Pathway to Japanese Literature

Living proof exists.

With the arrival of this New Year, Kenshin had turned thirty-three. He could still be considered young. Yet in both garment colors and all aspects of adornment, he maintained austere preferences. His long-sleeved haori was fashioned from plain wild silk in an umber hue. Only his hakama—resembling the ōkuchi style—appeared woven from some peculiar fabric. Ever fond of wearing a hooded cap, he stood amidst retainers clad in New Year's finery, silently surveying the assembly with a gentle smile.—To any eye, he might have seemed but a lone young Rinzai monk mingling among them.

“What do you think? They’re quite harmless, aren’t they?” “This is why I can’t help but find my subordinates so endearing.”

To the person seated next to him on his right, Kenshin addressed these words.

Uesugi Norimasa, the Kantō Kanrei, “Indeed.” He nodded and then turned toward the nobleman seated to his right, “The warriors of Echigo have long been renowned among neighboring provinces for their valor and endurance, but I must say, this is the first I’ve learned of their innocence and the abundance of men skilled in many arts.” he added with a smile.

The nobleman in question was the sole court noble from the capital among them. Though temporarily referred to as Lord Kumano, he was in fact Konoe Sakihisa—heir to the regent house of Konoe. That this aristocrat could calmly attend a gathering dominated by such rough warriors during the chaotic year of Eiroku 4 (1561), sharing drinks and revelry amid what should have been New Year’s festivities, suggested he differed markedly from those typical court nobles who concerned themselves solely with the refined arts of flowers, birds, wind, and moon. Moreover, one could readily imagine he harbored some grand ambition toward this band of warriors.

Moreover, this was within Maebashi Castle in Kōzuke Province. From Kyoto’s perspective, this was still a corner of the Bandō Plain likely imagined as nothing more than provincial wilderness. For nobles of that time to journey to such a remote place would have required extraordinary resolve and purpose.

Ah, early spring has dawned, Ah, this glorious world—today has dawned What fortune to be born in such times! Well have we endured until now! Nations rise as one, nations wage war. Like last night's evening clouds, they fade away. Like the dawn's rising sun, it blazes. The divine age is now. Now is the time, warriors! Only by living do all people... Never again shall we know life's such splendor! Eat even the roots of grass! The seventh day of the New Year was the auspicious sake-bestowing banquet. The young samurai of the Echigo army—who had been chanting this lengthy verse in modern cadence tinged with provincial accents—finally surged to their feet. Clapping hands in unison, they formed a whirling circle that strained the grand hall's capacity, dancing through today's life with abandon.

Shingen’s Shadow

“It seems welcoming the New Year on campaign has become our recurring auspicious custom of late.” “Last year we were encamped in Etchū—now I wonder where we’ll observe it next year.”

As Kenshin mused aloud and requested a cup from his neighbor, Uesugi Norimasa wore a deeply apologetic expression. "As the Governor-General of Kantō charged with overseeing its governance, I lack the strength to fulfill my duties. To have requested your distant military aid amidst the turmoil of neighboring regions fills me with unbearable shame," he said. Kenshin, perceiving his inner thoughts,

“It was not my intention to seek such words from you. Please do not take that amiss,” he comforted him.

With his longtime rival, Takeda Shingen of Kai, a peace treaty had been concluded three years prior in the first year of Eiroku (1558), (As good neighbors from now on) they had concluded a pact of amity. Therefore, on the surface, this threat seemed nonexistent to the Echigo army; however, in reality, his hostility had become more insidious than during their open warfare, proving far more troublesome for Kenshin to manage. Shingen’s political acumen, rooted in that mountainous realm of Kai, had managed to infiltrate even the inner workings of distant provinces. Especially in diplomatic foresight and wisdom, a young Kenshin like himself stood no chance against the seasoned mind of that crimson-robed monk-general.

Last year’s expedition to Etchū had been launched to crush the troublesome Jinbo clan of Toyama Castle, who persistently encroached on the border. Yet after pacifying the region, when they bound the remnants for interrogation, they found many soldiers speaking with Shinshū accents, sect-affiliated warrior monks under Shingen’s influence among them, and countless confidential documents regularly exchanged—ultimately revealing this too to be another manifestation of Shingen’s manipulated shadow.

But this insidious shadow proved troublesome to manage. If one front was swept away, another leapt forth. It was commonly rumored in the world that—

(Shingen had seven shadow warriors, creating a system where none could discern who was truly him.) Such rumors might well be referring to the ever-shifting nature of his stratagems and insidious character. Now then, last year, after deploying to Etchū and subduing the rebellion in the borderlands, Kenshin returned to his stronghold at Kasugayama Castle. Scarcely had he time to remove his armor before yet another request arrived from the Uesugi Governor-General’s household in Maebashi Castle, Kōzuke Province. (Urgent request for reinforcements to the Kantō region) He received this military dispatch request. The enemy was Ujiyasu Hōjō of Odawara. The Hōjō’s might ceaselessly threatened neighboring minor domains like the Satomi and Satake clans, now reduced to a state unable to endure their oppression. Yet even when appealed to, Governor-General Uesugi Norimasa no longer possessed the strength to suppress them. Left unattended, the unrest would inevitably spread across all of Kōzuke Province—a desperate cry born from the growing peril that even the Governor-General’s household’s autonomy might collapse.

Having given his consent, Kenshin immediately thundered forth from Kasugayama and headed south to Kōzuke Province. That was last August. Having established Maebashi Castle here as his headquarters and mobilized the minor domains of Bōsō, his grand strategy for the Odawara campaign was now halfway executed as they welcomed the New Year of Eiroku 4 (1561) within these castle walls.

The expedition had already lasted four months, yet the battle’s outcome remained uncertain. If this became a prolonged campaign, maintaining the troops’ morale would prove crucial. Therefore, even occasions like today’s—where they drank heartily and released their spirits in boisterous singing—held significance. While gazing about in such a manner, Kenshin appeared satisfied. The guest Konoe Sakihisa likewise looked cheerful. Only Uesugi Norimasa alone— (Is this truly acceptable?) —seemed secretly troubled, his complexion remaining sober no matter how long he drank.

However, this banquet did not descend into disorder. Each of them knew their limits. First, beginning with those who had been dancing and singing most wildly— “Let’s call it a night.” “Let’s leave it at this.” They put away their cups, urged the meal attendants to serve, and then—each clutching a large bowl—began earnestly eating their rice. Just then, a group of four or five colleagues returned from outside, their noses red from the cold. After paying their respects from the lower seats toward their lord and the guests in the distance, the group pushed through the crowd and immediately tried to take up their chopsticks and bowls.

Kenshin spotted them from afar, “Isn’t that Shimotsuke?” he called out.

Perhaps thinking he was being reprimanded, Saitō Shimotsuke-no-kami—one among them—hurriedly adjusted his bearing,

"I have just returned." he corrected his bow.

“The meal won’t be ready immediately.” “It seems you have yet to drink.” “Come here.”

With that, Kenshin gestured with his wine cup.

Saitō Shimotsuke

Saitō Shimotsuke timidly proceeded before his lord and the distinguished guest. Konoe Sakihisa watched that figure without taking his eyes off. He wore an utterly astonished expression. It seemed he was surprised that even in Echigo there existed such samurai. To put it bluntly, Saitō Shimotsuke could only be described as an unpresentable little man—but what’s more, his left eye was crushed shut, and his leg dragged with a limp. But to Kenshin, he remained a beloved subordinate. As Shimotsuke began to sit down with extreme reserve before the distinguished guest,

"Come closer." With his own hands, Kenshin offered a cup and declared: "You're a notorious drinker, aren't you? Yet you squandered this rare opportunity today—where have you been since morning, you inept fool who never lives up to your boasts?" So saying, he pretended to scold while laughing. Shimotsuke bowed to the received cup, drank it down, and then— "Actually, I went to pay respects at my ancestors' graves. I set out at dawn intending to return before the banquet commenced. But the ancient site had become overgrown with grass and turned into fields—it proved exceedingly difficult to locate. Thus I ended up delayed."

he replied. “Ah.” “I see.”

