But very quickly, Shinji realized something was wrong. Within the skeletal framework of the Shura Form, his crimson demon eyes locked onto that golden-haired figure at the far end of the earthen trench on the hillside.
The diagonal gash from her left shoulder to her right hip was deep enough to expose bone. Blood had soaked the shattered stone. Her deep crimson kosode was now dyed nearly black.
That had been a full-strength strike of fused Sun and Moon. Blood-Fire unceasing. Moon-Edge relentless. As he had noted before, this was not Shinji's absolute limit, but it was his full power. Both of these forces were slashes specifically tailored to sever regeneration and immortality.
By all normal logic, whether yōkai or human, a wound from such a strike should not have been able to heal quickly. But it was healing. At a speed visible to the naked eye.
The scorched-black tissue on both sides of the wound was sloughing off, revealing fresh, bright red flesh beneath. That new flesh was growing toward the center at an unnatural rate. Blood vessels were re-weaving themselves. Muscle was re-bridging itself.
Shinji's demon eyes contracted sharply. This was not yōkai regeneration. This was not demonic immortality.
The method of healing was closer to, a melted candle re-solidifying. Torn fabric stitching itself back together. Even her clothes were mending. It was as though time itself was flowing backward across that wound.
The golden-haired girl pushed herself up from the rubble. That exquisitely delicate face was smeared with mud and blood. Yet her golden eyes still blazed.
The fire within them had not been extinguished. She looked down at the "wound" stretching from her left shoulder to her right hip.
"That really hurt."
Her voice was unexpectedly light. Unexpectedly crisp. Carrying a roguish, devil-may-care tone utterly at odds with a girl of fifteen or sixteen. There was no rage. No humiliation.
Even, the moment she fully took in the sight of the Shura Form's six-meter Bone Thunder colossus, what flickered through those golden slit-pupils was closer to exhilaration. But the exhilaration lasted only an instant.
Because her mind was faster than her heart. She could feel it, the yōkai before her had very likely already stepped close to the legendary threshold of a daiyōkai. And she herself, though she had descended as the incarnation of the Demon King of the Sixth Heaven, incarnation was not the same as full awakening.
She was only fifteen. She had held the position of head of the Owari Oda clan for barely half a year. The Demon King's power within her had only been developed to the smallest fraction. That crimson lotus hellfire just now had already been the absolute limit of what she could currently summon.
It looked terrifying, but in truth, it was hollow. Compared to Uesugi Kenshin's descent of Bishamonten, it was not even on the same level. That was why a single slash had cut her down. She knew all of this with perfect clarity.
Oda Nobuna steadied herself once more. The wound had fully healed. Only a horrifying stain of blood remained on her kosode, still clinging loose yet tight around her frame.
She gazed at the Shura Form. Then she looked at the battlefield beneath its feet. Shibata Katsuie knelt on one knee amidst the shattered stone, her great axe braced against the ground, her amber eyes locked dead onto the Bone Thunder colossus looming overhead. Utterly motionless.
The dozens of armored cavalry who had followed up behind her had already been intercepted by the Imagawa counterattack. They were now trapped within an encirclement.
The situation was clear at a single glance. The raid had failed. Shibata Katsuie was suppressed. She herself had been cut down in a single blow. The remaining forces were absolutely insufficient to directly assault an army of seven thousand.
This assault had, from the very beginning, been a desperate gamble with everything on the line. The entire military might of the Owari Oda clan was just over a thousand soldiers. Among them, only these few dozen cavalry.
They could bring no more. The only chance of victory had been to exploit the Imagawa main camp's moment of rest and lax defenses in the afternoon.
To use Shibata Katsuie's divine-artifact power as the spearhead and lead a decapitation strike. If they succeeded, the tables would turn. If they didn't, then so be it!
"Katsuie! Withdraw!"
The golden-haired girl shouted at the top of her lungs. Her voice wasn't loud, yet it pierced through the chaos of the battlefield. Shibata Katsuie's head snapped up.
"My lord—!"
"The enemy cannot be faced! Make haste and beat the retreat!"
The words that followed were utterly devoid of any decorum. So blunt that every demon and human on the battlefield froze for a moment. The corner of Shibata Katsuie's mouth twitched violently.
At this moment of life and death, her liege was using the slang of marketplace rogues fleeing from a brawl. But she did not hesitate. The great axe pushed off the ground. She launched herself sideways with a single explosive kick, crossing 50 meters in an instant and landing on the back of a masterless warhorse.
