Chapter 71
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: penny
Chapter: 71
Chapter Title: Ino Battle (3)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Another sun had set and risen.
The indigo sky was gradually devoured by the encroaching crimson heavens, fading away, while the water mist that had clung through the night shattered under the rising sunlight.
Gazing at the scene, Baek Il-yeong was sharing sake cups alone with Niwa Nagahide.
Of course, with the coming battle ahead, they refrained from heavy drinking. Mixing the sake with warm water, it merely circulated a gentle heat through their bodies.
How long had the cups passed between them in silence?
"Do you have confidence you'll win the duel?"
Suddenly, Niwa Nagahide asked Il-yeong. He slipped a pickled vegetable from the simple side dish into his mouth and countered.
"Do I seem like the type to lose?"
"Who knows."
Il-yeong tilted the bottle toward her empty cup. As he set it down on the table, Niwa Nagahide reciprocated by pouring into his.
"You strike me as someone with plenty of people who'd hate to see you die."
A faint smile played at the corners of her mouth, hidden behind her fan. Stung by her words, Il-yeong let out a scoffing laugh. Niwa Nagahide's eyes flickered for an instant, but she soon gripped her cup and lightly clinked it against his.
—Clunk.
Porcelain cups had no place on the battlefield; the wooden ones let out a dull thud. Swishing sake in his mouth, Il-yeong spotted Itsuki approaching from outside and rose to his feet.
Clank—the armor clashed as he moved, and Niwa Nagahide trailed behind as Il-yeong exited the tent. At once, the samurai and ashigaru who had witnessed the prior duel turned their eyes to him.
Flutter.
The Hirate Family crest billowed. Beside it swayed the Niwa Family crest, while the grandest flag bore the Oda Clan emblem waving proudly.
Il-yeong strode beneath the crests.
At the same time, he boarded a boat heading toward the distant plain beyond the river. It was a proposal from Il-yeong himself.
'I was the one who suggested the duel.'
Respect was due. Especially since this opponent wasn't one to kill, but to subdue—and one who might become a comrade, facing the same horizon.
Itsuki and Niwa Nagahide had tried to dissuade him, of course, but Il-yeong's resolve was unshakable.
—Swish.
The boat glided forward. Waves lapped in its wake, and Il-yeong savored the morning mist briefly before donning the mask that had become his signature, covering his lower face.
A black mask veiled his lower features.
Just then, far off, he spotted Shibata Katsuie—wearing the mask he'd given her the day before.
One samurai with his lower face bared, the other concealed. In the absurd tableau, Il-yeong waited for the boat to beach, a faint smile on his lips.
A span of time—short if short, long if long—elapsed. Soon, Il-yeong's boat scraped ashore, and the samurai who had shared a vessel with Shibata Katsuie previously offered a slight bow.
"We've been waiting."
Her gaze held no warmth for Il-yeong, cold and appraising. Yet he brushed it off with perfect composure, heading straight for Shibata Katsuie.
"You've arrived."
There she stood in crimson armor, her face shrouded by the red oni mask from Il-yeong's gift. A massive katana hung at her side as she approached him.
'A sword... She's showing me consideration.'
Shibata Katsuie was a ferocious warrior versed in both spear and blade. Choosing the sword was a concession—spears held a deadly edge in a duel where a single clash decided life or death.
"No need for drawn-out words."
Shibata Katsuie spoke plainly and drew her sword without pause. Their words had concluded aboard that earlier boat; nothing more was required.
—Nod.
Il-yeong inclined his head.
At once, the pair leveled their blades at each other on the riverbank's edge.
Troops withdrawn far behind on both sides, ambushes were no concern. Nor were either woman the sort.
Il-yeong's blade rested tip-down on the ground; Shibata Katsuie's angled across her body. In a heartbeat, she lunged first.
"Hup!"
Red lips parted on her exposed lower face, her slashing arc carving toward Il-yeong's chest. He sidestepped effortlessly, sweeping up his grounded sword at an angle.
—Clang!
Blades met in a shrill ring midair. Il-yeong hooked her sword with his guard, but the battle-hardened swordmaster twisted fluidly, slicing at his hand.
"Kuh!"
Armor turned the blow; no true wound. Still, the force left its mark—it was no glancing tap.
Shibata Katsuie fared no better unscathed. As she struck for his hand, Il-yeong's foot drove into her midsection.
The warriors sprang apart in a flash.
Even in that brief exchange, they had measured each other—and now regarded one another with astonishment.
"Your skill..."
"Has grown even sharper."
Shibata Katsuie faltered mid-sentence; Il-yeong completed it. They shook out tingling hands and advanced once more.
—Clang!
Swords collided anew. Blades quivered at times; lives hung in the balance.
Neither yielded.
At length, steel found flesh through armor gaps—Il-yeong's chest, Shibata Katsuie's arm, shallow slices both.
Blood trickled warmly.
Il-yeong glanced at his dampening chest and chuckled.
"Thinking back, did I lose last time?"
"...Memories fuzzy, but Nobunaga-sama stepped in, didn't she?"
It had devolved into a brutal slugfest. Nobunaga's gunshot had halted them at the end.
Il-yeong's laugh drew an involuntary smile from Shibata Katsuie.
Their sentiments aligned already.
No desire to kill.
Thus, the invitations beneath each other's banners. A duel bent toward submission—a private contest.
So Il-yeong sheathed his blade and voiced his honest heart.
"Lady Nobuyuki will lose in the end."
"That's..."
Il-yeong shook his head, cutting off Shibata Katsuie's protest.
"It will happen. History attests—and I remember."
"...What?"
Shibata Katsuie's lips worked in confusion this time. Yet truth it was.
Nobuyuki dies.
Betrayed by you, no less.
Original history's decree.
Oda Nobuyuki.
...Or Nobukatsu, Tatsu nari, Kanjuuro.
That figure of original history—bearing countless names—defied Oda Nobunaga, fell to Shibata Katsuie at Ino, hunkered in Suemori Castle till her mother's plea spared her. Yet shy of a year later, another plot; disillusioned, you betrayed her to death.
She slays her former lord.
If history holds its course.
No happy end for Nobunaga, you, or Nobuyuki.
Il-yeong eyed the blood staining his blade from Shibata Katsuie.
"Chaotic times. Kin slay kin when duty demands."
Chaos. An age of upstarts.
His words soured Akechi Mitsuhide's recalled expression. Saito Dosan and Yoshitatsu sprang to mind.
Kin slaying kin.
Could any tale of Mino match that poignancy?
Yet Il-yeong addressed not the phantom Mitsuhide, but her—listening wordlessly—and continued.
"Past bonds make it worse. Still, I'm certain."
Oda Nobunaga eyes the realm.
Il-yeong eyes it too.
Or rather, for those now precious, he'll carve through every threat.
The Oda Clan's path ahead demands you. Nobuyuki, perhaps.
Thus...
Shring.
Blade slid home without hesitation.
He met her complicated gaze with an eye-smile and said.
"Bruises fade with time, don't they? Besides..."
Truth be told, personal fondness played a part.
Couldn't mar a beauty's skin on sight.
Il-yeong leveled Onimaru—now blunt in its scabbard.
"Well then, again."
Shibata Katsuie bit her lip.
"...An insult."
Sheathing meant faith in wooden victory. Il-yeong knew his prowess.
She wavered—should she?—but Il-yeong sprang, forcing wood against steel once more.
—Crack!
Gouges scarred the wooden sheath in a blink. Il-yeong grinned despite himself.
...Nobunaga would chew him out royally.