Shinji looked down at the map tucked against his chest. The locations marked in ink were all clustered in the mountainous border region between western Suruga and eastern Tōtōmi.
The farthest was over a hundred kilometer from the Imagawa capital. The nearest, barely thirty or thirty five. All were unremarkable micro-volcanoes, not the colossal, 4000 meters giants like Mount Fuji, but small geothermal vents scattered through the mountains, perpetually wreathed in smoke.
Ordinary folk wouldn't go near such places. But for a yōkai who lived by the forge, there was natural fire, mineral veins, and the silence of utter seclusion. The perfect hiding place.
Three locations. Three possible trails. At a normal human pace, the closest could be reached in a single day, there and back within two. With the Lightning-Sinewed Body, no more than a quarter of an hour. But he had already run from Kaede's Village to Sagami, then to Suruga today.
He'd used the Shura Form once. Summoned Raikiri once. Though his yōki was still abundant, sustained by osore, and his stamina still had reserves, there was no need to push himself further.
Besides, finding Tōtōsai wasn't a battle. It wasn't a rescue. He didn't need to blast his way there at full speed. Still, decisiveness was called for.
"I'll go now." Shinji put away the map and rose.
Across from him, Imagawa Yoshimoto rose as well. The hem of her twelve-layered kimono rustled across the tatami, the layered folds of deep purple and gold whispering with her movements.
"Then let us set out," she said.
Shinji's movements halted. He turned back to look at her. "…You're coming?"
"What are you looking at?" Imagawa Yoshimoto tucked her fan into her sash and idly smoothed the stray strands of hair by her ears. "I'm coming with you. It's been far too long since I've left the castle without a full army at my back…"
She caught herself mid-sentence. Coughed. "Ahem. Rather, out of consideration for you, I shall reluctantly serve as your guide. The terrain in the western mountains of Suruga is complex. An outsider like you, an outside yōkai, would never find your way."
Shinji stared at her for three seconds. She didn't look away. Her amber eyes met his crimson demon gaze, her chin tilted slightly upward, a posture that practically dared him to say no.
But the line of that lifted chin was too delicate, too slender, set against the pale curve of her throat and the faintly parted collar at her collarbones, all illuminated by the lamplight. Its intimidation factor was severely limited.
Shinji saw through it. She wasn't offering to guide him. She wanted to shed the heavy trappings of rule and go out freely. She was nearly bursting from the stifling confinement.
This past month, the Kantō had been in constant upheaval. First Uesugi's southern incursion. Then the Imagawa expedition to Echigo. Then Takeda's Crimson Guard raids. Then the Tōno yōkai invasion. Each time, Imagawa Yoshimoto had either been trapped at the center of her army's protection or confined to the tenshukaku, waiting for news.
It wasn't that she didn't want to travel light. It was that she didn't dare. The reason was the same as ever.
Uesugi Kenshin was shielded by the power of Bishamonten. Takeda Shingen was surrounded by her Four Heavenly Kings. Imagawa Yoshimoto had nothing. No divine reincarnation. No god-buddha power. No personal guard capable of withstanding supernatural forces on the battlefield.
The moment she left the capital with too few escorts, she became a living target. Uesugi's warrior maidens could truly behead a commander in the midst of an army.
Takeda's Crimson Guard generals, themselves divine-vessel incarnations, could flank and abduct an enemy commander during battle. Yamagata Masakage had already demonstrated this once. The victim had been Hōjō Ujiyasu.
So Imagawa Yoshimoto was forced to imprison herself within her own military ranks, or within her own castle. The ruler of a province, yet without a shred of freedom. Anyone would crack under that.
But now, beside her stood a Demon God of a warrior. One who could slay high-ranking yōkai in battle, crush divine warrior maidens, and even force the Bishamonten incarnation Uesugi Kenshin to kneel. A mountain path of a few dozen or fifty kilometer, still within her own domain, what danger could there possibly be?
Shinji thought it over. Truly, there was no reason to refuse. No need to refuse. Though his feelings for her were not the same as those he held for Kikyō, for this black-haired beauty, the young ruler of Suruga, to claim he had no thoughts at all would be self-deception.
In this chaotic age, as a yōkai, though his mind still held the perceptions of the transmigrator he once was, beneath a demon's nature, greed was inevitable. It was only his human consciousness that allowed him to rein in that greed, to not force anything upon anyone.
And yet, letting things take their natural course wasn't so bad either. He had always believed that honesty was the essential quality of life of demon life.
Wanting was wanting. Not wanting was not wanting. In the chaos of the Warring States, why weave so many tangled schemes? Letting things flow naturally didn't mean something had to happen. Simply enjoying the view was enough.
And as for other complications, as long as he was strong enough, that would suffice. Besides, this trip wasn't for battle, it was to find someone. The distance wasn't far. Two or three days, back and forth, plenty of time. The entire route lay within Suruga, Tōtōmi, and Mikawa, all Imagawa territory.
Even if something unexpected occurred, at his speed, carrying one person back would be a matter of a single hour.
"Fine," he agreed.
Imagawa Yoshimoto's eyes lit up. Just for a moment. Quickly hidden behind her fan. "Naturally. This is my domain, after all. I go where I please. I merely happen to be traveling the same road as you." She added, "Wait while I change."