Kenshin suddenly furrowed his brows solemnly. He remembered. The ancestors of this Saitō Shimotsuke were not from Echigo. They were born in Ikushina Village, located a few *ri* east of this Umayabashi Castle.

Ikushina Village in the plains of Kōzuke Province was renowned as the site where Nitta Yoshisada and his clan had pledged loyalty as divine soldiers and raised their banner in the second year of Kenmu (1335), vowing to strike down the traitor Ashikaga Takauji at Kamakura—there was none who did not know of it.

In particular, since mobilizing his forces to Kōzuke Province, Kenshin had gone to that place twice to pay respects to Yoshisada’s spirit. He could not help but ponder, even in his nightly slumber during campaigns, how the loyal retainers of Kenmu had risen in fury from the grassroots, dared to take up arms against traitors, and ultimately sacrificed themselves for the nation—and wandered through the overgrown fields of Ikushina, offering heartfelt tears of blood to countless heroic spirits before returning. The second time, he even built a provisional shrine in that vicinity.

This man—

By nature, Kenshin was of a sensitive disposition. Prone to fierceness and quick to emotion. Until around the age of twenty, there were even times when he would cry like a woman. During that period, not only was he sensitive, but his character also exhibited passionate aspects; however, after wholeheartedly entering Zen and dedicating himself to mental discipline, there was a marked shift. That said, his sensitive and passionate nature was innate—Zen could not bleed it away. Instead, he harnessed that very intensity, pouring it wholly into his grand ambitions for the future. He wept for great causes but not for petty ones. When angered—whether over matters of state or martial prestige—he would fall utterly silent in ordinary times. For most matters, he smiled with his narrow eyes. Somewhat unbecoming of a man in his prime, he came to possess such a demeanor.

In exchange, one could discern the colossal strides of his relentless advance toward his ideals—steadily, in silence. The most remarkable of these was that he alone never neglected his vassal’s duty of journeying to the capital for court attendance.

The distance between Kyoto and Echigo was farther than that from Odawara’s Hōjō, Kai’s Shingen, or Sunpu’s Imagawa house—farther than anywhere else. Yet while Shingen, Yoshimoto, and Ujiyasu remained wholly preoccupied with defending their own domains—long before any of them had taken such action—Kenshin, in his youth during the 22nd year of Tenbun [1543], had already journeyed to the capital with exceptional haste. Through the mediation of Shogun Yoshiteru, he paid homage at the Imperial Court, was granted the Heavenly Cup, presented various offerings for imperial viewing, and thereby proclaimed to the world the significance of the bow and arrows wielded by his vassal Kenshin.

Subsequently, in Eiroku 2, the year before last, he had also journeyed to the capital. The Imperial Court was undoubtedly gratified by his repeated displays of loyalty, but Regent Konoe Sakihisa privately worried for him, “With Your Excellency away in such a distant land,” he had once inquired deferentially, “your domain must surely weigh heavily on your mind. Is your subsequent defense secure?”

Konoe Sakihisa had once inquired. At this, Kenshin replied that his journey was solely for visiting the capital. He added that territorial matters could be left entirely unattended.

he replied.

For the warlords now carving out territories across the provinces, their bloodshot-eyed and blood-drenched primary concern was their territories. It was an age when they clashed blades over every inch of soil, leaving no room for other matters. Amidst this, Regent Sakihisa—who had heard Kenshin’s words—

(This man—) Sakihisa had recognized the truth in him. He had placed his faith. At a time when he had been lamenting the collapse of moral principles since the Ōnin era and the decline of national customs—where even the proper way between the Imperial Court and its subjects lay neglected—Kenshin’s words struck Sakihisa’s heart profoundly. Since here was a commander to whom any secret could be disclosed and any righteous cause entrusted, they had henceforth exchanged Kumano Gongen’s oath paper and pledged themselves deeply to the Imperial Court. That Sakihisa had chosen this New Year to make the long journey here owed less to surface reasons than to this shared resolve that had long taken root in both their hearts.

“Oh….” “So—your esteemed ancestors were of the Nitta clan from this land?”

Sakihisa suddenly interjected a remark into Kenshin and Shimotsuke’s conversation from the side.

Ancestral Grace Though directly addressed, Shimotsuke appeared fearful of whether it was proper to respond—prompting Kenshin to... “Answer him.”

he prompted. Shimotsuke turned his single eye briefly toward the distinguished guest. “I am deeply honored by your inquiry.” “My ancestor Saitō Kurando was a man of no renown, but from the time Lord Yoshisada raised his banner, he served under Lord Wakiya of the clan, participated in the assault on Kamakura, and later met his end in the Battle of Bubaigawara.” “I heard that the mound where his head was buried lay at the site of our ancestral home, so I gathered five or six men from the same land and searched everywhere—but we could not find it.” “…Vast and desolate—everywhere has turned into fields and grasslands, and none of the local farmers can tell anymore.”

“Then, since your family moved to Echigo, it must have been several generations now.” “It has been four generations.” “Ah, in that case….” “In Echigo, are there still many descendants of the Nitta clan?” This was a question he had posed directly to Kenshin. Kenshin, without a moment’s thought,

“If even here alone there are five or six, starting with Shimotsuke, then at Kasugayama Castle there must still be dozens of households of the same lineage.”

he replied immediately. Sakihisa nodded deeply,

“Indeed. Indeed.”

he repeated, “I never imagined you were of such illustrious lineage. Forgive my earlier abruptness.” “I shall offer you a cup.” “You there, Shimotsuke.”

he said, not coming forward on his own, and extended his hand.

Shimotsuke grew even more terrified and shrank back. Considering his station as no more than a samurai commander entrusted with a small platoon of forty or fifty men, he appeared overwhelmed by the deliberation. “I humbly accept.”

At his lord’s permission, Shimotsuke raised his face with a sigh of relief and said: “Though I have no merit of my own, this cup that exceeds my station must surely be due to Your Excellency’s consideration of my ancestors’ achievements. For one such as myself alone to keep it would be excessive. I shall humbly receive this entire cup, distribute it among the other five or six men, and after returning to our province, wish to have the rest of our comrades at Kasugayama Castle partake of it as well... If I may entreat you—please bestow that entire cup upon this humble one.”

“Very well.”

Sakihisa took out his own folded paper, wrapped the cup in it, and formally bestowed it upon Shimotsuke.

The arrangements were finalized.

The preparations were completed. The Kantō Kanrei army, combining troops from Kōzuke and Kazusa under Kenshin’s command, denounced the crimes of Hōjō Ujiyasu and— “Surrender or annihilation.” —they pressed upon Odawara Castle’s vicinity. That year, the battles continued from March through April. The blossoms had scattered, and spring was drawing to a close.

The guest in the camp, Konoe Sakihisa, "I pray in secret that you may swiftly realize your grand ambitions across all under heaven." "For the sake of all people."

With that, he parted ways here and returned to the capital.

It was during battle, but Kenshin escorted him as far as the Ashigara border, "I trust we shall meet again in the capital," he said with confidence. With great confidence in the future.

he said with confidence. With great confidence in the future.

However, even the immediate target of Odawara Castle did not fall easily. The reason was that powerful units and staff officers from Kai Province under Shingen had swiftly entered the castle and were cooperating with Ujiyasu.

Those Kai Province staff officers insisted, "If our lord declares he will send endless reinforcements and supplies from Kai Province as needed, then it would be wisest to stake everything on defending this impregnable position—prioritize holding fast here and never sally forth from the castle gates to give battle."

they had been insisting.

Their strategy was to pin down the besiegers here, particularly exhaust the expeditionary Echigo forces, and render Kenshin utterly without recourse.

May arrived.

