News of Taigen Sessai's death spread along the Tokaido faster than anyone expected.
Afterward, more detailed intelligence gradually converged on Kaede's Village through the dread-network of the yokai under Kobe Hikaru's command.
Reports from the tanuki spirit, supplementary accounts from the great kappa, corroboration from the Kamaitachi — together they pieced together a complete picture.
After Taigen Sessai's death, the Imagawa clan hadn't fallen into the chaos everyone expected.
Quite the opposite.
Imagawa Yoshimoto — that painfully insecure young daimyo who never left home without at least forty ashigaru, six mounted samurai, and eight palanquin bearers — had, in the time since losing her teacher, done something nobody had anticipated.
Before his death, Taigen Sessai had left behind a plan.
And at the very moment everyone expected her to collapse into despair, Imagawa Yoshimoto carried out every article of Sessai's legacy plan.
Point by point, without compromise.
Leveraging Kobe Hikaru's influence, she allied with Hojo Ujiyasu, then joined forces with him to maneuver against Takeda Shingen, ultimately forging a tripartite alliance — the Kōsōsun Triple Alliance, a formal military pact.
Using that name and momentum, she brought the military authority of Suruga, Totomi, and Mikawa fully under the direct control of the Imagawa main house, completing the centralization of power under Imagawa rule.
Then, while the second-generation Kenshin was preoccupied with internal affairs in Echigo and had no attention to spare southward, the Imagawa clan used the opening to ruthlessly consolidate every resource it could reach across the Kanto.
She became, in truth, the foremost bow-drawer of the Kanto Tokaido — Suruga, Totomi, Mikawa, three provinces whose very terrain curved like a drawn war bow.
From that point on, the main house's own troops under her command reached seven thousand.
Counting the branch families and vassals — the total she could mobilize while still keeping her home territory secure came to nearly twenty thousand.
Of course, those were the auxiliary forces.
And then there was logistics and the like — in this magnified world, logistics remained an unavoidable necessity.
But this number already placed her among the very top ranks of daimyo in the Sengoku era, near the very front across the entire realm.
Imagawa Yoshimoto's goal was clear.
She meant to march on the capital.
West along the Tokaido, clearing the road to Kyoto, entering the home provinces, seizing the mantle of legitimate authority over the realm.
She was outmatched in the individual martial prowess of her generals, vulnerable to being cut down in a surprise raid — but if she could hold Kyoto, that near-thousand-year fortress-city, she would fear no assassination.
As a kinsman of the Ashikaga shogunal house of the Muromachi Bakufu, she had both the pedigree and the right to make that claim.
The first obstacle blocking that road was Owari Province.
The Oda clan.
A minor house holding only half a province, with barely one or two thousand troops, whose head had risen to power less than half a year ago — a petty daimyo with a stipend of no more than two thousand koku.
Against Imagawa's seven thousand main-house troops, it was hardly an obstacle at all.
At least, that was what Imagawa Yoshimoto believed.
So she marched, with the bulk of her forces, grandly into the gateway of Owari Province —
Okehazama.
That was the narrowest valley on the road to Kyoto.
Taigen Sessai's legacy plan had specifically flagged this place.
But upon arriving, Imagawa Yoshimoto chose to make camp and rest.
Because she was confident. And because she was tired.
Seven thousand men on a three-day forced march — by the time they reached this spot it was high noon, the sun blazing overhead, and Yoshimoto decided they should stop for tea and a bite to eat, and press on once the heat had faded.
A legacy plan is a dead thing; men's hearts change — that too was something Taigen Sessai had once said.
And just as news of her encampment reached Kaede's Village through the dread-network, Kobe Hikaru stood before the Shrine, Tsubaki's prayer beads clenched in his hand, quietly checking favourability.
His blood-red demon eyes fixed on the west.
Then he brushed the hem of his robe.
He needed to make a trip.
It wasn't only for that one entrustment.
Strictly speaking, he'd never actually promised Taigen Sessai anything — just "I'll do what I can," four words vague enough to mean almost nothing.
But weighing everything, Kobe Hikaru knew he would ultimately have to act.
Not for her sake alone, nor only for Imagawa Yoshimoto's.
More than anything, for his own.
For Kyoto.
He would go to Kyoto sooner or later regardless.
