ACT 1
“Wha?! What was that just now?!”
Linnea, having felt the ground shaking beneath her, immediately halted her horse. The magnitude of the tremors gave the impression that something large had collapsed some distance away. Her immediate thought had been that they were the result of an earthquake, but something about them felt unusual. Despite being so far from the epicenter of the tremors, she could tell from their severity and prolonged duration that they weren’t the product of any natural phenomenon. Only one possibility came to mind.
“Something’s happened at Glaðsheimr,” Rasmus stated, his expression tense as he stopped his own horse beside her. Rasmus had been like a father to Linnea, and even though he’d stepped away from active duty and become the Steel Clan’s Leader of Subordinates, he was still the person Linnea could trust and rely on the most.
“If I were to guess...Valaskjálf Palace itself has likely fallen,” Linnea replied worriedly.
“Pardon?! Then what of our Lord Reginarch?!” Rasmus responded with a horrified yelp, his eyes practically bugging out of his head as he whipped his horse around in Glaðsheimr’s direction in a panic.
She could understand why he was reacting the way he was. He probably figured that the reason it had collapsed was that the damage caused by two earlier major earthquakes had finally taken its toll on the war-torn palace. That assumption was only natural. Valaskjálf Palace was abnormally huge, after all—large enough to house a small town within its walls. Rasmus, too, had seen its majesty with his own two eyes. The notion of a human leveling that gigantic structure in one fell swoop was truly unimaginable to him.
“I wouldn’t worry about Father. He’s the one who felled it, after all,” she replied calmly. Linnea was just seventeen, but despite her age, she was Yuuto’s Second-in-Command—set to inherit authority over the Steel Clan if the worst were to befall him. Naturally, she had known of his plan beforehand.
“Inconceivable! He couldn’t have used that, could he? But... No, even a trebuchet or the Flame Clan’s province destroyers couldn’t hope to do that much damage... How in the world...?” The color drained from Rasmus’s face as he murmured in disbelief. To him, trebuchets and giant swivel cannons were already unheard-of super weapons—practically the work of gods, meting out divine punishment. Even those two instruments could only reasonably down a section of a fortress wall, or perhaps a modest-sized building at most, however. Neither of them was able to bring about a collapse large enough to produce the kind of tremors they’d just felt. He probably couldn’t even begin to fathom what had happened in the Holy Capital.
“Father made use of gunpowder and fuses. By pairing the two, he was able to rig the palace’s support pillars to blow simultaneously and bring the entire building down, taking the Flame Clan invaders with it. That was Father’s plan all along,” Linnea explained to a bewildered Rasmus.
“I-I see... That certainly seems like it could work. What a bold strategy to choose though... I would never have considered something so outlandish,” Rasmus replied, equal parts worry and wonder underpinning his tone. He frowned as he pondered Linnea’s explanation, then nodded in admiration. The idea itself was rather simple in hindsight, but the critical thinking skills needed to put the various parts together in a way that allowed the plan to succeed were something else entirely.
To display another example of this phenomenon, one could consider the following. Even the youngest of Yggdrasillians could comprehend the fact that it was easier to move on dry, solid ground than on rain-soaked earth. However, no resident of Yggdrasil would have ever thought to apply that knowledge to horseback riding and come up with stirrups as a result. In defiance of Yggdrasil’s common wisdom, Yuuto connected those dots so simply time and time again, coming up with one innovation after another. “Unbelievable” was truly the only way to describe it. Despite the praise pouring in from those around him, Yuuto himself merely saw it as using the knowledge he already possessed—it was nothing so special in his eyes.
“Father told me that this plan of his was supposed to be a last-ditch effort and that even attempting to pull it off was going to be quite risky.” Her hands balled up in fists as she attempted to suppress her uneasiness and maintain her composure. Yuuto had made the call to execute that plan, meaning the enemy had been relentless enough to drive them all the way to the palace. She was certain that Yuuto truly had his back up against the wall.
