Chapter 79
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 79
Chapter Title: Dreams and Pride
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Suemori Castle had been built in the past by Oda Nobuhide to keep an eye on Matsudaira of Mikawa Province (the future Tokugawa).
It sat atop a fairly high hill, and Il-yeong ascended the slope accompanied by around twenty escort samurai and Shibata Katsuie.
Unlike his previous infiltration, as he approached the main gate, a deep moat came into view. Itsuki, holding a white flag, raised it even higher so the Suemori forces could see it clearly, and soon the castle's soldiers spotted them and began to murmur.
—Isn't that... General Shibata?
—This is insane...
The fact that Shibata Katsuie had been defeated at the Battle of Ino was already well-known, thanks to the routed soldiers who had fled in the dead of night.
However, there was a world of difference between hearing about it and seeing it with one's own eyes. Proof of that lay in the not-insignificant number of samurai who had fled without believing the reports of Shibata Katsuie's defeat to the end, claiming it was slander against her.
It wasn't all that strange.
Shibata Katsuie.
Her fame as the "Demon," coveted not just in Owari but by daimyo in other regions as well, was far too grand for Il-yeong, whose own reputation had been established for less than a year, to match on foot.
But the moment Il-yeong arrived before Suemori Castle with Shibata Katsuie in tow, what would etch itself even deeper into their minds would be not the Demon, but the Yaksha.
—Inform the higher-ups immediately!
Naturally, they gripped their weapons in bewilderment and reported the news upward. To instill certainty amid their panic, Il-yeong drew a deep breath and shouted.
"Hirate Hikage of the Hirate family requests an audience!"
He hadn't bothered to specify the subject, but everyone present knew he meant Oda Nobuyuki and Dota Gozen.
That was when it happened.
Kkiiigiik—!
The gate creaked open harshly, scarring the earth. The figure who emerged from it was a rather handsome man, by all appearances.
"The reek of garlic from Joseon is overpowering."
Frowning as if deeply displeased, he addressed Il-yeong. Il-yeong ignored him and turned to Shibata Katsuie.
"Who is he?"
"...I don't know."
"It's only natural Lady Shibata wouldn't know. I joined this place after you departed."
Il-yeong eyed him. A ronin, he said. True to the word, the man's somewhat shabby attire contrasted sharply with his handsome face. Il-yeong glanced around casually.
'No one's backing him up.'
No one held any expectations of him. The samurai especially so. A few ashigaru clenched their fists as they watched the man, but even they were a minority.
In other words, the man was using Il-yeong as a stepping stone to make his mark in Nobuyuki's camp. To prove his worth by slaying the Yaksha.
—Heh.
Il-yeong's lips curled up. At the same time, he appraised the man's sword grip and stance through the eyes of his original body, Baek Il-yeong.
The shabby look was laughably far from battle-worn. No sword scars—just plain wear and tear. For a swordsman, the arms bore the most scars by far. They were the sacrifice offered up time and again to dodge lethal strikes to the heart, throat, or gut.
Il-yeong himself had countless such wounds on his arms—enough that he was considering getting a tattoo to cover them soon. Yet this samurai's body was pristine, without a single mark.
—Step.
Il-yeong strode forward boldly, drawing his sword. Onimaru Kunitsuna, gifted by Oda Nobunaga, sliced through the air smoothly at its master's touch, and at last Il-yeong spoke.
"A warrior fresh from the mountain, are you?"
There were countless schools of swordsmanship, and in this era, even the sons of peasants dreamed of becoming samurai and trained with blades. Il-yeong looked at the man drawing his sword with what seemed disdainful—or perhaps tense—resolve, and muttered offhandedly.
"Do you know who I am?"
"I do."
—Gulp.
The man forced a relaxed sneer, masking his tension.
"Aren't you the wretch who fled Joseon and got lucky enough to become a warrior?"
"Besides that."
There was no need to dignify such nonsense. What Il-yeong asked had nothing to do with his origins.
"What they call me."
He hadn't been thrilled with the title at first—it felt a bit cringeworthy—but now he rather liked it. The man let out a "Hah."
"Yaksha? There must be hundreds with that nickname across these islands."
He wasn't wrong. Nicknames inevitably overlapped, and even the "Demon" that came to define Shibata in later days had been attached to and stripped from several people in the Sengoku era—no one could say for sure.
However.
"Then I'll just kill them all."
Il-yeong meant it. Shibata Katsuie, Itsuki, and even Akechi Mitsuhide all glanced at his back in that instant.
The massive frame advanced.
At the same time, Il-yeong nodded as if beckoning the samurai forward. Feeling ignored, the man bit his lip and charged.
—Haaah!
No need to tense up. Just thrust and arc the blade upward as trained. The lanky face belied a tall stature and sturdy build that worried him a bit, but that was all.
'It just means more to cut!'
The fool hadn't even worn armor. Slay him, earn recognition, and back Nobuyuki as lord of Owari. Then he could rise from peasant's son to proud samurai...
Joy lit his face.
Owari might be tiny, but his master had said a dragon that would devour the islands slumbered here. And that dragon was none other than Nobuyuki.
'She was beautiful.'
A refined, chaste beauty. Yet she dared claim the clan lordship herself, leading armies with her frail body to oust her tyrannical sister.
If she wasn't the dragon, who was? And it was custom for a steadfast warrior to stand by a beauty's side.
Thus, he believed.
He would slay this man and win her favor.
"Daydreaming, eh? I must look like a real pushover."
Then, a chilling voice echoed in his ear—Il-yeong's. As he whipped his head around.
—Slash, thunk.
The sword flashed, something snapped, and his vision floated into the air. Instinctively rolling his eyes, the last thing he saw was—
The countless samurai on the walls looking down on him in pity, and Nobuyuki, who had appeared there before he knew it.
*
One single strike.
Il-yeong had beheaded the ronin who charged at him in provocation. He glanced down at the head rolling on the ground as if it wasn't worth picking up, then bowed toward Nobuyuki atop the wall.
"Greetings, my lady."
As if the ronin he'd just slain was beneath notice. Indeed, even as the head lay at his feet, none of his samurai moved to clear it.
—…
Silence fell.
Only then did they grasp the reality. Shibata Katsuie had lost. To this Hirate Hikage, no less.
Average heights were shorter than modern standards even then. Il-yeong was tall even by those, amplifying the fear his physique inspired.
Lean, yet not gaunt.
His muscles, revealed occasionally when the wind billowed his loose sleeves, were firm and taut. Casually wiping blood from his face seemed otherworldly.
"L-Lady... no, Lord."
A samurai beside Nobuyuki slipped up inadvertently. She had already been acclaimed the lord, yet he called her "lady."
But no one dared point it out. Il-yeong's display had shocked them too deeply.
Then, Nobuyuki spoke softly.
"...Is there no warrior who can defeat him?"
There was no need to win, even.
Victory meant his death; driving him off would suffice. But in her turned gaze.
"Ahem..."
"……."
The samurai who had acclaimed her the true lord just moments ago now averted their eyes.
Not one stepped forward.
Overwhelmed by the raw power on display and Shibata Katsuie's defeat, they cowered like drowned rats.
—Bite.
She bit her lip.
Was the gap with her sister this vast?
She couldn't help thinking it. She met the eyes of the man still holding the white flag, gazing steadily at her.
As if speaking with his gaze.
Open the gates, quick.
Thus, she turned and had no choice but to order the samurai beside her.
"...Open the gates and treat him as an envoy."
Envoy privileges in a rebellion with a foregone conclusion.
That was the last shred of pride she could show.