Moreover, they still had not captured even a single section of the castle walls. It could be said that the castle defenders’ stratagem had hit the mark. Kenshin finally withdrew his forces once to refresh his allies’ weariness and decided to wait for a shift in the enemy’s stance. It was during this period that he, together with Uesugi Norimasa, visited Kamakura Hachimangū Shrine. Norimasa took that opportunity to: “From now on, consider yourself as one of my kin and take the Uesugi surname.”

he urged.

Until then, Kenshin had been—needless to reiterate—a vassal of the Kantō Kanrei, bearing the surname Nagao and holding the office of Echigo’s Shugodai.

A single ash from an empty document.

At that time, the elite forces of Kai Province were constantly on the move—some forming ranks, others dispersing—all pressing ever northward. The movement of large armies naturally provoked neighboring regions. Like scattered clouds, the people and horses heading toward Zenkōji from routes such as Yatsugatake and Suwa were all part of this movement; yet even the vigilant strategists of Echigo monitoring this direction— “Hmm?” merely to that extent, they unwittingly failed to discern their purpose.

By the time they realized it, the rest of the world already knew. For it was akin to a bolt from the blue, astonishing the eyes and ears of the world.

“Now! Once more between Kai and Echigo—”

With war clouds rising suddenly like cirrus clouds—unable to fathom the reason—the peasants could only renew their terror of years past.

The location was southeast of Lake Nojiri, at the border between Echigo and Shinano provinces. Though mountainous, it served as a vital transportation hub branching north, west, and south. Perched upon the rugged heights of Mount Warigadake was a single castle where the Echigo forces had entrenched themselves.

Warigadake Castle. The strategic control here held equal and absolute significance for Echigo, while being regarded with paramount importance by the Takeda family of Kai. Were the Takeda forces ever to seize this position, the Echigo army would be condemned to have all eastward advances and southern deployments blocked; yet so long as Echigo maintained this chokehold, even Shingen—the fierce tiger of Kōyama—would find his ambitions to expand north of Lake Nojiri into Ura-Nihon remaining beyond reach in the foreseeable future.

Thus, the instincts of Kai and Echigo had always clashed in this region. Seizing and being seized, life striving to push south and life seeking to expand north clashed like a raging torrent through a gorge, having crossed blades in numerous bloody battles over time. However, even that destiny had been extinguished since the first year of Eiroku, four years prior. A peace treaty had been established through the mediation of Shogun Ashikaga Yoshiteru. Mutually, they had exchanged sworn documents and, pledging upon sacred oaths, laid down their arms. —It was the sudden outbreak of war that erupted at Warigadake Castle. The general public—

“Again?” It was no wonder they were terrified. The reason their senses had been numbed as if struck by lightning was that they had placed far too much faith in the notion that the peace treaty between the two provinces would last forever.

Tragic exertions and searing sweat.

“What? Warigadake?” When Uesugi Kenshin received the first report in the expedition lands, he too felt a sense of shock akin to a bolt from the blue, just like the common folk. It must be so— Such a thing could never have been considered. Even from the standpoint of the treaty he had exchanged with Shingen. And from the standpoint of human common sense as well. Though young, he was imbued with Zen-like essence, flashes of talent, and knowledge of the Three Strategies—already regarded by all as a commander of great caliber—yet he was no unshakable idol who could remain unfazed even by such an event.

He was enraged. Unusually, his face displayed a crimson hue blazing with anger, “Long-Legs!”

he cursed. He was referring to Shingen. This was not a nickname Kenshin had coined. Everyone in Kai Province called him Lord Long-Legs. It seemed to have originated from his diplomatic approach, his swift maneuvers, and his remarkably diligent swiftness and decisive actions despite being in that mountainous province. However, when it came to that swiftness like a sudden storm, Kenshin was no less than Shingen. Kenshin’s swiftness lay not in action but in mental agility. When faced with events, it lay in decisiveness without regret or hesitation.

“Withdraw. Immediately.” “Immediately.”

In June, the troops he led crossed Sangoku Pass, exhausted and drenched in sweat, heading north. “This is unbearable.” “Warigadake has finally fallen.” “Our allies have all perished in battle alongside the castle.” Kenshin heard the succession of tragic reports while gasping for breath along the mountain path.

“I see.” Wiping sweat, he looked up at cloud peaks. The scorching sun seared his tears of grief. “……I see.”

They continued their march in silence. Sensing his wrath and grief, the generals surrounding his horse—Naoe Yamato-no-kami, Nagao Tōtōmi-no-kami, Ayukawa Settsu, Murakami Yoshikiyo, Takanashi Masayori, Kakizaki Izumi-no-kami—now raised no clamorous voices. Silently, ever silently…

While swearing a solemn oath to something in the future, they crossed mountain after mountain like clouds. Furthermore, a detailed report arrived. “The enemy, having captured Warigadake, burned down the castle structures, demolished both the stone walls and ramparts without trace, and have already withdrawn to Kai Province.” “Though our allies in the castle were utterly annihilated, the enemy’s casualties numbered several times greater. Even renowned Takeda commanders such as Hara Minō-no-kami, Katō Suruga-no-kami, and Urano Minbu sustained injuries—particularly Hara Minō-no-kami, who reportedly retreated with thirteen grievous wounds from this battle. Moreover, enemy retainers Niikami Matasaburō and Tsuji Rokurōbei fell in combat.” “Tada Awa-no-kami also perished in battle, it is said.”

Striving to make amends, the swift messenger reported the battle situation in detail to Kenshin. "I see." His reply remained terse. However, each time he repeated these words, his tone grew calmer, more solemn, as if some sediment within him were settling into clarity. When the detailed report reached them, a clear disturbance rippled through the entire army. There were old generals sunk in grief, swallowing bitter tears on horseback, while others wiped tears of rage with their fists, "Damn it!"

There were also sensitive direct retainers who cried out and wept. Even the lowliest porters and foot soldiers were all saying,

“Are we just going back to Echigo like this?” That was what they were saying.

And again, “We cannot return empty-handed!” Their fervor blazed fiercely, flaring from their sweat-drenched brows.

It was no wonder that against Kenshin—who remained silent with nothing but repeated “I see”—the entire army’s officers and soldiers let swirl a clamor of discontent. Look: from this mountain-pass peak westward, could one not see those cloud-capped heights that might well be smoke from Warigadake? A single crack of the whip pointing leftward would bring Nojiri within reach. Were they to press onward, break through Kawanakajima, seize the enemy stronghold of Kaizu, sweep through its surroundings, deliver retribution upon at least one edge of Shingen’s domain before withdrawing—even then it would not be too late.

“Why like this?” As they walked on and on, they stomped the ground and would not cease. Their blood too was tied to that single castle at Warigadake. Among those here were those whose fathers had been there. And there were those whose brothers, younger brothers, uncles, and nephews had also been there. That grief coalesced into one under the Echigo army’s name, became a righteous cause against the Kai army’s treachery, and fervently, “Even from here—” And so, they were eager to pursue.

“Halt the steeds!” Kenshin—for reasons none could discern—barked this command to the generals flanking him while abruptly wrenching his horse’s head westward. “The bridge flows; the water does not.”

“Halt!” “The entire army—face west!”

Subsequently, Kenshin’s commands were relayed through one general after another. The dust settled abruptly. The winding horizontal formation—as if wondering what was happening—faced westward and quietly aligned their visages. And near and far, they uniformly fixed their gaze upon the figure of their commander, Kenshin.

“…………”

Kenshin, having clasped the reins in his saddle’s pommel, pressed both palms together there against his chest. Toward the western sky—.

The old generals, the direct retainers, and even the porters at the far end of the line—all followed suit, offering a moment of silent prayer. When it ended, Kenshin, as if stretching up from his horse,

“The bridge flows; the water does not—let us go, for now, to my main castle at Kasugayama.”

Having said that, he urged those around him and pressed northward and northward, crossing over the mountain pass.