“Hrmph. This Nobunaga guy has already crushed Father in battle once before despite his brilliance as a commander, and now he has him on his knees yet again. Just what kind of monster is he?” Rasmus thought aloud.
“We need to get going. Father should be near the entrance of the escape route by now,” Linnea stated, making her preparations to move out.
If the collapse of the palace had actually brought an end to the conflict, then there would be cause for much celebration, but there was a strong possibility that the Flame Clan’s army was still alive and well. If that were the case, Linnea’s auxiliary army of ten thousand would be indispensable to the besieged Steel Clan remnants within the palace grounds. The more time they took to reach Yuuto, the more precariously his victory—and his very life, for that matter—hung in the balance. They didn’t have a moment to spare. More than anything, though, Linnea didn’t want to wait a single moment longer to ensure that Yuuto was safe and sound.
“Out of the frying pan and into the fire, huh?” Lying low on his stomach and observing his surroundings through binoculars, Yuuto grimaced as if in pain. He currently found himself deep within an expansive forest in the northwest region of Glaðsheimr. The city’s nobility had cultivated it to harvest wood, but it also housed the entrance to an escape route that led from the throne to the outskirts of the city.
“How are they still alive...?” Yuuto groaned under his breath as the restless soldiers of the Flame Clan came into his vision. He was keeping watch to ensure none of the remaining Flame Clan troops managed to sneak out of Glaðsheimr. He’d lured them in by feigning retreat; then he’d brought the entirety of Valaskjálf Palace down on them once they’d been fully ensnared in the trap. The plan after that had been to use fallen leaves to turn the whole garden into a sea of flame, swallowing them all up, but apparently, quite a few soldiers still remained.
“What should we do, Father?” asked Felicia.
“Good question,” Yuuto responded, his brow furrowed. Right now just he and Felicia were on recon, but nearly three thousand of his men were on standby underground. That said, in a head-on clash they still had no chance of victory. Even if they fled, it would take a good deal of time just for his men to reach the surface, and there was no way they’d make it out without being spotted by the Flame Clan. If by some ugly twist of fate they ended up surrounded before they had time to prepare, the enemy could make short work of their entire unit. The crease in his brow deepened as he watched the Flame Clan Army take up positions on Glaðsheimr’s outskirts.
“Let’s just keep our eyes on them for now,” he sighed. The decision to do nothing was still a decision in the end. Luckily, they’d taken pains to disguise the underground entrance, so it wasn’t likely to be discovered. At least, not immediately.
According to the report from Kristina, it was highly likely that Nobunaga had been caught in the palace’s collapse. With the demise of their supreme commander, it would only be a matter of time before the Flame Clan’s chain of command fell into disarray. Even if by some terrible misfortune or astonishing intuition Nobunaga had managed to survive, Hveðrungr or Haugspori could take advantage of the chaos to dispatch him from afar, as planned. However, this was Nobunaga they were up against. He could very well still survive despite all the measures Yuuto had taken to ensure his demise, but that bridge would have to be crossed when he came to it. Linnea’s army of ten thousand was likely already nearby. Once he rendezvoused with them, he’d have the strength to fight once more. All he had to do now was wait.
Bang!
The sound of a gunshot rang out—deafeningly loud even amidst the clamor of the Flame Clan troops.
“Ungh!” Nobunaga let slip a cry of anguish as a sharp, searing pain raced along his back. It hadn’t been the first time he’d suffered a wound from an arquebus, but he’d had the luck of the gods since birth. That was probably why he’d managed to get away with only leg wounds and minor grazes until now. This time, however, the bullet had struck his torso, and in a rather vital area for that matter.
“D-Daddy?! Daddy! Are you okay?!” Homura’s muffled voice arose from within his embrace.
She was still alive, it seemed. “Good,” he thought as he expelled a genuine sigh of relief.
“G...Guhh...I’m...less than okay...it seems...” Nobunaga sputtered weakly.
