Chapter 35
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 35
Chapter Title: Battle of Murakitori Fort (3)
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Nobunaga silently stared at the battlefield from atop the hill.
―Aaaah!
―Kill! I said kill them!
Hundreds, even thousands of lives screamed madly as they slaughtered one another.
They had cast aside the flimsy barrier called civilization, locked in a desperate struggle for killing and survival.
Death hung over the plain.
A thick stench of blood assaulted the nose, and severed heads rolled across the ground before being crushed lifelessly beneath horses' hooves.
But Nobunaga did not grieve.
She did not regret dragging them onto this battlefield.
She thought only of victory.
What she had to do now was not the hypocrisy of beating a moktak and silently honoring the dead.
It was hurling even more lives into the fray for the sake of triumph.
"The vanguard has gained the upper hand!"
And at last, the moment arrived.
Boom—!
Nobunaga rose from her seat without hesitation and slammed the matchlock rifle in her hand against the ground as she shouted.
"Kill them all!"
You Imagawa lackeys, who dared cross the river without knowing your place.
You will cross it again.
As cold, headless corpses.
"Advance!"
"The Lord's command! Charge!"
At that moment.
Under Nobunaga's order, Yoshinari—positioned on one wing of the main force—pressed her helmet down deep at the sound of the advance command from behind. She gripped her blue-glowing spear so tightly it seemed it might shatter.
'Wait…! Il-yeong!'
Victory or defeat meant nothing to her.
She thought only of one man.
Hoping desperately that he was still alive.
"Chaaarge!"
Yoshinari yanked the reins and charged forward in one go.
"Haa… fuck. I'm really gonna die."
She wasn't usually one to curse, but now she couldn't hold it back.
The one saving grace was that her curses were in Korean, not Japanese—no one around could understand.
"Kraaah!"
...Not that she had the bandwidth to care anyway.
Il-yeong blocked a charging samurai's sword with his shoulder armor, then closed the distance and gouged out the man's eyes.
He shoved him down and stabbed through the lungs with his sword, ending him.
"…Hah… hah."
How many had he killed already?
No. It didn't matter.
The only thing that mattered now was survival.
Il-yeong mercilessly cleaved through the next wave of enemies and scanned his surroundings.
"Sp-spare…!"
"Guhk…."
"Cough. Haa…."
If he didn't kill, he'd be killed.
Even after killing enemies, attacks flew from behind.
No matter how many he cut down, the end felt impossibly distant.
Countless stray thoughts and fears clawed at him, ready to devour him whole.
He wrestled his pounding heart and blurring vision back under control, charging to slash more foes.
The battlefield might look majestic from afar.
But for those in the thick of it, it was nothing but relentless, brutal combat.
And Il-yeong felt it all too keenly.
"…Should've just enlisted as a staff officer."
Why had he shown off and ended up like this?
No amount of regret could turn back time.
Then, a blind spear thrust from the front targeted his gut.
"Hup!"
His body creaked like it was tearing apart, but he couldn't die—not yet—so he dove back into the killing.
He dodged the spear, seized the shaft, and yanked.
Then drove his sword into the tugged ashigaru's neck and kicked the stomach to rip it free.
Spurt—!
The sword tore out roughly, blood spraying across his face and mask, but there was no time to wince.
"Hikage!"
Because Shibata's urgent voice rang out from behind.
Il-yeong rolled across the ground to evade, scrambling to regain his footing.
"Dieee!"
Perhaps his stance had crumbled.
The enemy gripped his katana two-handed and hoisted it skyward.
Death.
He sensed it instinctively.
But surrender wasn't an option, so he thrust his sword upward.
Yet in that instant.
"Hiyoit!"
With a bizarre yell, Itsuki barreled in from the side, delivering a full-body tackle to the samurai poised to cleave Il-yeong.
"Kraaah!"
"Urk!"
The samurai predictably lost his grip and flew sideways.
Itsuki, having slammed with full commitment, tumbled across the battlefield alongside him.
"Thanks, Itsuki!"
As if on cue, Il-yeong sprang up and rammed his sword into the man's neck.
"Gurgle…."
With a blade in his throat, survival was impossible—the samurai died instantly.
"Dieee!"
Itsuki snatched up his dislodged helmet mid-tumble, jammed it on, and charged another foe.
His wild frenzy resembled a berserker far more than the sly fellow Il-yeong knew, drawing an unwitting chuckle from him.
Then Shibata approached, having decapitated two samurais in a single stroke.
"That was dangerous."
"Yeah. Thanks to you, I'm still breathing."
Just moments ago in the heat of crisis, she'd called his name outright.
Now, with a brief respite, it was back to formal address.
