Chapter 107: Lord of Pandemonium
Hikaru's appearance here was, naturally, no accident.
After his efforts at Odawara Castle proved fruitless, he had already changed his plans.
The Hojo clan's main force had pushed south, while the Imagawa clan marched east. The two armies were now locked in a standoff at Jentaigahara. To complicate matters, the Uesugi clan's army from Echigo could descend from the north at any moment.
A vast swathe of the Kanto region was being consumed by the flames of war.
And trailing behind him were twenty-three small, displaced yokai with nowhere else to go.
These creatures needed a place to settle down. A place with people. A place that could generate 'Fear'.
But in a land fractured by war, no village or town would ever accept a band of yokai.
Unless—someone vouched for them.
And to vouch for them required prestige, and more, a demonstration of overwhelming power.
He needed everyone to see with their own eyes what stood behind this motley group of spirits.
Therefore, he needed a stage.
The battlefield between the Imagawa and the Hojo happened to be the grandest stage of all.
Three thousand five hundred men.
The elite forces of two provinces.
Dozens of banners snapping in the wind.
All he had to do was weigh the strength of both sides and, while ensuring his own safety, do one thing—
Walk in.
And then, let everyone see.
A bloody mist bled across the field, and a forest of bone stood stark against the sky.
The two armies were forcibly split. The soldiers in the front ranks scrambled backward, their faces masks of terror as they crashed into their comrades behind them.
A figure in grey robes with pale hair stood at the very center of the battlefield. One hand rested on the hilt of his blade, while the other hung at his side, purple arcs of electricity jumping silently between his fingertips.
A crimson oni mask.
White bone as armor.
Bloody mist as a banner.
Under the collective gaze of thousands, this sight alone was terrifying enough.
But what truly made every man's breath catch in his throat—
Was what lurked behind him.
The bloody mist churned.
From behind Hikaru, the thin red vapor slowly parted, like a grand curtain being drawn open.
Within the mist, figures flickered.
The first to emerge was a crooked, tattered flag. Painted on it was an outrageously ugly skull, its lines so messy it looked like a child's doodle. The flag-bearer was a short, stout figure—the Tanuki Spirit, who had abandoned its disguise and returned to its true form. It had a round belly, a fluffy tail, and two eyes the size of mung beans that were wide with fright. Its legs trembled.
But it didn't run. It clutched the flagpole and stood its ground.
It stood behind Hikaru.
Then came the second.
The Hitotsume-kozo stepped out from the mist. He was only three feet tall and held a tattered paper umbrella. The single eye painted on the umbrella's surface no longer darted about in fear but stared straight ahead—staring at the humans.
The third.
The Fox-eared Girl walked out from the deepest part of the bloody mist, dragging the broken-legged Giant Rat by its tail. Her two furry ears stood straight up, and the wreath on her head was askew, revealing the tip of one ear.
The fourth, the fifth…
A Two-headed Crow spread its wings and landed on the tip of a bone spike.
Half a centipede drilled out from the ground, winding its way to Hikaru's feet.
A Kappa, a Lantern Ghost, fragments of Ittan-momen, a cat without eyes… one after another, they appeared.
Twenty-three of them.
Every single one had stepped out from the bloody mist.
They were weak, so weak that any ashigaru with a spear could easily kill them. So weak that in the world of yokai, they didn't even qualify to be at the bottom of the food chain.
But at this moment, they stood behind Hikaru.
They stood within the forest of bone, within the lingering resonance of thunder, under the terrified gaze of three thousand five hundred men.
The bloody mist enveloped them.
That thin red vapor was no longer a concealment, but an enhancement.
It enhanced their shadows, stretching them into tall, monstrous silhouettes.
It enhanced their presence, magnifying it a thousandfold.
Against the backdrop of that mist, these yokai, who were once laughably weak, now projected an inexplicable sense of pressure.
It wasn't the pressure of strength.
It was the pressure of spectacle.
An asura-like being in a crimson oni mask, followed by a procession of monsters and ghosts, walking between a forest of bone and a river of blood-red mist.
The scene itself was enough to strike fear into the hearts of mortals.
"The… the Hundred Demons…" a soldier in the Hojo formation stammered, his teeth chattering uncontrollably.
"The Night Parade of One Hundred Demons…"
The term spread through the army like a plague.