“Those guys shot you?!” Homura yelled in a panic.
“Indeed... Through the back, it seems... H-Homura... A-Are you hurt anywhere...?” he asked her.
“I-I’m okay since you protected me. B-But, daddy, you...”
“Homura... As long as you are well, that’s all that matters...”
He wasn’t putting on a display of bravado, nor was he trying to save face in some way. At that moment, those were Nobunaga’s honest feelings. Strangely enough, he had no regrets.
“Great Lord!”
“Hurry! Stop the bleeding!”
“I-I’ll call for a healer right away!”
A throng of horses and men made a commotion over him after rushing to the scene. They would administer first aid shortly. However...
“Curses... This is...a bit worse than the usual wound...” Nobunaga cursed inwardly. Not only was he losing a large amount of blood, but his strength was beginning to leave his body as well. He was keenly aware that his vision was becoming hazy. Things weren’t looking too good for him.
“S-Salk...” Nobunaga mumbled.
“I am here, My Lord,” an elderly, white-haired man replied, answering his summons. He was the last living member of the Five Division Commanders and had been in the Flame Clan’s service for two generations now. As such, he was practically a walking encyclopedia when it came to the Flame Clan’s history.
“I relinquish...command of the troops to you. Do not...let it get out that I was shot. Keep that knowledge...only to the ones present...at all costs,” Nobunaga ordered Salk.
“It shall be done, My Lord.”
“Good... See that it is—” Nobunaga’s speech was suddenly seized by an urge to cough welling up from his insides. When he let it out, a red, sticky substance dyed the ground.
“It seems my devil’s luck has finally run out,” he thought to himself. Glancing at his flank, he grimaced. He should’ve been shot in the back, but there was no hole in his side. That meant only one thing: the bullet hadn’t passed through—meaning it was still somewhere inside him. “Is this really where I die? Here, of all places?”
It was clear to him that the lead bullet was lodged in his abdomen. Chances were extremely high that it would fragment and disperse shrapnel, causing serious damage to his innards. The poisonous lead would also eventually spread through his body. For someone already suffering from a terminal illness, it spelled certain death.
“No! Absolutely not! I refuse to die here!” Nobunaga roared in his heart as if to defy the very laws of nature. Indeed, he couldn’t perish here. Not when he was one step closer to cornering Suoh Yuuto. His goal was finally within reach. He absolutely would not let his chance slip away again. Yet despite his conviction, his consciousness continued to fade in the face of his growing pain and blood loss. He could sense that if he passed out here, he would never wake up.
“That man is my sworn enemy! He murdered Ran in cold blood! How can I let that deed go unpunished?! I must not forget Ran’s final words! ‘Bring the world under your rule,’ he said to me!”
He managed to rouse his own fading consciousness by chiding himself. His immeasurable tenacity, surpassing anything any other mere mortal could possibly muster, was reminiscent of a god of war. Even so, his consciousness continued to fizzle out as the seconds passed...
Images of his entire life up to now raced through his mind in rapid succession. It was the kaleidoscope of memories that flashed before one’s eyes just before their demise.
Nobunaga was born on May 12, 1534, according to the traditional calendar. At the time, his father, Nobuhide, was an outstandingly busy man, as he was preoccupied with expanding his own forces and sphere of influence. As the eldest son, Nobunaga was separated from his mother Dota Gozen to be groomed as the next ruler of the Oda clan under the tutelage of four clan vassals. However, he was the son of a lord, and his tutors might as well have been complete strangers to him. He had always been under the impression that they were showing restraint when handling him, as though some sort of invisible line had been drawn between them. Although he would eventually come to be the golden child who conquered the whole of Japan, at the time, he was a mere boy who needed to be taught discipline and etiquette.
“Why do father and mother never come to see me?! Why don’t they notice me?!”
