Chapter 68
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 68
Chapter Title: Approaching War Clouds and Assassination Attempt
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Akechi Mitsuhide had settled into the Oda Clan far more swiftly than expected. In truth, it was hardly surprising. No matter the behind-the-scenes details, to the outside world she was now the vassal of Il-yeong—practically the heir to the Hirate family—and the very person on whom the future Young Lady would rely as a key to entering Mino.
Some retainers had opposed her joining Il-yeong's service, citing various reasons. They claimed that although she was an exile, the Akechi family's standing was not low—but no one was fooled. It was clearly a jab at Il-yeong's ever-growing influence.
—Hmph.
Yet their counsel was dismissed with a single word from Oda Nobunaga. The major retainers, led by Hirate Masahide—all of whom shared ties with Il-yeong—nodded in agreement.
It was only natural.
What did it matter whose vassal Akechi Mitsuhide became? The priority now was seizing control of Owari Province.
—Il-yeong harbored such thoughts as he strode forward.
Trailing behind him were Akechi Mitsuhide and Itsuki at the head of his escort samurai. As they reached the meeting hall, a direct Oda Clan samurai bowed his head.
"Hirate Hikage-sama."
"I'm a little late. Open the gate."
"Yes, sir."
With a creak, the grand doors swung open. Il-yeong stepped through without hesitation. How long did they walk?
They passed through the garden, their feet crunching on the stone path, before ascending onto the tatami mats.
Servants and samurai bowed deeply. Finally arriving before the council chamber, Il-yeong addressed Oda Nobunaga, seated far off at the head of the room.
"This lowly Hirate Hikage is a touch tardy."
At his words, Oda Nobunaga let out an involuntary smirk. Quite the bold one for showing up late, she thought—but she kept it to herself.
"Yeah. You are."
Just a mild rebuke would suffice, she figured.
She spoke those words with that in mind, and Il-yeong responded with his signature sly, good-natured grin.
"My deepest apologies, my lord."
"Enough. Take your seat."
The only open spot was the upper seat facing Hirate Masahide—right beside Oda Nobunaga as well. It was stark proof of Il-yeong's swift rise.
As Il-yeong wove through the retainers and settled into place, a polite ahem echoed through the room. Oda Nobunaga nodded, signaling the meeting to begin.
"Lady Nobuyuki's current sphere of influence looks like this."
Niwa Nagahide, handling staff officer duties, unrolled a map of Owari Province for all to see.
—Tap.
Her hand came to rest on the castle marked "Suemori." Niwa Nagahide's characteristic smile played across her lips as she spoke.
"Her reach now extends across the Suemori area, into Shinoki, and as far as Misato. At this rate, a clash is only a matter of time."
By legitimacy alone, Oda Nobunaga held a clear advantage, giving her the edge in territorial control as well. Still, no one doubted it would be a simple affair.
But at that moment...
As everyone hung on Niwa Nagahide's words, Il-yeong spoke up with a faint smile.
"Send me to Ino, my lord."
Ino.
Oda Nobunaga's brow furrowed at Il-yeong's words. And for good reason—Ino was...
"You mean across the Odai River, southeast of Kiyosu?"
"Yes."
Glancing at the map, Nobunaga quickly understood why he'd suggested it. That position would put him in direct confrontation with the forces around Shinoki. Il-yeong was clearly resolved.
For a fleeting instant, worry flickered in Oda Nobunaga's eyes.
"Are you set on engaging them in battle?"
"Yes, my lord."
Il-yeong offered no excuses. Before the other retainers could chime in, he pressed on.
"Give me five hundred samurai, eight hundred ashigaru, and two hundred matchlock gunners, and I'll deliver victory."
His words rang with utter conviction.
Just as it seemed poised to pass without major pushback...
…Hmph.
Il-yeong turned slightly at the brazen stares fixed on him. The gazes from a cluster of old retainers shoved toward the middle of the room were far from friendly.
He sensed it instinctively.
Stripped of power, all that's left is envy.
Of course, that wasn't the whole story. He saw no need to dwell on it, but there were far more people angling to check his rise than he'd imagined.
But that was all.
Il-yeong urged approval with a glance, and Nobunaga finally nodded with a look of helpless resignation.