The first line Kenshin spoke in a loud voice was not well understood by everyone. They could only surmise it must have been some Zen phrase, but its meaning remained unclear. “...The bridge flows; the water does not. That’s how we heard it, but…”

And so, they began to question and answer themselves. There were those who had grasped the meaning and would say, “Water is supposed to flow, yet it says it does not flow.” “In other words, could it not be referring to an eternal form?” “No sooner do they erect it than it is swept away; no sooner is it swept away than they erect it again.” “Do not be ensnared by the immediate joys and sorrows before your eyes.” “Could it not be that our lord declared it thus?”

In any case, thus the expeditionary Echigo army entered Kasugayama Castle for the time being. Kenshin seemed to have something firmly resolved, and his life after returning to the castle proceeded as usual morning and evening.

Rather, the hearts and minds of all in Echigo—from the generals down—grew ever more enraged at Takeda’s treacherous acts. Not only had he cast aside the peace treaty’s terms, but he had seized upon their absence during the campaign to strike at their undefended flank—such was this utterly vile monk Shingen, unfit to stand among warriors of honor, a lawless brigand who turned a blind eye to the suffering of peasants and townsfolk alike. In Echigo, even those commoners beyond the warrior class ground their teeth as they spoke.

Yet there was no indication that Kenshin would readily take action.

July had already passed, and August was drawing near. Kasugayama Castle was enveloped in the ceaseless drone of cicadas, showing no indication of renewed mobilization. Of course, the castle town’s smithies, armories, provisions stores, and other military installations bustled with activity—but this held nothing extraordinary for the Uesugi house. All martial affairs proceeded with routine regularity. “This is intolerable!” “What manner of farce is this?” The lower-ranking samurai—those furthest from divining their superiors’ intentions—proved most eager to voice their pent-up frustrations. They would waylay anyone emerging from the castle,

“How was… the state of the council?” they asked.

Even those close aides who might have been able to infer it would only answer, “Who knows? Not a clue.” Those who spoke as though they had witnessed it firsthand—saying things like “It seemed that today as well, deep within the inner chambers, a council had been held solely among the clan members and senior retainers” or “However, it seems they remain divided between war and peace”—actually understood nothing. But somehow, when they sensed an atmosphere of both war and peace among the castle commanders,

“What is this ‘peace’? Even now, at this critical hour—where remains room to consider peace?” “You spineless fools!” The collective outrage blazed fiercer still. Resentment piled upon resentment. This time, it was an anger with no clear target. They could do naught but lament to the heavens. Then those of the household suddenly noticed an oddity about them. To name it—the conspicuously one-eyed, limping figure of Saitō Shimotsuke had lately vanished entirely.

Secret Envoy of Peace

“Where has Lord Shimotsuke gone?” When they questioned Saitō Shimotsuke’s household retainers, they remained silent and claimed not to know; even when they inquired of his close friends, “I truly have no knowledge of this.” They could only grow suspicious together.

When they peered into his residence, there was no sign of him lying ill in bed; the servants seemed to have been strictly silenced. Under these circumstances, it was only natural for them to want to know even more.

“I’ve got it!” One man informed the group. It was already the onset of autumn—August had begun just two or three days prior.

Karasaki Zushonosuke, a direct retainer, came to the utility room in the castle where only the hot-blooded mid-ranking samurai from the same unit had gathered, “He shouldn’t be seen—he has secretly gone to Kai Province as an envoy for peace.”

And he declared in a loud voice. Though these were men whose faces rarely showed surprise at anything, this revelation struck them not with mere astonishment but as if a massive boulder had been dropped upon their heads. They gulped in unison, holding their breath once, then widened their eyes—

“What? Really?” they said. “Would I speak of such a grave matter in jest?” With that, Zushonosuke declared emphatically, staking his honor on his swords.

According to his account, his uncle Kurokawa Ōsumi-no-kami had also disappeared some time ago. He had been claiming to be ill, but due to suspicious circumstances, they intimidated his cousin’s daughter and finally extracted the truth. “Then, are you saying Kurokawa Ōsumi also went to Kai Province with Saitō Shimotsuke?” “Therefore,” “In secret, Shimotsuke was appointed as chief envoy, with Kurokawa Ōsumi accompanying him as deputy, and they departed from Kasugayama Castle already ten days ago.”

“We… didn’t know.” “There’s no way you could have known. It seems the senior retainers—fearing dissent and unrest within the clan should word leak—conspired to dispatch an envoy to Kai Province in utmost secrecy.”

Their faces were all utterly dumbfounded, unable to even muster the next word. But theirs was not blood so thin it could cool so easily. Before long, that silence erupted with a menacing intensity unseen in these past weeks.

The Dozing Pillar

“Why must we dispatch an envoy from Echigo to Kai Province?” “Has the Uesugi House resolved to abandon the warrior’s path?” “This is humiliation.” “Know shame!”

“To send envoys and still cling to making peace… Ah, it sickens those of us who wield bow and arrow.” “This is moral decay!” “Ultimately, those senior retainers wanting to preserve the status quo must have dulled our lord’s resolve.” “Unforgivable.” “We cannot overlook this!” “Whether Lord Naoe Yamato-no-kami’s residence or Lord Kakizaki Izumi’s estate—we must storm in and demand their true intent.” “All who agree, come!” “Let’s go!”

“Let’s go.” More than ten of those present all stood and filed out into the main corridor. Yet there remained one man still leaning against a large pillar in the corner, eyes shut tight, showing no intention of rising.

One of them noticed, “Yatarō. Why aren’t you coming? Hurry up!” he urged.

On his sleepily raised face, white pockmarks dotted the skin. Oni-Kojima Yatarō shook his head sideways with apparent reluctance,

“I ain’t goin’.” With that, he showed no sign of rising to his feet.

At This Time—This Autumn

“What?”

The group, their faces flushing, returned. Surrounding the pillar that Yatarō was leaning against,

“When you say ‘I ain’t goin’,’ does that mean there’s no need to go?”

In response to this, Yatarō, “That’s right.” he answered clearly,

“Best not stir up needless fuss.” “There are times when children cannot fathom their parents’ hearts.” he said without even adjusting his posture.

His attitude and lecturing tone greatly irritated the group. When speaking of the Uesugi clan's Oni-Kojima Yatarō, he was one of the Ten Tigers of Kasugayama renowned throughout neighboring provinces. The Ten Tigers were warriors selected from among the elite of Kenshin's direct retainers—chosen by someone who had singled out ten men to bestow the name upon. Even so, not one of the comrades gathered there believed themselves utterly incapable of matching that Yatarō. When opportunity arose, they each achieved military exploits second to none, and even without joining the Ten Tigers' ranks, they all possessed confidence to seize any honor through their deeds—be it Twin Dragons, Ten Dragons, or whatever distinction might come.

―The white-pockmarked one. Naturally, his comrades showed anger at his insolence. Having once risen to their feet, they resettled their posture and from both sides began speaking all at once, “What do you mean by ‘needless commotion’? “What do you mean by ‘needless’?” “Don’t you find it galling that at this very moment, we’re sending envoys to beg for peace with Shingen of Kai—our sworn enemy for years—a man who’s reached the pinnacle of treachery?” “Do you not consider this Echigo—our Uesugi army—to be utterly humiliated?” “Can we sit idly by this?” “This isn’t just pointless uproar.” “We’re going to impart courage and fierce reflection to those spineless, merely calculating, weak-willed senior retainers.” “We’re going to press them to make a decision.” “Why is that unnecessary?”

they pressed in on him.

Yatarō, once again, “No need.”

he declared flatly and sat back down, “Still prattling?” While some among them gripped their longswords and knit their brows fiercely, Yatarō—without looking at any individual face—addressed the entire group in an exceedingly composed manner.