He could still vividly recall the anger in his childish heart back then. Although Nobunaga himself didn’t remember the incident, he’d been told that, at the tender age of three, he had bitten his wet nurse’s nipple off. Perhaps that, too, had been an angry, desperate plea for the affection he’d been deprived of.
“Why must I follow in the footsteps of a father that won’t give me the time of day?! I shall carve my own path in this world!”
Nobunaga was the Oda bloodline’s eldest son, meaning he was born into becoming its next ruler. His tutors were breathing down his neck at every given moment. Each time they told him what to do or how to act, frustration gradually mounted within him. The rest, as they say, is history. He left a legacy of unconventional actions and eccentric behavior that caused the world over to label him as an idealist and a fool. Of course, one could see those as products of his own youth and naïveté, but perhaps it was also his heart crying out for people to see him for who he was and not simply as some Oda clan trinket. And perhaps the reason he overlooked most of the disciplinary transgressions and defiance of orders of Ran’s older brother, Mori Nagayoshi, was that he saw a younger version of himself in the man, and therefore understood his nature better than anyone else.
The turning point for Oda Nobunaga was during the battle for Kira and Ohama in the Mikawa Province—his inaugural engagement. Deliberately choosing a windy day to depart, he caught the enemy in a surprise attack while setting fire to their camp, earning him great military acclaim and praise from the clan’s vassals as well as Nobuhide himself. It was then he learned that results were the key to getting acknowledged. However, the days and years that followed were vexingly short of opportunities to prove himself on the battlefield, meaning his burgeoning eccentricity only intensified by the day. He put himself through hellish training sessions day and night and equipped all his troops with ridiculously long spears to use in battle. In the end, though, everything he did was for the sole purpose of getting his mother, who only doted on her younger sons, and his father, who had strong ties to the government, to acknowledge his strength. But sadly, he was never again granted such a chance, as Nobuhide suddenly fell ill and passed away when Nobunaga was only eighteen.
“Why did you just up and die on me, father?! I still haven’t shown you my true might!” Nobunaga had screamed, hurling the incense in his hand in rage at the mortuary tablet honoring his deceased dad. At that moment, he’d made a promise to himself. If his father was no longer here to see his achievements, he’d just have to roar loud enough for heaven to hear.
“Ha ha, I guess something like that did happen, didn’t it? Thinking back, that must have been the start of it all,” Nobunaga mused to himself. At some point, wanting to rule heaven and earth had become the goal rather than the means, with his original goal of pleasing his mother and father lost within the annals of his memory. Of course, that had only been the start. He had to put an end to this world of conflict and chaos. He had to bring peace to his subjects. There was no one more fit to unify this “new Japan,” Yggdrasil, than Oda Nobunaga.
“As a man, how can my goal be anything less than the heavens?! I alone will be the ruler of this realm!”
That sense of duty and self-assurance were currently Nobunaga’s lifelines tethering him to this world. Yet he couldn’t deny that, buried deep within that strong conviction, his desire for affection remained. He had looked upon the son of his brother Nobuyuki warmly, accepting him as a member of the family even though Nobuyuki himself had twice gone against his orders. During the attack on Iga, he’d forgiven his foolish son Nobukatsu after a hellish reprimanding. And now he’d shielded Homura with his own body. Perhaps he was cruel and unreasonable toward his subordinates. Perhaps he was constantly asking them for the impossible. But when it came to family, Oda Nobunaga was soft to the point of weakness.
“Demon King of the Sixth Heaven though I may be, in the end, I am both a son and a father.”
Though he may have come to this realization too late—or perhaps he was only able to feel this so strongly because he was in the throes of death—he mustered up his resolve once more.
“That, however, is precisely why I cannot die here!”
Deep within his fading consciousness, Nobunaga lit a fire in his own heart that resounded like a lion’s roar. He couldn’t die yet. He still had something he needed to accomplish. Even if he did pass on someday, he had to hold on to this mortal coil at least until it was done. Suddenly, from within total darkness, a beam of light shot out as if to show him the way. His vision hazy, he desperately reached out toward it. When he did, his vision was engulfed in bright white—
“D-Daddy!”