Hagoromo-Gitsune coiled there, controlling the darkness of Kyoto.
She'd been quiet these past two months, but Kobe Hikaru knew that great yokai — arguably the strongest of the age — was only gathering her strength.
He certainly couldn't afford to wait until she finished preparing and came sweeping down on him with overwhelming force.
His own growth would only outpace hers.
And once his strength was sufficient, marching in alone, or leading the hundred demons in a direct assault, wouldn't be impossible — but if he had an obedient daimyo, or even a shogun who held the reins of the Bakufu, clearing the way ahead of him, many things would go far more smoothly.
Backing Imagawa Yoshimoto to power served his interests.
As for why not Hojo Ujiyasu of Sagami, who'd likewise placed heavy stakes on him — the reason was simple.
Because Hojo Ujiyasu's ambitions were too small.
It was like two different bets: Imagawa's stake looked smaller on the surface — merely honoring him as her house's guardian deity, a relationship closer to plain cooperation — yet as the Imagawa clan's guardian deity, if the Imagawa succeeded in marching on the capital, Kobe Hikaru would become the guardian deity of a new ruler of the realm, even a new shogunal house. His own standing would rise with hers.
A house that rules the realm makes the house itself the realm.
Hojo, on the other hand, had fixed him as the true god of only Sagami and Musashi, trying to bind him to the Kanto — even just to Sagami — through incense and vow-power.
Hojo Ujiyasu had no ambition to seize the realm; he considered that arrangement more than sufficient.
So, then.
Though Hojo Ujiyasu's methods were every bit as capable, his vision was undeniably narrower, his sights set far too low.
And it should be noted — this was Hojo Ujiyasu, a man content merely to dominate the Kanto.
The whole of Japan wasn't even large enough in Kobe Hikaru's eyes.
It was, at most, a single province of the Celestial Empire — a twentieth or thirtieth of one.
Not even as large as a single state from the Celestial Empire's Spring and Autumn or Warring States period, two thousand years past.
And even multiplied several times over, that would still hold true.
"Tanuki Juzaburo, pass the order down."
Kobe Hikaru's blood-red demon eyes narrowed slightly as he gave the command: "Have the great kappa at Shimizu Port move their people toward the western waters. Have the snow woman in the north press against the northern border, put on a show of readiness for war, and apply a little pressure on Echigo — make sure they don't get any ideas about stabbing us in the back."
Though it probably wouldn't happen — from what Kobe Hikaru had heard, the second-generation Uesugi Kenshin was currently deeply troubled over losing such a talented worker as Naoe Kanetsugu.
But Kobe Hikaru still needed to guard against the possibility.
This was exactly what his forces existed for.
"Yes, sir!"
The tanuki spirit knocked its head to the ground once, then dissolved into a wisp of yokai smoke and burrowed into the earth, gone.
The courtyard fell quiet.
Kobe Hikaru turned and walked toward the torii.
A white figure stood there, clearly having waited a while already.
White robes, red hakama, hair black as a waterfall, a wooden bow slung across her back.
Kikyo.
She said nothing, only watched him quietly.
"I need to make a trip to Owari — to Okehazama," Kobe Hikaru said.
"I know."
Kikyo nodded, her tone flat. "I'm coming too."
Kobe Hikaru looked at her.
In the past, he probably wouldn't have agreed so readily.
After all, that was a war between two daimyo, a killing field of thousands, even tens of thousands — blood in the air, and far too many variables.
Kikyo was strong, but she was also fragile.
In the end, she was only mortal — flesh and blood.
But now.
Kikyo took a step forward.
Without any warning, her outline suddenly blurred, her whole body dissolving into a pure column of spiritual light.
The light wasn't blinding, but it moved with startling speed — it swept past the torii in an instant and reappeared at Kobe Hikaru's side, her footing perfectly steady.
Not even the hem of her robe had stirred.
The Spirit Transformation Technique.
She looked at him, and the meaning was plain.
Kobe Hikaru smiled.
It was a faint smile, but it softened the hard, cold lines of his face.
He'd never intended to refuse anyway.
"All right."
"Then let's go, my shrine maiden."
"Momiji, Botan, keep an eye on things here. If anything comes up, find the snow woman or the great kappa — or discuss it with Naoe Kanetsugu."
"We'll be back as soon as we can."