The Night Parade of One Hundred Demons. In legends, it was the procession of the Lord of Yokai, leading his horde of demons through the streets at night.
The one before their eyes only numbered twenty-three.
It was broad daylight.
And the yokai themselves were weak enough to be shooed away with a broom.
But no one was laughing.
Because the entity standing at the very front, the one who had just cleaved a battlefield of three thousand five hundred men in two with a single thunderous display—
Was too strong.
So strong that even if only an ant followed in his wake, that ant would seem a creature not to be trifled with.
This was momentum.
This was awe.
The small yokai didn't need to spread fear themselves.
Just by standing behind Hikaru, humans would find fear on their own.
And the awe condensed from that fear was now silently spreading across the battlefield. It flowed toward the small yokai, seeping into their weak bodies.
Like nourishment.
Like—power.
The Hitotsume-kozo's single eye suddenly lit up with an inner glow.
The Fox-eared Girl's ears twitched more violently, not from fear, but from an unfamiliar sense of fullness coursing through her.
The Tanuki Spirit stared, stunned.
It looked down at its own paws.
Were its fingers glowing?
No, not glowing.
It was Yao Qi.
Its Yao Qi was growing. The increase was negligible, but it was undeniably growing.
Hikaru stood among the forest of bones, his gaze beneath the crimson oni mask sweeping across the armies on both sides. He paid no mind to the changes occurring in the small yokai behind him.
He was looking at his panel.
To be precise, the panel for the Nekomata Claws in his arms.
[Nekomata Claws: Favorability +12]
[Current Favorability: 45 (Resonance)]
[It has suddenly reacted.]
[For the first time.]
[The aura of the undead—the newly dead souls on the battlefield, the residual spirits permeating the air—it is absorbing them.]
[It is awakening.]
Beneath the oni mask, Hikaru's brows arched slightly.
'Twelve points?'he thought.'It increased by twelve points in one go?'
This thing had only been grudgingly giving him one or two points a day, like some ungrateful, soulless trinket. And now it had suddenly surged?
He looked down, feeling the withered black claw cradled in his arms.
It was vibrating.
Unlike the previous unconscious, wooden, dull trembling, this was a real, rhythmic vibration, carrying with it a distinct longing.
It was like a beast that had slept for ages suddenly catching the scent of fresh meat.
The battlefield.
The souls of the dead.
These things were the true nourishment for the Nekomata Claws. It was, by its very nature, a demonic tool that manipulated the dead; the more death that surrounded it, the more active it became.
Dozens of corpses had already fallen in the recent clash, and the air was thick with the cloying aura of death.
This was the catalyst for its awakening.
Not Hikaru's patient infusion of demonic power.
Not his day-after-day strategic coaxing.
But simply—the right stage.
'So that's how it is,' Hikaru noted internally.
This thing didn't respond to gentleness. What it fed on was 'death'.
Fine. Noted.
[Nekomata Claws: Favorability +3]
[Current Favorability: 48 (Longing)]
[It wants more.]
Hikaru ignored its plea.
He withdrew his gaze and looked forward once more.
The two armies were still held at bay by the forest of bones and the memory of thunder. The soldiers had retreated to a safe distance, but no one had withdrawn from the field.
The Hojo side was watching.
The Imagawa side—
A rider charged out from the southern army's formation. The horse's hooves trampled the withered yellow grass. Its speed was not fast, but its gait was even, like the steady beat of a war drum.
The rider wore a luxurious twelve-layered kimono, her dark brown hair flying behind her as she rode. A golden butterfly ornament in her hair shimmered in the sunlight.
Her petite figure sat upright on the horse, her waist and back perfectly straight.
On her exquisite face was a smile so brilliant it was blinding.
Imagawa Yoshimoto.
Lord of Suruga Province.
She rode through her own army's line, alone, galloping toward the forest of bones. The attendants behind her made to follow but were frozen in place by a single sharp look she cast over her shoulder.
The sound of hooves drew closer.
She stopped at the edge of the bone forest.
Imagawa Yoshimoto dismounted. The hem of her twelve-layered kimono dragged on the grass, becoming stained with mud, but she paid it no mind at all.
She raised her head, her bright, excited eyes fixed on the grey-robed figure standing deep within the grotesque woods.
"We meet again," she said, her voice clear and ringing.
"Lord Kishin."
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