The light gave way to reveal the tearstained face of his beloved daughter.
“Hmph, looks like I used up one of my nine lives,” Nobunaga said with a grin as he rose. His wounds were so severe that no one would have been surprised if he had perished—and even now, he was continuing to bleed. He was forced to acknowledge that the fact he was currently standing meant he did indeed have the devil’s luck.
“D-Daddy! Y-You need to rest—”
“No need to worry. I won’t die just yet,” Nobunaga replied assuredly, placing an unsteady hand on his daughter’s head and stroking it as she wiped her reddened eyes.
“Not sure just how long I’ll hang on for, though,” he added in his heart.
He’d managed to cling to life through sheer willpower this time, but miracles didn’t often happen twice in a row. He knew he didn’t have much time left. Perhaps a month at most. Or maybe he wouldn’t even make it through the night. He had to settle everything before then at all costs. He would hold nothing back.
“Their army doesn’t seem rattled at all,” Yuuto said as he frowned, biting his lip in frustration all the while. Nobunaga had to have been caught in the collapse of Valaskjálf Palace. They’d waited until the Flame Clan had made their way deep inside the palace to set off the explosives, so there was no doubt. Yet, no matter how much time had passed, the Flame Clan showed no signs of panic.
“Which means Nobunaga’s still alive and well,” Yuuto muttered in exasperation.
On the battlefield, the ramifications of the death of one’s supreme commander could not be understated—especially when said supreme commander was a charismatic force of nature on the level of Oda Nobunaga. Truthfully, after the Honno-ji Temple incident, news of Nobunaga’s demise had thrown the Oda clan into a fervent panic. Even Shibata Katsuie, upon attacking the Uesugi clan and destroying Uozu Castle, had ordered his entire army to retreat when he’d heard the announcement. However, even that was a mild reaction compared to that of the Shikoku forces led by Oda Nobukata and Niwa Nagahide, who’d scattered all over the place and couldn’t make a single decent maneuver the instant they’d heard the news, despite already being perfectly positioned to assassinate Akechi Mitsuhide.
As for Takigawa Kazumasu leading the Kanto forces, the shock was enough to make him lose the Kozuke Province to the Hojo family, and once the Kai and Shinano Provinces revolted shortly afterward, he quickly lost the rest of his territory, one region after another. According to many accounts, even the Mori family, who had been a thorn in Nobunaga’s side from the Great Retaliation of China to the point in time when Hashiba Hideyoshi executed Akechi Mitsuhide, was said to have refused the order to retreat, instead opting to attack their retreating enemy from the back because they didn’t believe it was over. If they had followed such an order, Hideyoshi would’ve been caught in a pincer attack, suffered a crushing defeat, and history would have greatly changed.
In other words, the shock of the Honno-ji Temple incident sent massive ripples across all of Japan. Back when Yuuto had been forced to retreat and false news of his own death had spread, the Wolf Clan, too, had fallen into absolute disarray, and they’d lost Gimlé in one fell swoop as a result, even though he’d put plans in place in case something happened to him.
Considering all that, the current Flame Clan army was calm and organized. While they may have been unraveled slightly by the palace’s collapse and subsequent fire, the chain of command was intact, and no soldiers had yet turned tail. Yuuto begrudgingly had to admit there was no other conclusion: Oda Nobunaga had survived Yuuto’s last-ditch, Hail Mary effort.
“So, this is what going up against a divine general from the Sengoku era is like. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s actually immortal,” Yuuto said with a dry laugh, accidentally letting slip a comment of weakness.