“Now listen, calm yourselves.—The recent council deliberations are beyond the ken of juniors like us, but a crucial military conference concerning our rise or fall would never be decided by the senior retainers alone.” “Such policies would surely have been conducted and settled in our lord’s presence.—If so, whether sending envoys to Kai Province or seeking peace talks—is this not our lord’s will?” “Is this not Lord Kenshin’s design?” “Do you dare voice complaints against our lord’s will?”

“No—it’s precisely some of those senior retainers who’ve obscured His Lordship’s will, idly praying for peace while spouting such defeatist drivel.” “That’s why—”

“Don’t talk rubbish!”

With that, Yatarō suppressed the clamor of voices, “Samurai who offer their lives in service to our lord." “—And yet you all manage to serve our lord so well, without even grasping where his spirit lies or what his usual temperament is like.” “Do not offer up your lives.—The art of war is not merely about beating war drums and charging at the enemy.” “The saying ‘Children cannot fathom their parents’ hearts’ lies precisely in such subtleties.” “Clumsy agitation and clamor only serve to trouble our lord’s will and obstruct what might be called the subtle opportunities of this moment.” “……Having just returned from the Kantō expedition not long ago, and now making faces as if you’d rather not rush back to the battlefield—how admirably loyal you all must be, lazing about like that.”

he said with a laugh, then—

“Look here. To that Kai Province—after careful selection—he has dispatched a man called Saitō Shimotsuke. Though there are many in our domain, sending someone like Shimotsuke was never by the senior retainers’ judgment. It was our lord’s own choosing. Though it may be presumptuous—what lies three inches beneath our lord’s breast, can we not discern it? Is it not plain to see?” He concluded. No one dared challenge him now. No—not only in that moment, but even the voices of indignant fury that had roared so fiercely within and without Kasugayama Castle, along with the cries of humiliation, had since abruptly stilled. There was no sign of orders for another campaign, nor any visible military preparations. Movement between Kasugayama Castle and its branch fortresses grew sluggish, while village autumn festivals bustled more than usual; even blacksmiths and armorers—who in wartime would never idle about—joined the dance circles that autumn.

Shingen

In all directions—wherever one looked—mountains encircled the basin without exception, yet the castle complex stood as a flatland fortress. Its sheer scale defied description. This place was called both Kōkan and Tsutsujigasaki Palace. Here lay Kōfu, the stronghold of Takeda Shingen.

At this time, Shingen was forty-two. He had a thick neck and a body densely packed with firm muscle. His cheeks were full, and beneath his dark skin emanated a youthful flush like that of a boy. Whether one looked at the backs of his hands, his cheeks, or the razor marks along his sideburns, it was clear he had a hirsute constitution. Even judging from such a countenance, one could immediately sense he was a man of extraordinary vitality and iron will—yet he strove to conceal his icy rationality. The wrinkles etched at the corners of his eyes were precisely that effort to appear gentle. Yet no matter how diligently he strove to embody the maxim *“treat others with spring-like warmth, hold oneself with autumn frost”*—those large, dark-pupiled eyes beneath their lids appeared utterly unacquainted with the touch of tears.

“Ōi. “Has the envoy arrived?” Resting his elbow deeply on the armrest, Shingen leaned his face so close to Atobe Ōi beside him that his mouth nearly touched the man’s ear and whispered. Ōi also replied in a low voice, “No, when the Echigo envoy passes through the messenger’s chamber, they are to ring a bell in the page’s room over there to notify us.” “The bell still hasn’t rung.” “Therefore, they have not yet been admitted to the antechamber.”

“I’d like to see the envoy myself.” “You may observe them.” With that, Ōi stood up and widened the already two-inch gap in the large sliding door a fraction more before returning.

This was a pavilion within the castle called the Bishamonten Hall. Though built in the style of a worship hall, it contained all necessary facilities: Shingen’s private quarters, a study, council chambers, and reception rooms for envoys. Today, he had summoned Saitō Shimotsuke—a retainer of Echigo who had recently arrived in this province as a special envoy—to this very hall, intending to first observe the man’s true nature before formally receiving him. While observing extreme ceremonial courtesy toward foreign envoys, they also frequently engaged in such discourtesies—particularly when one party approached the task with a self-assured sense of superiority.

Even in this instance, Shingen had anticipated that Kenshin would either come raging in from Kōzuke through the Usui Pass or take retaliatory measures against the thinly defended Shinano front. Neither occurred. With measured composure, he lifted the siege of Odawara Castle and, passing through Mikuni Pass from Kōzuke Province, withdrew all the way back to Kasugayama in distant Echigo.

—Regrouping, is he? Yet as he observed, there was no sign of such intent—not even a hint. From the many spies he had planted in Echigo as well, only reports confirming the absence of any movement came in. Now then, Shingen— (Since the year before last—the campaign into Etchū, followed by the ill-advised expedition to the imperial capital, and then the over-half-year-long campaign into Sagami Province—this relentless series of east-west dashes had even someone as formidable as Kenshin appearing fatigued.) Inwardly, he felt somewhat relieved while sneering at Kenshin’s clumsy military strategies.

A retainer of Echigo—a man called Saitō Shimotsuke—had entered this Kōfu, accompanied by his deputy Kurokawa Ōsumi and others.

And then, he presented Kenshin’s letter, “The matter I have been earnestly entrusted with by my lord Kenshin is of grave importance. I humbly request to discuss it directly with Your Lordship and shall await your convenience for an audience at any time.”

And so, they had been waiting at the guesthouse outside the castle assigned to them until today, awaiting their summons. Kenshin’s letter served as credentials for the envoy and did not touch upon its purpose. [The letter] merely made polite reference to the peace treaty concluded four years prior and, despite having harbored no ill intentions since then, was now most courteously inquiring as to why Warigadake Castle had been attacked during his absence on campaign. Not in the slightest bit vehement. Nor was it confrontational.

It appealed to your conscience. To that extent alone. Shingen was not one to flush at such meticulously reasoned and impassioned phrases. For years before the two provinces had forged their alliance, they had clashed three times in fierce battles along the Shinano-Echigo border. Thus he fully understood the might of Echigo's elite troops and Kenshin's inscrutable nature—yet still, deep within him lingered an irrepressible contempt for the man. Above all else, Kenshin was nine years his junior, and whether viewed through territory, wealth, military strength—every measure—

――What is Kenshin but a mere man?

He could not fully suppress his urge to underestimate.

And when he heard the envoy had come, without even looking at the letter, he intuited: *He’s come to broker peace.*

he intuited. (If he intended to fight, there would be no need to send an envoy. We too had exploited the opening. To exploit the opening and emerge was inevitable—)

Under that thought, he opened Kenshin’s letter, (As expected!) he found himself thinking.

he thought. For Shingen, everything had unfolded exactly as anticipated. In any case, he had to hear the message and provide a response—but since his retainers had informed him that this special envoy was somewhat peculiar, (What sort of man is he?) Shingen, partly driven by curiosity, came to the area adjacent to the envoy’s chamber before granting an audience and quietly peeked in together with Atobe Ōi.

Linked Beacon Fires When an envoy from another province arrived, from that very day onward reception officers and guides were assigned to attend to them without respite. Of course they were overseers—ceremonious monitors. After several days of lodging, Saitō Shimotsuke alone was permitted to be ushered into the envoy’s chamber within Bishamondō, as Shingen was to meet him today. The day’s guides and reception officers were Hatsukano Den’emon and Magaribuchi Shōzaemon.

“I have just informed my lord, so please wait here for a while.” Having had them wait, the two Kai retainers deliberately initiated small talk with Shimotsuke.

As for Shimotsuke’s presence—by any measure, even in his own province, it was not particularly commendable. As for the dignitaries of Kai Province, at first glance, they all wore looks of dismay. To think they would send such an unsightly little man— Moreover, he was a cripple—one-eyed and lame. Never before had they received such an envoy from any province. “We have heard that your province of Echigo is but a minor realm of seven parts sea, yet in truth, it must be a far greater land.”