Katsuie's amber eyes swept over the Shura Form one last time. Then she wrenched the horse's flanks and wheeled around. The golden-haired girl of fifteen or sixteen had, in fact, already started running first.
Even faster than when she had arrived. She didn't even bother with a horse. She simply fled on foot. The remaining dozens of armored cavalry, seeing both their general and their lord retreating simultaneously, disengaged within ten seconds.
They reined their horses around and streamed out through the gaps on either side of the hills. As swift as they had come, they departed even swifter.
The entire raiding force receded like a tide, leaving behind only the wreckage of the battlefield, the pools of blood, and a stretch of pulverized mud.
The Shura Form stood where it was. The six-meter Bone Thunder colossus did not pursue. Because even if it caught her, it couldn't kill her.
There was no point in wasted effort. That regeneration, so close to the reversal of time itself, was entirely different from the simple, high-speed immortality he had encountered before.
Of course, the reason he did not pursue was also because the purpose of coming here had already been achieved. Because of that name, Demon King of the Sixth Heaven.
Shinji watched that golden-haired figure vanish behind the hills. The violet veins within his crimson demon eyes slowly settled. Then, he retracted the Shura Form. The bone spurs withdrew into his body. The thunder dissipated.
He landed back on the ground. His gray robes drifted in the lingering wind. Both blades returned to their sheaths.
Oda Nobunaga, in this world, one should call her Oda Nobuna. The most controversial existence of the Warring States era. The woman whom later ages would call the Destroyer. Self-proclaimed Demon King of the Sixth Heaven. Māra. The sovereign of Takejizai-ten. The king of the demonic path who, in the Buddhist scriptures, stood in opposition to Shakyamuni himself.
She seemed immensely powerful. That crimson lotus hellfire just now, his first impression of it had been so terrifying that he had instinctively unfurled the Shura Form and maxed out his four viscera.
Yet when they had actually clashed, he discovered, it was hollow. At least, for now, it was hollow. Immense pressure. Yet the actual energy was pitifully small. To put it in simple, straightforward terms, it was like a novice player who had just acquired a legendary-tier weapon but hadn't yet reached the required level to equip it.
The weapon's stats were terrifying to behold, but the damage it dealt was roughly equivalent to a wooden stick. However, that healing speed. That was what truly seized his attention.
A full-strength strike of two fused into one. The searing of Blood-Fire and the freezing annihilation of Yomi had simultaneously burned and frozen the wound, severing immortality itself. The foundation of regeneration at the severed surfaces should have been utterly obliterated. But she had still healed.
In an instant, perfectly restored. The source of this immortality was truly different from Kibutsuji Muzan's. Muzan's immortality had relied on the infinite regeneration of a demon's body, its weakness was sunlight. But Oda Nobuna's healing seemed closer to the intrinsic nature of the Demon King himself.
The Demon King of the Sixth Heaven ruled the highest realm of the Realm of Desire. He was, in his very essence, an existence that transcended life and death. As long as the Demon King's power persisted, this descended mortal vessel would never truly be destroyed.
It would continuously revert to its most pristine state. Unless, the Demon King of the Sixth Heaven himself was shattered. Or one attempted to seal him away. That was something he could prepare for. But that was a matter for another day. For now, there was no rush.
Shinji withdrew his gaze and turned to look behind him. Imagawa Yoshimoto was still kneeling on the ground. Her knees were sunk into the mud. The hem of her twelve-layered kimono was smeared with grass and bloodstains.
Her delicate, striking face still held the ghastly pallor of moments before, but the look in her eyes was completely different. The fear was gone.
That gaze seemed to hold so many things. The dazed relief of one who had barely escaped death. The shame of having been saved. The lingering terror of the moment she had stepped forward on her own. And, that gray silhouette before her eyes. White hair cascading down to his waist. The demon mask had already faded, revealing the sharp, cold lines of his profile.
His crimson demon eyes were still gazing toward the hills, at the dust cloud rising in the wake of the retreating Oda forces. He had come. Once again. From that rainy night when he had cut down the thunder-beast in Sunpu Castle. To the battlefield where lightning had split the earth and sundered the two armies. To the landing of the Imagawa fleet in Echigo when Uesugi had encircled them from north and south.
Every time she needed him most, this yōkai was there.