Typically, Yuuto was not the kind of person who believed in the occult. In fact, he preferred to purge coincidences and factors of luck from battle, as they couldn’t be consistently relied upon. He was the type of leader who’d rather focus on pragmatic strategies and techniques solely designed to gain the upper hand. Nobunaga was cut from the same cloth. But this was the battlefield. Anything could happen, and often what did happen was beyond the scope of prediction. Looking back through history, Yuuto couldn’t even count on one hand the number of times where Nobunaga had survived a situation he was supposed to have died in, and that was only even considering events Yuuto was aware of. He’d overcome every one of them to find himself where he was now—as the patriarch of the Flame Clan.
That so-called devil’s luck of his (or was it divine luck?) could no longer be explained with logic. There was no other phrase more apt for Nobunaga than “favored by the gods.”
Yuuto’s honest feelings were “What the hell do I do now?” But as the Steel Clan Army’s supreme commander, Yuuto couldn’t just lie down and do nothing. He had to act.
“Kris.” Hopelessly on edge, he spoke the Vindálfs’s captain’s name into his transceiver.
“Kris here. What do you need, Father?” she responded in an instant in her trademark stoic, unaffected tone. But that calmness was precisely what Yuuto needed to hear right now.
“Are Linnea and the others not here yet?” he inquired.
“I don’t see them,” she replied.
“Oh, okay.” It was a concrete answer that left no room for doubt or debate.
Young as she was, Kristina was the daughter of the Claw Clan’s patriarch Botvid, and as such had inherited his mastery of trickery and spycraft techniques, as well as his network of contacts. Naturally, she knew what information was most important to Yuuto. There was no question that if she had spotted Linnea’s group approaching, he would be the first to know, and since she hadn’t contacted him, it meant they hadn’t arrived yet. It was the anxiety and impatience within him that made him ask regardless.
“Heh. By the way, with that fight in the north earlier and now this, you sure have been taking some risky gambles lately, Father.”
“Not like I had a choice.” Yuuto met Kristina’s teasing with a curt reply.
He knew exactly what she was getting at. Getting surrounded by the Flame Clan at Glaðsheimr had been rough, and he’d been practically unable to make contact with the outside. He knew the Flame Clan unit in the west led by Shiba had been eliminated, and that Linnea and the others were headed toward Glaðsheimr, but beyond that, he was completely in the dark. Similarly, Linnea likely also wasn’t privy to the details of what had happened to Yuuto within Glaðsheimr. He had counted on Linnea pinpointing his location at the entrance to the shortcut in the forest and rushing to his aid. Truthfully, even he thought it’d been a hideously risky bet. Combined with waiting for Sigrún in the battle in the north, Yuuto had, as of late, been taking actions that didn’t gel at all with his usually calculated nature. His back had been so against the wall that he’d been forced to rely on desperate gambles. Although—
“I don’t doubt for a second that they’ll show up. I only wish they’d come here sooner, ha ha,” Yuuto added somewhat awkwardly.
“I’m well aware of Big Sister Linnea’s capabilities, but you had even less information at your disposal than you did with Big Sister Rún,” Kristina replied.
“Even still, I believe she’ll pull through. I know her.”
No one was more aware of Linnea’s talent than Yuuto himself. Her secretarial capabilities were, in this era, second to none. Back when they were in the Wolf Clan, Jörgen had served Yuuto faithfully and skillfully, but Linnea’s skill dwarfed even that of Jörgen’s. She had a knack for always drawing the correct conclusion from the information she was given.
“...Ah! They’re here! Steel Clan flag spotted in the northwest!”
“Yes! I knew she’d come!” Yuuto gripped his fist tightly. He couldn’t deny they were outnumbered, but combined with her forces, they would be able to turn the tables.
“All right, let’s move! All units, head outside from underground as soon as...”
“W-Wait, Father! N-Nobunaga is...”
An unpleasant nervousness assaulted him as soon as he heard that name. “So, he was alive after all...”
Yuuto’s forces weren’t even prepared to stage a counterattack yet, and Nobunaga had already made his next move. Unable to hold it back, he gulped nervously.
“Nobunaga is...flying the white flag of his own volition! He’s surrendering!”
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