"Very well. Make it happen."
"Yes. Then, moving on..."
Niwa Nagahide, having witnessed Il-yeong's prowess firsthand, simply smiled faintly and steered the meeting forward without a hint of doubt or concern.
And so, the council that had begun around evening dragged on into the deep night.
The meeting adjourned, and Il-yeong headed straight back to the Hirate residence. Oda Nobunaga and Mori Yoshinari's lingering gazes followed him, intense as ever—but these were busy times for everyone, unavoidable.
"Haa."
Winter was waning, yet the night air remained bitterly cold. Only Itsuki and Akechi Mitsuhide trailed behind him.
The late hour meant he'd sent the rest of his important escorts ahead. Besides, did he even need guards here in Kiyosu?
...That's what he'd thought.
Until just moments ago.
On the path to the Hirate residence, where the way narrowed and foot traffic thinned, a line of men suddenly surrounded them.
"...My lord."
Itsuki grimaced and gripped his sword. Akechi Mitsuhide's pretty features hardened coldly as she did the same.
Il-yeong scanned his surroundings.
He clutched the ends of his wide sleeves, which swallowed his hands. Roughly counting them, he pondered.
Ten men. Who's behind this?
Mino Province?
Nobuyuki?
Or some other retainer?
The thought struck him as oddly novel. Now there were three possible sources for his assassins.
But that was all.
—Shing.
Il-yeong lightly drew Onimaru, the blade ever at his waist. That was the signal—no words exchanged, the fight began.
—Hup!
A masked assailant slashed down at Il-yeong in a diagonal arc. Il-yeong sidestepped just enough, drew his sword, and raked it across the man's fingers.
"Gaaargh!"
A second after the blade passed, the severed stump curled back, exposing bone amid drying flesh. It was a nasty wound by any measure, but Il-yeong paid it no mind. He raised his sword and cleaved the man's neck.
He wasn't so outnumbered as to show mercy.
Thus, he spun swiftly, methodically cutting down the charging assassins one after another.
He sliced waists to grant them swift seppuku.
Occasionally severed throats, or sheathed his blade in the chest of one who'd fallen to the ground.
It hadn't even been five minutes.
—Splash!
Il-yeong flicked his blade clean. Blood trailed in a long, arcing semicircle across the ground. He stared at it in silence for a moment. Then...
"...Hoo. Are you alright?"
Akechi Mitsuhide approached cautiously, sounding winded. He'd cut down at least four, leaving blood splattered across his body. Itsuki, arriving with her, scanned Il-yeong's form for wounds.
"I'm fine. But Akechi—your arm's cut."
Il-yeong shook himself off lightly as he replied. Spotting her bloodied arm, he reached into the torn sleeve and ripped the fabric away with a single tug.
Riiip— A pale forearm was laid bare. Just as Akechi Mitsuhide opened her mouth to protest...
Il-yeong inspected the cloth in his hand, tsked in annoyance, and shrugged off his outer jacket—stained with blood. It revealed clothing a bit too thin for the weather. Without pause, he tore a long strip from the cuff.
"...Ow!"
Before she could say a word, he bound her elongated gash tightly and turned away indifferently.
Itsuki watched with eyes touched by admiration, but Il-yeong merely slipped back into his blood-soaked garb as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"Let's head back. Tell the first ashigaru we see to clear the bodies."
"...Yes, my lord."
A survivor to interrogate would have been ideal, but alas, he'd slain them all. Il-yeong set off, resolved for next time.
Akechi Mitsuhide, following in his wake, glanced sidelong at her bandaged arm.
...It's tied tight.
Not a deep wound—just a bit worse than a scrape from a fall. No muscle damage, so as long as she watched for bleeding and infection...
Her mind drifted back to Il-yeong indifferently binding it for her.
She lightly touched the fabric.
And froze in surprise.
...Silk?
Silk was precious stuff. Her confusion deepened.
What in the world...
What were that man's true intentions?
His true nature? His goals?
Such thoughts swirled as she noticed the bleeding had stopped. She didn't untie the cloth—instead, she absently stroked it and trailed after him.
And the next day...
The Oda Clan weathered yet another storm: the failed assassination attempt on Hirate Hikage.