Her words were firm. But the pace at which she turned and walked toward the rear chambers to change, was faster by more than a beat. She hiked the hem of her twelve-layered kimono high, revealing her wooden geta and white tabi, her footsteps thumping against the floorboards.
Shinji had originally assumed that "guiding the way" meant the two of them slipping out of the city in silence. Traveling light. Keeping a low profile. After all, they were heading out in the middle of the night to find a reclusive yōkai swordsmith, not conducting a provincial inspection. But he had clearly underestimated Imagawa Yoshimoto's interpretation of "going out."
A quarter of an incense later, the main gate of the tenshukaku swung open. Torches lined the path from the inner gate all the way to the main street of the castle town, illuminating the night road as though it were broad daylight.
The first to emerge were two columns of ashigaru. Twenty men per column. They wore uniform light-gray armor, their breastplates branded with the Imagawa crest in crimson and gold. Short swords at their waists. Long spears in their hands, the iron tips reflecting the torchlight in neat, orderly gleams. Their steps fell in unison, their armor plates clinking with a fine metallic rustle. Forty men. Two columns.
Behind them came mounted samurai. Six riders. The horses varied in color but were uniformly built. The samurai astride them wore full tōsei gusoku armor. Sashimono banners bearing the Imagawa crest hung from their shoulder guards, swaying gently in the night breeze.
The lead samurai was roughly thirty years of age. His face was stern and resolute. A katana lay horizontally across his waist. His gaze swept the darkness beyond the castle gate, and he signaled behind him with a gesture.
Further back, a palanquin. Not the extravagantly ornate ox-carriages used by court nobles, but the standard riding palanquin of a Warring States daimyō. A black-lacquered wooden frame. A canopy of deep purple silk stretched across the top.
Tassels embroidered with pine and crane motifs hung from the four corners. Eight bearers, all robust, muscular men in straw sandals and leggings. No armor. No weapons. But from the lines of their muscles, it was clear each of them could swing a stone mortar without effort.
The palanquin's curtain was half-drawn. Imagawa Yoshimoto sat inside. She had changed. A deep blue kimono had replaced the elaborate twelve-layered robes. This, by her standards, was traveling light.
The sleeves were tapered. The sash was cinched tight. She could, indeed, move far more freely than in the jūnihitoe. The kimono's hem reached her knees, revealing her feet wrapped in white tabi, resting on the cushioned floor of the palanquin. Her pine-and-crane fan was still tucked at her waist. Her hair had been re-tied into a simple ponytail, a few stray strands falling beside her ears. Stripped of the layers of opulent finery, the figure of a sixteen- or seventeen-year-old girl emerged, narrow-shouldered, slender-waisted, not particularly tall.
From the side, she even looked somewhat slight. But the deep blue fabric of her collar lay open, revealing a pale line of throat and collarbones. The curve below was held in a full, ripe outline by the upper edge of her sash.
In the dim lantern light within the palanquin, shadows sank into the gap where her collar overlapped. She sat upright. Her fan rested on her lap. Her expression was composed. The textbook posture of a provincial ruler on progress.
Shinji stood at the castle gate, observing this grand procession in silence. Forty ashigaru. Six mounted samurai. Eight palanquin bearers. One palanquin. Add to that the guards poking their heads out curiously from the castle walls, the entire street had been roused. In the castle town below, the startled townsfolk peered out from their window cracks, whispering to one another: Where is Her Ladyship going at this hour of the night?
"..."
Shinji's face was expressionless. He wasn't wearing his demon mask. His crimson eyes gleamed especially bright in the torchlight. He very much wanted to ask: Are you going to find Tōtōsai, or are you marching to war?
But in the end, he said nothing. Because he understood. Due to all the reasons he'd already considered, when Imagawa Yoshimoto left the castle, she truly had to bring sufficient guards each time. This wasn't pageantry. This was safety. The forty ashigaru weren't for show. It was genuine fear. This girl of sixteen or seventeen, a provincial ruler, hid all her fear behind the trappings of grandeur.
The more people she brought, the larger the display, the more secure she felt in her heart. This wasn't extravagance. This was security. A profound, desperate need for security. This was very likely already the absolute minimum retinue she could accept.
Once he understood that, most of Shinji's speechless exasperation dissipated. He walked toward the palanquin. Through the gap in the curtain, Imagawa Yoshimoto watched him, her fan held before her.
There was a trace of sheepishness in her eyes, she likely knew this procession was a bit excessive. But more than sheepishness, there was vulnerability. An inexplicable, exposed hesitance.
Shinji, speechless as he was, didn't comment. He wasn't in a rush anyway. "Let's go." He spoke only those two words, then turned and walked to the very front of the procession.
Even ahead of the two columns of ashigaru. His gray robes drifted in the firelight. His pale hair hung down his back. The sheath of Muramasa at his waist swayed gently with his steps. Alone, he walked at the head of a column of over fifty souls.
Like a vanguard. And yet also like a guide. He would simply treat it as protecting an "employer."
Inside the palanquin, Imagawa Yoshimoto watched that solitary gray figure walking alone at the very front through the gap in the curtain. She froze for a moment. Then she lowered her fan. The curve at the corner of her lips refused to be suppressed.
"Move out," she commanded.
Never once had she felt so utterly at ease. Not because of the column of soldiers surrounding her, but because of the "Demon God" walking at the very forefront.