But even that thought didn't linger.
Shibata scanned the endless threats around them, assessing the battlefield.
"The main force is advancing. Hold out a little longer—we can make it."
"…Think we can?"
Shibata sounded hopeful enough, but Il-yeong remained skeptical.
Enemies swarmed every direction.
Oda clan banners occasionally flickered into view on allies' backs, but they were too few to matter.
'We've gone too deep.'
Their spot was the vanguard—the fiercest hotspot.
With friend and foe hopelessly entangled, survival odds were abysmal.
Even Shibata might've died without Il-yeong's rescue.
Yet they'd clung to life this long for one reason: the dozens of samurais Il-yeong had brought while saving her were fighting tooth and nail nearby.
But that was hitting its limit now.
Those dozens had scattered into the chaos.
Around Il-yeong and Shibata, barely a handful under ten—including Itsuki—held the line.
'Retreat's no good either.'
Even ignoring reserves, thousands clogged this plain.
Carving through that mob to fall back? No chance.
Two options remained.
Hold until relief arrived.
Or end the battle outright.
'Now that I think about it…'
Battle frenzy had driven it from his mind, but he'd made a bet with Shibata.
Who would behead the enemy commander first.
'I'll take his head.'
No need for the supreme commander.
Just the vanguard leader spearheading this war.
His battle-heated mind cooled.
He brushed back his sweat-matted hair and scanned around.
'There.'
Far off, a middle-aged samurai bellowed as he mercilessly hacked down Oda Nobunaga's samurais.
Didn't know who, but the ornate helmet and armor screamed high status.
Perfect head for a pike.
"Shibata-dono."
"Yes. Hup!"
At Il-yeong's call, Shibata Katsuie claimed another ashigaru's life before replying.
Il-yeong thrust out his gripped Onimaru Kunitsuna, pointing at the general he'd spotted.
"Looks like a high-ranking samurai. Am I right?"
"…That one."
Shibata peered through her red Hannya mask, then nodded.
"Can't recall the name, but he's likely a Matsudaira hatamoto. One of their vanguard commanders."
Hatamoto—something like an elite personal guard.
Closest to Western knights, perhaps.
High enough rank for bureaucracy—not to take lightly.
"Won't end the fight, but we can crush their morale."
Shibata grasped his intent at once and nodded.
"Very well. Let's clear a path."
Stab—!
With those words, she whipped her head around and took a samurai's life.
Yoshinari's cavalry samurais were drenched in countless gallons of blood.
But none among them had slain as many foes as Yoshinari.
"House lord! We've gone too deep!"
"We'll get swallowed like this!"
Put another way, it meant Yoshinari had pushed far too hard.
Naturally, her Mori retainers wanted to rein her in, but she slashed at enemies like a woman possessed.
"Haa… haa…."
Panting raggedly, she swung her spear once more.
A blue flash dominated the battlefield for an instant.
Each sweeping arc claimed an anonymous enemy's head, sending it tumbling to the dirt.
"Mo-monster!"
Her ferocity rivaled the demon-named Shibata Katsuie—no, in some ways surpassed it.
Her blue spear was a true emblem of terror.
How deep a grudge drove her to butcher like this?
That woman was a monster.
Samurais of famed repute crumpled before her like fallen autumn leaves.
All who blocked her path became mere chunks of meat, plummeting aside.
Yet unlike the enemies swallowed by fear and despair, what drove Yoshinari was neither rage at invaders on her lord's soil nor greed for power.
'…Il-yeong, where are you?'
Simply worry for one man.
Worry for the man forced into the vanguard because of her.
No matter Nobunaga's designs, Yoshinari couldn't escape the guilt over Il-yeong's vanguard post.
The circumstances left no other interpretation.
She'd yielded to melancholy temptation.
And in doing so, genuinely angered the second miss, Nobuyuki.
Could Il-yeong's vanguard assignment truly be unrelated?
'No way.'
That's why she hadn't visited him right up to departure.
What if he resented her?
Would her presence burden him further?
Innumerable worries shackled her feet.
In the end, she couldn't even step outside the tent—had to let him go unseen.
The moment the vanguards clashed, Yoshinari wanted to impale herself on her own spear.
'Should've at least seen his face.'
Even if he'd hated her.
But had she held back from fear of that hatred?
Or because she was a disgustingly selfish woman?
'One thing's certain…!'
Right now, she was racing toward him.
Hated or not, wanted or not—to drag him from this hell.
"Cough!"
She reaped another neck.
The shouts of her trailing samurais still echoed, but Yoshinari tuned them out.
She simply charged ahead.
"Kaaah!"
Severed an onrushing enemy's neck.