When Magaribuchi, the reception officer, inquired, Saitō Shimotsuke showed no sign of embarrassment. “In that case, as you say, ours is a land of seven parts sea—indeed a minor realm.” “I have heard that this Kai Province is incomparably powerful, but how large might it be, for example?” “The province’s expanse is said to span eight days’ journey from north to south.” “As proof of our great province’s stature, each day sees a thousand packhorses traversing its highways.” “From this, I trust you can surmise the rest.”

“Ha ha ha ha! That’s unexpected.” “What are you laughing at?” “But while you boast about a thousand packhorses traversing your roads each day, in Echigo, a thousand ships come and go daily.” “A single ship can carry as much cargo as a thousand horses could bear.” “So then, Kai Province appears to be an unexpectedly small country, wouldn’t you say?”

Magaribuchi blushed and fell silent. Hatsukano Den'emon stepped in to salvage the situation, “Lord Shimotsuke. If I may ask an impertinent question—does Echigo deliberately choose to send a little man like you as an envoy to other provinces? If I may ask impertinently—how many shaku do you measure?”

Shimotsuke, without being perturbed in the slightest, immediately answered thus. “In our Echigo, when dispatching envoys to other provinces, it is customary to send a large man if the destination is a major country and a small man if it is a minor one. For example, as evidenced by this humble one—a small man—being dispatched to your country.” Left without a retort, Den’emon fell silent—and Shimotsuke pressed on: “You inquired about my height, but though appearances may suggest otherwise, this humble one falls short of five shaku by merely an inch or so. From what I observe, you both appear to measure at least five shaku and five sun. How many shaku do you surpass this humble one by in the first place? Even if the two of you combined—if I may be rude—could you serve as effectively as this humble one has in your lifetimes? Though my blade measures less than three shaku, it may yet surpass a clothes-drying pole. My lord dresses something unworthy in splendid finery and puts it to use.”

He could no longer endure it, it seemed. Behind the sliding door, Shingen burst into laughter. Truly, he was not one to grovel. Laughing boisterously, "Ōi. Open the sliding door."

Having given the command, “So you are Lord Uesugi’s envoy?” “You are Saitō Shimotsuke.” “You speak most amusingly.” “Long ago, Chunyu Kun received orders from the King of Qi and journeyed to Chu as envoy. Along the way, he roasted and ate the goose meant as tribute for the King of Chu, then presented an empty cage when granted audience. Through sophistry, he delighted the king instead—and made the King of Qi marvel at his fortune in possessing such an upright minister.” “That man there resembles none other than Chunyu Kun himself.” “What stipend do you receive from the Uesugi house?”

Promptly, Shingen too relaxed his formality and addressed him.

Shimotsuke stepped far back and performed a bow while— “I am granted six hundred kan.”

he answered respectfully.

Shingen listened, “He’s being quite generous with you, I see.” “Lord Uesugi seems generous to those beneath him.”

he muttered. Then he bluntly inquired about how Shimotsuke had lost an eye and where he had become lame, but Shimotsuke’s answers were brimming with wit and insight—sharp enough to make their point yet carefully measured to avoid giving offense. “Though small in stature, you’re quite the sharp one. “Those dispatched to my house pale in comparison.” “Lord Uesugi’s ancestor—Gongorō Kagemasa of Kamakura—had one eye taken by Toriumi Yasaburō’s arrow, yet his martial renown remained undiminished.” “He was likely a man much like yourself.” “Hahaha.”

“Ōi! Ōi!” “Yes.” “Give wine to the envoy.” “Let us generously reward and send them off.” “Please wait.”

Shimotsuke interrupted—

“Before partaking of your sake, there is something I must humbly receive.” “What?” “It is the one castle of Warigadake.” “...Hmm.”

Shingen’s eyes flared for the first time. The small wrinkles at the corners of his eyes shot up like a sharp sword at this moment. Shimotsuke pressed on, “It is likely that this was not by your lordship’s command, but rather the unauthorized violence of Kōshū officers in the field. However, that single act is truly something I cannot help but deeply regret—for the esteemed name of the Takeda family, which shares such close amity with our Uesugi house.” “No, the attack on Warigadake was by Shingen’s command.” “It was by no means a field officer’s independent decision.”

“Oh.” “How could Your Lordship deign to issue such an order?” “In Eiroku’s first year, did we not exchange sacred oaths and forge a covenant that hereafter we would never cross blades—this being the bond between our two noble houses?”

“Prior to that, Warigadake Castle was the territory of our Takeda house.” “That does not constitute a valid reason.” “Envoy!”

“Yes!” “Will you drink the wine, or will you not?” “I will partake—after I have humbly received your formal response.” “Shingen’s reply is settled. A bow kept in its bag can be drawn at any moment. Will you take the wine, or will you take the bow? What instructions did Lord Kenshin give you?”

“Of course, since he has seen fit to send this humble one here...”

“That’s right. In any case, drink—if you wish to preserve the articles of the sworn oath from Eiroku’s first year unchanged between our two houses.”

“This is disgraceful conduct. How could an envoy return bearing only such a response?” “Not at all. You’ve done no dishonor to your lord’s orders. Am I not bestowing praise upon you?” “Never. I have no desire to receive praise from the likes of the esteemed general of Kōshū. For today, I shall consider it sufficient to have obtained the honor of an audience. Tomorrow, the day after—be it ten days or half a month—I shall return to inquire again, awaiting your will. I humbly make this request once more.”

“What request?” “Clear proof of your apology.”

“Ha ha ha.” “Futile.” “It may indeed be futile,”

“The wine has been served. Will you drink?” “This time I will partake.” Shimotsuke took the large sake cup. His guzzling once again made the lord and vassals of the enemy country widen their eyes in astonishment. But such things were mere trivial shocks.

That night, the urgent report that reached Tsutsujigasaki struck the entire castle with such consternation that they doubted their own ears. It had been transmitted via relay beacon fires from the direction of the Shin'etsu border within a single koku. The so-called relay beacon fires were a system where beacon tubes positioned at intervals of one and two ri passed roaring smoke signals one after another toward Kōfu’s main castle— —Enemy forces approaching!

—a system designed to instantly raise alarms in emergencies. Saitō Shimotsuke and the rest of the envoy party were already galloping their horses, whipping them recklessly as they fled far beyond the capital’s outskirts.

Thunderclap

Shinano invasion— Merely hearing this would set their blood roaring and their flesh quivering, making it impossible for the Uesugi forces of Echigo to suppress their warrior’s tremors—such was their customary state.

An enemy country that left nothing to be desired by their foe. An enemy country layered with grievances. While tightening the cords of their helmets and armor, they swore as one: "This time—surely—" And they vowed: "Not without seeing Tokueiken Shingen's head—" This resolve permeated all ranks alike, from generals down to foot soldiers. Since the Tenbun and Kōji eras, through near-annual clashes between the provinces, parents had been slain, children lost, brothers taken—though each private vendetta might seem trifling, as a matter of national policy—

(While there is Takeda’s obstruction, this country’s growth remains unattainable, and this country’s very existence cannot endure.) Kenshin’s creed had been carved into the very marrow of his entire household. It had become a blazing collective conviction like a ball of fire. How much more so this deployment! It was what they had long awaited.

Having spent these forty to fifty days in preparation, when at last on August 14th, military orders spread like a rallying cry—"Thunderous departure from Kasugayama! To Shinano! To Shinano!"—no sooner than—

“Whoa…!” A spontaneous tidal wave of voices surged up from Echigo’s castle town. And in the blink of an eye, they donned their armor, led their horses, loaded military supplies, gathered in formation, and departed to the blare of conch shells and thunder of drums—against this spectacle, the domain’s elderly and young, men and women stood watching endlessly, their voices choked with tears. Among them were wives of those marching in the thirteen-thousand-strong army; elderly fathers; sisters; mothers; friends…

Kaizu Castle To put it simply, it was a force of thirteen thousand men. But for this army to cross mountains, wind through valleys, scale peaks, prepare meals in villages, and surge from Echigo to Shinano—while indeed a spectacle—it proved an arduous endeavor. Moreover, this arduous path was one they all had sworn to tread—vowing never to return alive. The army’s march advanced with forward scouts and reconnaissance units positioned ahead of the vanguard, arranged in a four-tiered formation. At its center lay the main force, followed by arquebus units, archers, spearmen, and samurai contingents, while the supply train—laden with provisions and military supplies—strained under sweat as it followed from the rearmost position.

