Chapter 69
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 69
Chapter Title: Ino Battle (1)
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―BAM!
Oda Nobunaga slammed her fist on the desk, and the faces of everyone in the meeting hall darkened at once.
Then, Hirate Masahide—who had been scanning the room with a chilling expression unlike his recent mild demeanor—spoke up in a low voice.
"My adopted son nearly got assassinated."
It was a fact everyone already knew.
At the same time, all eyes turned to Baek Il-yeong, who sat there utterly composed. But aside from the retainers who were completely loyal to Oda Nobunaga, the so-called veteran retainers regarded him with gazes of sheer fear and revulsion.
'How...'
'...could that truly be human?'
Even setting aside whether they'd plotted the assassination or not, most of them had never viewed Il-yeong favorably in the first place. So they'd secretly hoped this incident might finally humble him a bit.
In fact, some had even thought they'd come out as the fishermen profiting from the snipe and clam's quarrel.
An assassination.
Even seasoned statesmen often carried such an event as a lifelong scar. And who could blame them? There was nothing more terrifying than an untraceable night visitor sent by some unknown foe.
Yet what they witnessed upon entering the meeting hall was Il-yeong, wearing the most nonchalant expression imaginable.
―Slurp.
No, nonchalant didn't even cover it—he was sipping his tea. And every so often, he glanced at the veteran retainers. Then he turned to his adoptive father, Hirate Masahide, and said,
"I'm fine."
"Hmph."
Hirate Masahide furrowed his brow uncomfortably at Il-yeong's words. But his ire wasn't directed at Il-yeong—it was aimed at the aged retainers gathered here.
They weren't fools or pushovers.
They couldn't help but resent how Il-yeong had embedded himself in the Oda Clan, become the Hirate family's adopted son, and then skyrocketed to power right after his exploits at Murakitori Valley.
It was just that the walls standing in their way—Oda Nobunaga, Hirate Masahide, Mori Yoshinari, and others—were far too high. Plus, the speed of Il-yeong's rise was so absurdly swift it defied imagination.
Truly, in the blink of an eye—or a dazed "Huh?"—Il-yeong had vaulted into the ranks of the Oda Clan's power players.
And of course, Oda Nobunaga wasn't blind to any of it.
―Thud.
For the first time in ages, the matchlock rifle in her hand touched the floor. And she spoke.
"The assassins all died before we could make them talk, so we couldn't uncover the mastermind. But I'll say this here and now."
Her golden eyes flashed. Then, like a warning to those in the room who harbored ill will toward Il-yeong, she intoned,
"If you become a threat to me, I'll cut you down myself. Whether that's Hikage... or someone else."
It was a statement she could only make because everyone knew of Il-yeong's bond with her—a blunt message to the incompetents: shut your mouths if you can't match him.
Naturally, the veteran retainers bowed their heads in humiliated silence, but Il-yeong remained utterly unfazed.
If anything, he seemed pleased by her words, gazing at Nobunaga for a moment before speaking up.
"My lord."
As soon as Il-yeong opened his mouth, every eye in the room locked onto him. And he continued,
"All preparations are ready for the march on Ino. Just give the word, and we'll set out at once."
His words carried layers of meaning.
First, it showed he wasn't the least bit fazed by the assassination attempt—and it reaffirmed his unwavering loyalty once more.
"We've got plenty of work ahead. No sense wasting time, right?"
And the remark Il-yeong tossed out while casually turning to eye the veteran retainers? It stung them with fresh humiliation.
Il-yeong stared directly at those veteran retainers—the ones who'd already lost their power and had precious few days left to cling to relevance.
In other words, his words were aimed squarely at them.
That he, unlike those decrepit relics of a bygone era, was the true servant worthy of the Daimyo and the clan.
So they swallowed their rising fury and animosity toward Il-yeong, forcing blank expressions onto their faces.
'Of course, if they'd masterminded my assassination...'
Il-yeong watched Oda Nobunaga with that thought in mind. She met his bold, leisurely gaze with one of sheer exasperation.
...It had been him who'd nearly been assassinated. So why was this man so damn relaxed?
She'd survived multiple attempts herself, so she knew all too well the mental strain they wrought.