With those words spoken —
Botan and Momiji, who'd just emerged from the Shrine behind him, hadn't even had time to respond.
Thunder cracked, spiritual power surged.
A man and a yokai, a shrine maiden and a god, shot straight up into the sky and vanished.
Momiji and Botan blinked, exchanging glances.
A moment later.
Botan said, "That kind of power... has Lady Kikyo become a yokai too?"
Momiji: "..."
She decided she didn't feel like dealing with her foolish junior sister right now.
Okehazama.
Located at the southeastern tip of Owari Province, it was a narrow valley winding between hills.
Rolling low hills to the north, dense forest to the south, and in between, a passage no more than twenty jō wide.
The Imagawa main encampment was pitched in the open ground at the western end of the valley, the tents of seven thousand men sprawling along the gentle slope, banners snapping in the wind, cooking smoke rising from every corner.
It was just past noon, the heat pressing down thick and heavy.
Inside the central command tent.
Imagawa Yoshimoto sat on a low couch draped in brocade, holding a folding fan painted with pines and cranes, stuffing a piece of mochi into her mouth.
Her junihitoe, woven in deep purple and gold, spread out across the tent floor; her narrow-shouldered, slender frame was wrapped tight in layer upon layer of fabric, leaving only her delicate, pretty face exposed, along with her long black hair falling loose and the heavy gold ornaments crowning her head.
A sixteen-or-seventeen-year-old girl daimyo, lord of the three provinces of Suruga, Totomi, and Mikawa.
At the moment, she was chewing mochi while flipping through battle reports.
"How many men has Oda mustered on their side?"
"Reporting to my lord — according to scout reports, the Oda garrison at their main camp in Owari numbers roughly one thousand two hundred to fifteen hundred. Counting logistics and craftsmen, no more than three thousand total."
The retainer delivering the report knelt before the tent, forehead pressed to the ground.
Yoshimoto nodded, cheeks bulging with mochi.
"Fifteen hundred."
She held up a finger, calculating with the highest possible figure.
Seven thousand against fifteen hundred.
She held nearly a five-to-one advantage in numbers.
And the Imagawa army was no rabble, either — after years of training under Taigen Sessai, Suruga's ashigaru were well-drilled, and Totomi's cavalry ranked among the finest in the Kanto.
Add to that the forces of vassal houses like the Matsudaira clan of Mikawa.
The advantage was hers.
Yoshimoto set down the report, tapping the folded fan against her palm, the corner of her mouth curling upward.
The road to the capital started here.
She would break through Owari, cross Mino, and drive straight into the home provinces.
Once in Kyoto, she could pay respects to the Emperor and win the court's recognition — becoming the true hegemon of the realm.
Holding the emperor hostage to command the lords.
But before that.
Let's rest a while first.
She stretched, the fan covering half her face, only a pair of bright, sparkling eyes visible above it. "Three days of forced marching — everyone's exhausted. Let the men eat their fill and drink their fill. It won't hurt to set off again tomorrow."
The retainer looked as though he wanted to object, but after glancing at his young lord's expression, in the end said nothing more.
Outside the tent, the sun blazed fierce.
The camp of seven thousand men sank into the drowsy torpor of midday.
And then, in the midst of that lazy atmosphere — from the crest of the hills to the northeast, hoofbeats suddenly erupted.
Warhorses. Cavalry.
A formation of several dozen light cavalry.
They poured out from behind the low hills at tremendous speed, in tight formation, as if the hills themselves had split open and spat out a river of iron.
The rider at the front stood out above all the rest.
A towering warhorse, jet black all over, its barding covered in dark gold scale armor — the only heavy cavalry mount among them.
The figure on its back —
Was a woman.
Somewhere past twenty, tall in stature, broad-shouldered and thick through the back, clad in silver armor over a blue battle-dress, the curve of her breastplate stretched full and taut, the gaps between the plates tracing tight, sharp lines from collarbone to hip.
Her brown hair was tied up atop her head, her face striking and full of daring.
A pair of amber eyes blazed with a light almost blinding under the afternoon sun.
In her hands she gripped a long-hafted great axe.
The blade was wider than her shoulders, its whole surface gleaming with a sharp light — a light unlike any ordinary metal's reflection, more like heat radiating from within.