Yoshimoto drew a deep breath. Her knees were still weak, but she pushed herself up from the ground. She dusted the mud from her kimono. Smoothed the hair the wind had tangled. Straightened her crooked golden headdress.
She restored the dignity befitting the head of the Imagawa clan. She walked over. Her steps were not fast, but they were heavy. Each step pressed down with force, as though she was stamping the confidence back into the soles of her feet. She stopped three paces behind Shinji.
"Lord Shinji." She spoke his name. Her voice was steady. Even carried a measure of poised grace. Moments ago, she had been utterly disheveled. Yet the mask of a politician, the girl had donned it perfectly in an instant.
Shinji turned around. On Yoshimoto's face was an expression he had seen many times before. A smile. Elegant. Proper. Perfectly measured warmth. This was her most standard posture. Gentle. Courteous. Flawless.
"Thank you for coming to my aid." She inclined her head slightly, her folding fan pressed to her chest. Her posture was as flawless as a painting. "The debt the Imagawa owe you has increased by yet another measure."
Shinji did not respond. He simply watched her and waited for what would follow. As expected,
"However—" She straightened. The folding fan tapped lightly against her palm. "I feel that rather than letting these debts pile ever higher, it would be better to push our relationship one step further."
Yoshimoto's eyes gleamed. "Your timing is perfect, my lord. There are some words I wish to speak with you. For instance… the position of Guardian Deity of the Imagawa clan of Suruga, this seat can, in truth, be raised even higher."
Her pace was unhurried, as though she wanted to enunciate every syllable with perfect clarity.
"As you know, now that Master Taigen Sessai has passed, the Imagawa clan lacks someone who can see the full picture. What the Hōjō offer you is the title of shōshin of two provinces. But that is the approach of one who merely seeks to hold what they have. What I can offer you, is different." She pointed behind her with her fan, at the great encampment of seven thousand.
"I believe, my lord, you already know this. I intend to march upon the capital. And after the capital is taken, the Guardian Deity of the Imagawa will no longer be the god of a single province. He will be the god of all under heaven. So, lend me your strength. I will grant you full command of these seven thousand soldiers!"
The words were beautifully spoken. They were, indeed, entirely in Imagawa Yoshimoto's style. She did not calculate every move with meticulous precision like Hōjō Ujiyasu. She did not remain silent and inscrutable like Takeda Shingen. Her methods were more direct. She laid out all her terms. Displayed the price. Then waited for the other party's response. Or counteroffer.
But Shinji simply looked at her. His crimson demon eyes were as calm as a pool of still water. "Yoshimoto."
"Mn?"
"You're saying all this now because you think this is the best moment to win me over."
Yoshimoto's smile faltered for an instant.
Shinji continued. "Someone who's just been pulled back from the brink of death is most prone to making impulsive promises. You're leveraging your own brush with death."
The smile vanished. In its place was an exceedingly brief, hollow blankness. Then, her face went red. The color spread upward from her neck, swift as wildfire. "I wasn't—"
"You were." Shinji's tone was far too flat. So flat that Yoshimoto's retort was choked back before it even left her mouth.
He added another sentence. "And as you were speaking, your hands were trembling."
Yoshimoto glanced down at her hands gripping the folding fan. They were indeed trembling. An exceedingly faint, nearly imperceptible tremor. But he had seen it. That trembling was not fear. Nor was it excitement. It was nervousness. The nervousness of a girl of sixteen or seventeen, striving to maintain her poise before the person she cared about, yet unable to hold it quite steady.
Yoshimoto hid her hands inside her sleeves. "…Can you not see through absolutely everything?" Her voice had grown much smaller. The folding fan covered half her face, revealing only a pair of glistening eyes. Her face was already crimson. It was frustration. Flustered fury. The incandescent flush of being completely exposed.
It had begun that night in Suruga. From the night he had slain the thunder-beast, she had taken notice of this yōkai. Because he was powerful. And unlike most yōkai, who either treated humans with lofty contempt as mere food, or simply wanted nothing to do with them at all.
Then, during those three days in the wilderness, she had been so cold her entire body trembled, yet refused to admit it. He had warmed her with ghostfire. Her fingers had rested on the back of his palm. No grip. No grasp. Just resting. She couldn't quite describe what that feeling was. She only knew, once they rested there, she felt at ease.
And then she fell asleep. A girl crippled by a profound, desperate lack of security, had fallen asleep, completely at peace, beside a yōkai. That single fact, in itself, already spoke volumes. And now, here they were.