That's why, even as she stared at Il-yeong in disbelief, a thought crossed her mind.
―I hope he stays this confident forever.
Her beloved man—and capable retainer—being so gifted could only be a boon.
So she nodded. Some discomfort lingered, but Il-yeong's demeanor had been consistent.
No, even earlier that morning, he'd come to her and said as much.
―Don't blow this out of proportion. Just use it to keep the retainers in line.
She had no choice, then.
With a small sigh, she nodded.
"March out."
At that, Il-yeong set down his teacup with a sharp clink, turned to face her, and bowed deeply.
"Understood, my lord."
Il-yeong replied to her with his usual serene expression. And in that moment no one noticed—his hand trembled faintly.
...Yeah. No one noticed.
*
Winter had finally drawn to a close. Days grew longer without the need for heavy coats, and farmers prepared for the new year by repairing their rusted tools from the cold season.
Unlike those farmers, however, the warriors of Owari Province threw themselves into daily training for the battles ahead.
After all, on the battlefield, the only one you could rely on was yourself.
How much time had passed since the uproar over the Hirate Hikage assassination attempt? Before long, Oda Nobunaga's forces in Owari had mustered.
On top of the 1,500 troops Il-yeong had originally wanted, an extra 200 ashigaru had been added. This came from veteran retainers uninvolved in the incident, who had bowed out and voluntarily contributed forces.
Thanks to that, Il-yeong set out from Kiyosu Castle's main street at the head of 1,700 troops, with Niwa Nagahide as his staff officer, flanked by Akechi Mitsuhide, Itsuki, and a handful of nameless samurai.
―Waaaaah!
―Hikage!
The main street was lined with crowds of commoners who'd been tipped off by the Oda Clan in advance, cheering them on. Whether out of genuine enthusiasm or obligation hardly mattered—it boosted morale all the same. So Il-yeong rode at the front, waving to them one by one with leisurely grace.
That relaxed poise, coming right after the assassination attempt, only enhanced his reputation in multiple ways.
That's when Il-yeong's eyes caught Mori Yoshinari, Oda Nobunaga, Hirate Masahide, Uemon, and others standing atop Kiyosu's main gate.
They had no idea, but Il-yeong had no intention of dragging this battle out. With a light bow toward them, he steeled himself inwardly.
'Push them back to Suemori as fast as possible.'
That's why he'd left Mori Yoshinari behind. In case the Ino battle dragged on, she could lead a detachment to strike their rear territories.
Not that he'd told anyone this strategy, of course. With that in mind, Il-yeong spurred his horse and departed Kiyosu.
They raced across the plains.
Hooves pounded unfrozen earth, kicking up clumps of icy soil that clung and then fell away. The Oda Clan crests on the troops' backs fluttered in the wind behind the horses.
The foot soldiers, faces shrouded in black jinbaori cloaks, brimmed with tension. The samurai trailing Il-yeong's black armor pondered the coming storm of war and the clan's shifting power dynamics.
Each harboring their own convictions and dreams of the future, they marched toward the battlefield.
And Il-yeong gazed at the rising sun through his helmet's visor, lost in thought.
'An assassination.'
He'd acted unflappable until now, but of course he wasn't fearless. That's why he'd chosen to feign composure.
A saying he'd once heard in passing came to mind.
―Those strong against the strong are few, but those strong against the weak are many.
If he'd raged at the assassination and bristled like a provoked porcupine, they might fear him short-term. But behind his back, every scheme imaginable would rain down to wear him down and shatter his spirit.
And inevitably, those around him would get hurt in the crossfire.
Suddenly, his palms felt clammy.
When he clenched his fist, sweat dripped, and the hand hidden beneath his armor trembled severely.
Il-yeong subtly scanned his surroundings under the pretense of vigilance, checking the faces of those nearby.
...Good. No one seems to have noticed.
He pressed his quivering right hand against his abdomen to hide it, then silently urged his horse onward.
Days passed like that.
Nights were spent in council within the tent alongside Niwa Nagahide, Itsuki, and the other samurai. How far had they advanced toward Ino by day?
Il-yeong caught sight of Ino beyond the distant Odai River—no, Inouhara Plain—and turned to Niwa Nagahide.
"Build the camp."