"Cough!"
Pierced a line of arrayed foes.
Her once-gleaming blue armor was soaked in blood, its shine dulled.
Her spear hand trembled.
―Haaap!
―Kraaah!
Screams of killers and killed reverberated from all sides.
The galloping horse's jolts felt increasingly unreal.
Her breath wasn't just short—her vision was narrowing.
'How long have I fought?'
Dozens slain at least.
Why no sign of Il-yeong?
Could he…
Already be dead?
No.
No.
Impossible.
Him dead? Absurd.
'Do you really believe that?'
"House lord!"
Suddenly, her clogged ears cleared.
All senses snapped back into place.
She turned to see one of her Mori retainers panting as he spurred his mount alongside hers.
"Over there… our samurais are cut off!"
She followed his gaze.
Deep in the enemy ranks, a dozen samurais fought desperately.
"…Is that…?"
At the forefront, two figures madly hacked through foes.
A man in black armor. A woman in red.
Unmistakably Il-yeong and Shibata Katsuie.
"Hiryaa!"
"House lord!"
In that instant, Il-yeong's sword met resistance—then a counterblow struck.
Yoshinari whipped her near-collapse horse into a frenzy and charged straight for him alone—
No enemy could bar her path.
At least not in that moment.
Wielding Onimaru Kunitsuna—dyed so red it seemed he'd slain goblins—Il-yeong reflected.
If he survived this battle, he'd take up some religion seriously.
Better to die believing he'd go somewhere good.
That much faith might ease the mind.
"Hup!"
"Khaak!"
Beyond trembling, his numbing arm slashed a blocking samurai.
But the foe parried effortlessly, roared, and swung to cleave Il-yeong down.
Yet Il-yeong—seasoned by countless brushes with death—stayed calm.
After a flurry of clashes, he pierced the samurai's neck.
But then.
"Il-yeeong!"
A familiar voice from the left made him turn—and freeze solid.
'Yoshinari…?'
That familiar figure—no, face—barreled madly through the enemy heart, straight for him.
The problem: she attacked with utter disregard for defense, plowing a path.
It looked perilously reckless.
"Yoshinari! Damn…!"
How her voice cut through the din to reach him, he couldn't say.
But her charge was undeniably suicidal.
And sure enough.
As Il-yeong rushed to warn her, a line of samurais latched onto Yoshinari's rear, spears thrusting.
Whoosh—!
"Dieee!"
"Yoshinaarii—!"
They meant to butcher her in earnest, spears stabbing from every angle.
Il-yeong shouldered aside a flanking samurai and mustered his remaining strength to shout her name.
But instinct told him.
Imagwa and Matsudaira warriors clinging to her back—at least five.
No one, not even her, could survive that.
Especially in such frenzy.
'Damn…!'
Impossible.
Unless she was a monster.
But one thing Il-yeong didn't know.
Sometimes, a woman blinded by love became one.
"Insolent fools…! Get lost!"
"Haaap!"
She sensed and dodged the rear spear thrust.
Ducked the follow-up chain, then swung her spear wide to create space.
"Wh-what?!"
It all happened in a blink.
But Yoshinari didn't stop.
She yanked the reins, wheeled around, and charged the samurais who'd dared block her.
"Blo-block her!"
The belatedly reacting samurais unleashed attacks—but their last sight was a blue flash and their vision tilting downward.
"…Crazy. That's even possible…?"
Il-yeong, witnessing it all, could only mutter in a daze.
Said simply, but that display was beyond imitation—not for him, not for anyone.
If dodging rear attacks from horseback while instantly felling five foes were easy, history's wars would read differently.
And as Il-yeong gaped in shock, Shibata Katsuie—catching her breath—couldn't conceal her own astonishment.
'…Was she always that strong?'
She knew of Yoshinari.
But truth be told, she'd always rated her a step below.
That feat forced Shibata to admit her arrogance.
'Could I pull that off?'
She lightly sliced another's neck while pondering.
Not impossible.
But as effortlessly as Yoshinari?
That bore thought.
(Of course, Il-yeong would scoff if he heard: You're the one who pierced enemy lines solo and kept killing—what's the difference?)
And in that moment.
Neigh—!
Yoshinari, panting raggedly, forced her trembling-legged horse forward to Il-yeong.
Equally winded, she said to him.
"…Sorry. I'm a little late."
What was she sorry for?
Il-yeong gazed up at her in disbelief for a moment, then chuckled and extended his hand.
"Thanks. For rushing over."
"……!"
And upon hearing his reply, Yoshinari—
"Yeah…!"
Beamed radiantly as she clasped his hand and hauled him onto the horse.
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