“Let us divide into two forces.” When they reached the foot of Tomikura Pass, Commander Kenshin issued this order and surveyed the generals before and behind him. Nagao, Governor of Tōtōmi—Nakajō, Governor of Echizen—Kakizaki, Governor of Izumi—Amakasu, Governor of Ōmi—Usami, Governor of Suruga—Wada Kihyōe—Ishikawa, Governor of Bingo—Murakami Saemon-no-jō Yoshikiyo—Mōri, Assistant Governor of Kazusa—Oni-Kojima Yatarō—Abe, Chief Imperial Household Officer—Naoe, Governor of Yamato—Ayukawa, Governor of Settsu—Takazawa Masayori—Shibata, Governor of Owari, along with his brother Harinaga, Governor of Inaba—all the so-called wise commanders and fierce generals had gathered in force.

“Who with? Who with? Who will—” Kenshin called out each name one by one, divided the commanders, and split the army into two. Then, “One force shall cross Nojiri and advance to Zenkōji Temple.” “One force I, Kenshin, shall personally lead across Tomikura Pass to emerge at the banks of the Chikuma River.”

he announced. Furthermore,

“Whichever route you take, know that our rendezvous lies not far from the flowing waters of the Sai and Chikuma Rivers—around Kawanakajima.” “By the evening of the sixteenth day, I shall surely arrive there.” “Let none who take alternate paths lag behind by that hour.” He issued a strict command. Thus, when they split into two forces, it was already noon on the fifteenth day. To reach the Sai and Chikuma Rivers by tomorrow’s dusk, they would have to march without sleep or rest.

Yet not a single one of them muttered, “Impossible.” The hardship of any march lies at its outset. If one endured those first two or three days of suffering, it began to feel as though a body of steel—something separate from oneself—had taken shape. For the Echigo forces especially, who by established practice always crossed provincial borders to wage war, even such a forced march held nothing unusual. The main force under Kenshin’s command passed through Takai District while the sun still hung high the following day, restraining Kaizu Castle as it wound its way from Kōka Pass toward Tōjō.

This was now fully enemy territory—under Shingen’s control—and within Kaizu Castle were holed up the elite troops of Kōsaka Danjō Masanobu, renowned as a fierce commander of the Kai army. “Are they pursuing? What say you?” As Kenshin gauged their movements, two or three tiny warrior figures appeared on the castle’s watchtower, shielding their eyes with a hand as they gazed this way. The reason Kenshin had split his forces midway and deliberately taken a detour himself was to contain and intimidate—for until he could secure a favorable position for his chosen base, he risked being harassed by flanking maneuvers from this castle and being unable to establish a proper formation.

Among the small figures who had climbed the watchtower atop the castle walls and were observing this, Castle Commander Kōsaka Danjō must surely have been present.

"—They’ve come." As he watched this unfold through narrowed eyes, he too remained composed. He had already relayed word to Kōfu headquarters via beacon fires. His stance seemed clear—they must not act rashly. "Hmm…" "How far do they mean to press?"

If anything, as if harboring suspicion, the castle defenders continued to shield their eyes and stare intently at the Echigo forces’ path. For the banners led by Kenshin had crossed the two great rivers of Sai and Chikuma and taken position at Saijoyama, approximately one ri southeast of the castle. Looking on, the other force that had flowed in a dark mass from the direction of Zenkōji Temple also converged at the same location, and as if finally establishing it as their foothold, even the last of the supply train unloaded goods from horseback and oxcarts. As the crimson sunset began to deepen across Saijoyama, each unit took its position, banners ceaselessly summoning the wind while warhorses whinnied incessantly.

"What an odd position." ...An unconscionable deployment. "To think they’d push so deep into such a perilous position..."

This defied interpretation within Kōsaka Danjō’s military science. Unable to fathom the enemy’s intentions, he resolved to fortify the castle resolutely and wait solely for Shingen’s arrival.

First Wild Goose

On August 16th, the night over the vast Zenkoji Plain embraced by the Sai and Chikuma Rivers swept away the lingering heat of day, leaving a cool breeze under a starry moonlit sky. Even as night fell, it remained vast and faintly luminous.

Kenshin’s headquarters were positioned at Jinbaira on the mountainside. The soldiers were cooking meals and feeding their horses. “Get a full night’s sleep tonight.” He said this to the officers on both sides while also commanding his own body. Yet the astute commanders wore profoundly uneasy expressions. A tension clung to their faces—the kind that forbade careless slumber. Was Kaizu’s enemy fortress not right before their eyes?

Moreover, the position of this Saijoyama was far too deep within enemy territory.

Should Kōsaka Danjō rally Shingen’s Shinano allies and simultaneously sally forth from the castle gates to attack—the situation would become anything but straightforward. Moreover, should they exploit our current weakness—exhausted as we were from the long march— Everyone thought so. That was considered common sense.

From that common sense, they deduced,

"This time alone, there was something unfathomable in their lord’s strategy. Such rashness was unprecedented. It made them profoundly uneasy."

they secretly worried. But to Kenshin, even this perilous position and the nearby Kaizu Castle seemed to be of no concern. After partaking of the same crude provisions as his soldiers and finishing a bowl of broth by the bonfire, he turned to Nakajō Etchū-no-kami,

“You will handle the scout reports,” Kenshin ordered. “Ensure the soldiers get as much sleep as possible. As for those on night watch—since the night is cold—let them keep the bonfires blazing brightly and doze while keeping warm.” Having given these instructions, he immediately lay down, using a camp curtain drenched with night mist as a wall and a shield as his floor—the sleeping posture of one long accustomed to such austere living. With grass for a pillow and dew-laden air lulling him into half-sleep, he occasionally composed poetry and hummed fragments of songs.

During the Noto expedition, Frost blankets the camp; autumn’s breath turns pure. Several lines of passing geese; the moon at third watch.

This was a work from much later years, but among those believed to have been composed in his youth existed the following poem: Warrior's armor sleeve spread as bedding near my pillow - the cry of season's first wild goose Heavy Camp Curtain

Naoe Yamato-no-kami, the Logistics Commander, had stationed himself at Tsuchiguchi at the mountain’s base. Yet even as he allowed his subordinates to sleep, he himself remained vigilant—perched on his camp stool, he dozed off facing the bonfire without ever lying down to rest. And then— The report of an arquebus sounded. Close.

With a start, Yamato-no-kami raised his eyes. In his gaze, still attuned to the fading echo, the bonfire’s flames blazed fiercely.

“Where? From which direction?”

When he went outside the camp curtain, one of the sentries— “It appears to be from the direction of Tada Pass.” he answered. It lay precisely between them and Kaizu Castle. Most likely—he thought—it was a probing skirmish between our scouts and enemy reconnaissance units. Still, just to be safe, he dispatched a soldier to inquire with the vanguard deployed near Ōmura:

“Any changes?”

he dispatched a soldier to inquire and awaited their response. Then, perhaps sharing similar apprehensions, Kakizaki Izumi and Shibata Owari-no-kami—both stationed at Saijoyama—descended,

“Lord Naoe.” “And another thing—” they approached from afar, saying,

When Yamato-no-kami nodded, the two spoke in hushed, worried tones, “You too find yourself unable to sleep, do you not?” they said. And yet— “All our commanders likely share these thoughts tonight, finding no ease.” “Having thrust so deep into enemy lands—straddling the Chikuma and Sai Rivers, clinging to this mountain like some lone fortress—what manner of battle does our lord mean to wage? We cannot begin to grasp his design.” “…Is this not exactly what military strategy terms a death ground?”

