatamoto like Hirate Masahide, it was on the smaller side.
'Five men levied per 200 koku, so legally, our family can muster about 400 at best.'
Of course, that was strictly legal. Legal. In these chaotic times, which daimyo or hatamoto stuck to that? In the recent battle alone, the Hirate family had employed over 1,600—more than four times that.
"Large-scale operations will be tough for a while. Especially with harvest season overlapping..."
The detailed calculations and management would be handled entirely by the bureaucrats in the fief, so Il-yeong's job was just to review the papers, organize them, and pass them to Hirate Masahide.
Yes, a sort of heir's training.
"Phew. Done."
—Thud.
Il-yeong lightly sorted the first batch and moved to the second. This time, even he couldn't help but furrow his brow a bit.
"Hm."
The second set wasn't for Il-yeong personally or the Hirate heir, but for Hirate Hikage the samurai and retainer of Oda Nobunaga.
There weren't many, but their contents were at least twice as critical as the previous ones.
'The urgent priority is qualitatively improving our troops.'
Il-yeong skimmed the detailed reports on the current Oda clan's military strength and pondered.
'The Oda clan fought like amateurs.'
Coldly, that was an undeniable reality.
In recent years, the Oda had fought many battles, but most were internal family squabbles or extensions of power struggles.
And when they were finally dragged into the nationwide chaos where daimyo clashed fiercely beyond little Owari, they realized just how much like frogs in a well they had been.
Too self-deprecating?
Well...
"Casualties: 2,300..."
For an army that had seized the advantage and relatively easily repelled the enemy, losing a third of its mobilized forces meant it was, at best, a sloppy fight—or at worst, a total mess.
It drove home how utterly improbable their victory had been.
...Of course, it hadn't come free.
"Ahem."
He lightly traced the long, slightly indented scar along his mouth and thought.
Over the past few months, as the wound gradually turned to scar, how many nights had he been beaten senseless? Though Il-yeong had won most of those nighttime bouts, of course.
"Ugh. Anyway."
Shaking his head lightly to refocus, Il-yeong rubbed his throbbing brow and muttered.
"Matchlocks alone won't cut it."
One thing Il-yeong had learned surviving the Warring States era: matchlocks weren't the perfect weapon he'd imagined. More precisely, they had clear strengths and weaknesses.
'The lethality is lower than expected.'
The idea of volley fire in three ranks had proven effective, but it struggled against samurai charging in organically linked armor. The gunpowder and bullets were primitive compared to modern ones, so penetrating armor was impossible.
However, if they hit, the stopping power was there, and the lead balls burrowing into flesh degraded combat ability over time.
'And when it rains...'
—Tap, tap.
Il-yeong drummed his fingers on the table, deep in thought. For primitive guns ignited by lit fuses, rain rendered the matchlock men useless—a fatal flaw. But he couldn't abandon them either.
"The answer is improvements."
Whether modifying imported matchlocks or setting up a small armory to mass-produce them, churning out more gunners was inevitable.
So, three things needed fixing.
'Centralization isn't feasible now, so improve the quality of forces under hatamoto loyal to Nobunaga. Start by semi-samurai-fying the ashigaru...'
Recalling the path Nobunaga had taken before, Il-yeong jotted down solutions on paper, blending in his own knowledge.
Sometimes erasing better ideas that came to mind, or ripping up pages entirely—it was grueling work.
"Y-Young master. The young lady..."
"Leave it there."
"Understood."
Aware he was buried in work, Uemon had a servant bring a night snack, but Il-yeong just told them to leave it and kept writing silently.
Thus, one hour.
Two, three hours...
The moon, high in the sky, sank again, and by the time the sun rose, Il-yeong was still silently scribbling.
And finally.
"New Oda Army Reorganization Plan"
—Slap.
"Haa. Finally done."
Shivering from his pounding head, bleary eyes, and back pain like it might snap, Il-yeong set down his brush and murmured softly.
And at that moment.
"You pulled an all-nighter, brother."
"Hm?"
Only then did Il-yeong notice Hirate Uemon sitting primly right by the door, watching him.
"How long have you been there?"
"Not long."
Her signature jet-black bob and dark eyes showed not a hint of sloppiness, just as she said, so Il-yeong started to nod.
"...About two shichen."
"Two... shichen?"
Yes. If not for those words. Two shichen meant four hours—Uemon had been watching him write through the night without even eating since dawn.
Thus, Il-yeong straightened his aching back and asked in flustered bewilderment.
"Why?"
What reason could she have to wait like that?
But her answer soon resolved his question.
"Just kidding. I came in right when you set down the brush."
"Ah. I see."
Of course.
No matter how absorbed in work, failing to notice someone right in front of you for four hours wasn't absent-mindedness or dullness—it was just stupid.
Still, he'd fallen for it briefly due to Uemon's poise and maturity beyond her years.
"Ugh, so why'd you come?"
Il-yeong chuckled and twisted his waist lightly. With a satisfying crack—his stiff bones and muscles loosened, and he asked his still-seated stepsister in a gentle tone.
'Come to think of it.'
But as Il-yeong, finally home after so long and done with the urgent work, looked at Hirate Uemon, her appearance differed slightly from what he remembered.
"You've grown."
"Pardon?"
"N-No, nothing."
It slipped out unconsciously—Hirate Uemon had grown quite a bit. When he'd first seen her, she was almost girlishly innocent; now, she could pass for a teenager. The change in vibe was striking.
Thus, his heart swelled unconsciously.
'Is this why they say raising a daughter...?'
Stepsister or not, seeing his little sister sprout up was gratifying as a big brother. Watching Uemon tilt her head at his gaze, Il-yeong silently vowed anew.
'Whoever the bastard is, make him shed tears. The moment you do, I'll tear you apart in the Oda clan's name.'
Any son-in-law who came along was dead meat, period.
"...Brother."
"Yes?"
But such doting delusions were fleeting.
At Uemon's call, Il-yeong snapped back and replied, and Uemon, having unconsciously glanced at the scar between his cheek and lips, finally got to the point.
"Father's looking for you, brother."
That was why she'd come searching for him since morning.