It resembled the pure, lofty Power of Faith that radiated from the maiden warriors who were the reincarnations of divine artifacts serving Uesugi Kenshin and Takeda Shingen —
And yet it was utterly different.
This was violent. Destructive. Carrying a searing heat.
If Uesugi Kenshin's power of Bishamonten was like a suspended halo of Buddha-light, and Takeda Shingen's Furinkazan Red-Armor corps was like war chariots thundering across the earth, then the power radiating from this woman was closer to a burning heavenly fire —
Originating from the Demon King of the Sixth Heaven.
The Demon King of the Sixth Heaven — as recorded in Buddhist scripture, the sovereign ruler of the sixth heaven of the desire realm, the Paranirmita-vasavartin heaven.
His true name was Mara.
Neither Buddha, nor god, nor Demon.
He was "Mara."
The ultimate being standing in opposition to the Buddha, embodying desire and destruction.
And in this era — the young female daimyo of Owari, who had just deposed her own younger brother to seize power and was already, at her young age, famed as a "madwoman," called herself by that very title.
The Demon King of the Sixth Heaven — Oda Nobuna.
Others took it as mere bluster.
But at this moment —
Watching the power radiating from that woman on the black horse, swinging her enormous iron-gray axe, leading dozens of heavily armored cavalry straight for the Imagawa main camp —
Anyone could see that it was no bluster at all.
"Shibata Katsuie, by my lord's command —"
The maiden warrior's voice poured down from the hilltop, ringing far and wide like a horn call:
"Take Imagawa Yoshimoto's head!"
Dozens of iron-shod hooves trampled the wild grass on the hillside, the churned-up dust blotting out half the sky.
The Imagawa camp's perimeter watch was pierced through within the space of half an incense-stick's burning.
The front line of ashigaru didn't even manage to level their spears before they were sent flying by the charging horses; Shibata Katsuie's great axe swept out in a wide arc, a terrifying arc of light slicing through —
Wherever it passed, ashigaru spears of bamboo snapped in two, their bamboo armor shattering like paper.
This wasn't merely an overwhelming difference in strength.
More than that, it was the power clinging to that great axe — the power of a divine artifact.
The power of the gods and buddhas, made manifest.
Sharing the same lineage as the Power of Faith, it naturally suppressed anything not extraordinary — it carried a weight all its own.
Before that kind of power, ordinary iron was like rotten wood.
Bamboo armor was like paper.
Human flesh was like tofu —
The second and third lines of ashigaru were scattered in turn.
Dozens of horsemen rampaged through the Imagawa camp of seven thousand, truly like a red-hot blade plunged into a block of frozen tofu.
No one could withstand it.
No one dared block it.
Inside the command tent.
The mochi fell from Imagawa Yoshimoto's hand onto the brocade.
She heard the roars, the whinnying, the clash of metal erupting outside the tent.
The tent flaps were flung up by the surging wind, and she saw the scene outside —
Dozens of dark-red iron-clad riders rampaging through her army, the woman at their head swinging an axe bigger than a man, felling several soldiers with every swing.
"What's happening—!"
Shock and terror struck Yoshimoto at once, her body instinctively shrinking back behind the low couch.
Fear.
Real, instinctive, bone-deep fear.
She was afraid to die.
She always had been.
"My lord, please, you must flee—"
A retainer beside her lunged forward, placing himself between her and the danger, trying to shield her.
But Yoshimoto's gaze had already pierced through the gap in the tent flaps, locked fast on that lead female warrior.
Locked onto the iron-gray axe blazing in her hands.
That light —
It was identical to the light that radiated from Kakizaki Kageie of the Uesugi army!
No — the same in essence, but different in color and quality.
Yoshimoto understood all too well what that meant.
Because she had seen the divine-artifact maiden warriors of the Uesugi army with her own eyes.
Because she had once discussed with Kobe Hikaru the question of why the Imagawa had no divine artifact of their own.
Because she had once believed that only daimyo on the level of Takeda Shingen and Uesugi Kenshin could possess such things —
That was exactly why she'd dared to march north on such a grand scale.
But—
Owari.
A minor daimyo holding half a province.
Oda Nobuna, a girl everyone dismissed as a madwoman.
She had one too?
"How is this possible..."
Yoshimoto's voice trembled:
"A minor little house like the Oda of Owari... has something like this?"
—How could that be!?
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