Yoshimoto felt it was truly time to take a step further. It had nothing to do with anything else. It was only that this sense of security, she had never felt it before. To Imagawa Yoshimoto, that was far more precious than so-called affection. Far more than mere fondness.
"I admit it." Yoshimoto lowered the fan from her face. No more hiding. Since she'd already been seen through.
"Toward you… toward a yōkai… I do harbor a certain… dependence." She spoke the words very quickly, as though afraid she might take them back. But before she could finish, she suddenly paused.
"Fine… it's not just a little. But it's not a lot either—" She paused. Paused again. "…Fine. It might be a bit more than I thought."
The folding fan spun once, then twice, in her hand. "But that's completely separate from winning you over! Everything I said about being the god of all under heaven after the capital is taken.... I meant every word. It wasn't because—"
"I know." Shinji cut her off. "Every word you spoke, you meant. Your political judgment is sound. The plan to march on the capital is, indeed, the most logical path forward at present."
He looked at her. Within his crimson demon eyes, there was no mockery. No refusal. "It's just that while you were saying all that.... you smuggled in a bit of personal cargo."
He seemed deeply amused. Yoshimoto bit her lip. "…You really are insufferable. Master Taigen Sessai would never have said that."
"Which is precisely why I'm not your master, Lady Daimyō."
"…"
The two of them gazed at one another. The young daimyō's face was flushed. The rims of her ears were even redder. Her lips were pressed into a thin line.
The demon warrior's ghostly eyes flickered faintly. His expression was utterly unreadable. The air hung silent for several seconds. Yoshimoto was just about to open her mouth again—
Whoosh.
Abruptly, a white light shot toward them from the distant hills. Blindingly fast. Imminent and menacing.
In nearly a single instant, the arrow grazed past Imagawa Yoshimoto's right cheek. So close that it lifted the stray strands of hair beside her ear. So close that she could feel the heat of dispersing reiryoku as the arrowhead swept past.
The arrow had not been aimed at her. Its landing point was five paces behind her. A gray-white yōkai was crawling out from the pile of battlefield dead.
Its entire body was wrapped in thick, churning grudges. Its limbs were malformed. It was clearly a low-level demonic entity, spawned by the death-energy and slaughter of the recent battle.
The spirit-cleansing arrow pierced through its chest. Reiryoku detonated at the arrow's tip. The demonic creature didn't even have time to scream. It crumbled to ash.
Yoshimoto froze. Her entire body was rooted to the spot. The lingering sting of the arrow's wind still burned against her cheek.
'So this… is why I haven't given you an answer', Shinji thought to himself. He turned his head in silence.
Gazing back down the path. Toward that figure in white and crimson. Black hair like a waterfall. An elegant, striking form. The longbow was already lowered back to her side. The bowstring still quivered faintly.
Kikyō walked toward them down the gentle slope on the southern side of the hills. Her steps were unhurried. The hem of her miko robes swayed gently among the blades of grass. Her face was cold and clear. Her lips faintly colored. No extraneous emotion could be read upon her features.
She walked to Shinji's side. And then, very naturally, she reached out and took his hand. Their fingers intertwined. The motion was fluid. Without the slightest hesitation. Then she turned toward Imagawa Yoshimoto. She inclined her head slightly.
"We meet for the first time, and yet, it has been a long while, Lady Imagawa." Her voice was calm and even. It carried the proper decorum and courtesy befitting a miko.
"I am Kikyō. The miko charged with guarding the Shikon no Tama at the shrine of Kaede's Village. Forgive my rudeness, that arrow just now was meant to purify the yōki in the area." She offered a faint smile.
The smile was very light. Very subtle. The curve at the corner of her lips was barely enough to be called a smile. Yet the light in her eyes was startlingly clear and translucent.
"The density of grudges on the battlefield is far too heavy. It breeds defilements all too easily. I purified a number of them along the way. That is why I arrived a step later than my Shinji."
Her tone was sincere. Her phrasing, impeccably proper. Not a single fault could be found.
Yoshimoto stared at that cold, breathtakingly beautiful face. Then she lowered her gaze to their intertwined fingers. Then she recalled the landing point of that arrow just now.
It had grazed past her face. One inch closer, and it would have nailed her straight in the cheek.
That was purifying yōki? That was trying to purify her along with it!