“How fares our lord?” “His Lordship appears to be in deep slumber.” “Why don’t we all together demand clarification of his true intentions? It would be ill-advised to keep trembling in fear of his will without acting.” When they went together to visit Kaji Aki-no-kami, Aki-no-kami too gave his agreement. Nagao Tōtōmi-no-kami was another who had persistently argued since their deployment here that the terrain was unfavorable.

Who’s this, who’s that—before long, their numbers had grown to seven or eight. Though it was late at night, they requested an audience through the direct retainers to the attendants: “We humbly request a brief audience.”

and had their request conveyed to Kenshin. The interior of the camp curtain grew brighter. They must have added firewood to the bonfire.

Kenshin rose immediately, "What brings this gathering?"

He looked around at the assembled group, his gaze holding a silent rebuke as if questioning why they remained awake. Nagao Tōtōmi-no-kami spoke up first, voicing the group's unease. In addition, presenting their collective opinion: "If Shingen of Kōshū should soon arrive here leading a great army, this position will grow ever more disadvantageous. Now is the time—we most earnestly beg you to relocate your encampment to better ground. Though we presume Your Lordship must have some secret strategy..."

they timidly stated their hope.

Kenshin laughed and, “So that’s your concern.”

he said.

And then, “Tonight, since all of you—officers and soldiers—are exhausted, I had thought to let you rest at ease and hold council tomorrow. But seeing how deeply unsettled you all are, I suppose I must immediately lay bare Kenshin’s thoughts…” “Still, not everyone is present here.” “Summon those not present here—Murakami Yoshikiyo, Takanashi Masayori, and Nakajō Echizen-no-kami—at once.” “They shall hear Kenshin’s intentions.”

Having issued his instructions, he paused briefly—and during that interval, had them add more firewood to the bonfire.

Death Ground Formation The figures of the generals pressed in tightly. Connecting knee to knee in their armor to form a large circle.

When he saw that all had assembled, Kenshin at length began quietly— “You all have deemed this mountain a death ground and are concerned about Kenshin’s deployment, but indeed, this is not a safe place.” “One might indeed call it a death ground.” he began, first opening his mouth. “But consider this—” And then, from this point, raising his voice, “How can one control the enemy’s death without first entering the death ground oneself?” “Especially since our opponent is Shingen, renowned for his wisdom and experience.” “When departing for this campaign, I secretly swore to the war god of Kasugayama that I would surely meet Tiger Shingen face-to-face ere long—either I would strike him down or be struck down myself—and thus settle our contest in a single stroke.”

In every campaign, it was the custom of the Uesugi clan that upon deployment, they would enshrine the war god within Kasugayama Castle and conduct the Butai no Shiki ceremony before setting out.

The generals were once more envisioning Kenshin’s figure from that time. “As you all know, Shingen’s way of war is to always deploy his forces with solidity, lurking deep within—swift in moving his banners and rapid in shifting.” “And he does not move easily—a commander who relies solely on deep stratagems and never deploys troops recklessly.” “Since the Tenbun era, though we have crossed blades with him countless times, our inability to easily crush his core lies precisely in the brilliance of his military tactics and his unparalleled strategic wisdom.” “To press in on such an enemy in one decisive strike—to engage in an unparalleled battle—it is ultimately impossible through ordinary military stratagems.” “Instead, we would only be outmaneuvered by him.” “You may deem this action of mine reckless due to Kenshin’s youth,” he declared, “but cease your doubts. Kenshin is by no means acting rashly or impatiently for glory.” “As for daring to lead our forces into what others would deem a perilous position where survival is one in ten thousand—how do you suppose Shingen interprets this?” “I have shown him a Zen stratagem.” “The Zen insights he deciphers, the Zen truths I hold—the transformations and movements born from them—these things defy words. When that time comes, you need only witness my military command.”

He closed his mouth, closed his eyes, and after a brief moment, “The origins of this conflict lie in his unrighteousness and our righteousness. Even as Kenshin bided his time until today, were you not—all of you, the entire army—seething with resentment over Kenshin’s reluctance to act? Now that matters have reached this point, surely none of you truly wish to cling to a secure stronghold. You are solely intent on securing victory. To expect certain victory, expecting certain death is only natural. If one views it this way, does this encampment—which at first glance seems disadvantageous and reckless—not also appear as a mountain of wondrous opportunity and adaptability? Hahaha. First, rest tonight. Then, under the dawn’s light, survey the land once more. The breadth of the Sai River, the length of the Chikuma River—though this is enemy territory, I’ve always liked the view here. I too shall rise early. All of you—once you understand, return to your posts in order and sleep. …What’s this about Kaizu Castle? They won’t come tonight—let alone tomorrow. Would they dare come out?”

Having finished saying that, Kenshin once again laughed aloud.

The cries of wild geese ceaselessly threaded through the clouds.

Breakout from the Enemy Capital

Amidst the alarm of linked beacon fires, struck by a bolt-from-the-blue shock, the entire province—and above all, Kōfu, the central seat of government—was thrown into utter chaos that night—the midnight of the fifteenth day.

Two horsemen, three horsemen—then seven or eight horsemen. There were samurai who turned corner after corner and dashed toward the gate of Ryūdō Road with terrifying speed. Under normal circumstances, this would immediately draw people’s attention, but tonight was already in turmoil.—Was that another contingent deploying? Perhaps they were couriers rushing to urge allies across the provinces to mobilize—no one thought to question it. No—there wasn’t even an air of suspicion.

“Move! Move!” “Clear the gate doors!” “Get back from the gate!” It was a roar as though charging into enemy ranks—the so-called warrior’s cry. Though night had fallen, some ten horsemen came charging toward the town’s barrier gate as one, kicking up plumes of white sand in their wake.

This was the town’s checkpoint—a place where passage was rarely permitted. Yet the lead rider, “Emergency passage! No time for formalities!” suddenly dismounted from his horse, forcibly removed the latch without authorization, and threw open the gate,

“There, go!” No sooner had they leapt back into the saddle than they dashed off like bullets. Of course, the guards on duty—

“Wait!” they cried, bracing themselves— “Who goes there?” —and did not neglect to challenge them.

However, the mounted warriors dashing through the checkpoints in rapid succession, “It’s the lord’s command! An urgent matter of the lord’s command!” they bellowed as they went,

“Retainers of Hatsukano Den’emon!” they declared at the top of their lungs, then added— “We’ll explain in full upon our return—no need for formalities now.” As they pressed onward with these claims, the guards—already strained by tonight’s crisis—found themselves powerless to intervene. “Then… could Lord Hatsukano’s men be rushing out on urgent orders from our lord?”

They watched the faintly white trail of horse dust trailing into the ensuing darkness.

However, once again, the same kind of hoofbeats could be heard approaching from the direction of the town, and the clattering of armor from a tightly clustered group rushing forward struck their ears. In an instant, what met their eyes was a force of about a hundred soldiers—glistening naginata blades, unsheathed swords, the white tips of spears, along with bows and matchlock guns mixed among them.

“Gatekeepers! Gatekeepers! Just now, the enemy envoys Saitō Shimotsuke, Kurokawa Ōsumi, and their party have fled from the diplomatic residence in our castle town—surely you won’t let them through! If they come here, bind and capture them! You there—take up arms and secure this position!” As the leading commander arrived, he suddenly reined in his thrashing horse—calming the panicked steed—and bellowed toward the guardhouse.

Mountain Zen “Lord Shimotsuke.” “That went smoothly.” Kurokawa Ōsumi, having moved slightly ahead, slackened his horse’s pace and looked back at Saitō Shimotsuke and the rest of the party following behind.

By the time they reached this point, the road was pitch-dark. Only two things could be discerned by the sound of water: the wall-like mountain range lay folded ahead, and what seemed to be a mountain stream's end existed nearby.

“Not yet, not yet—can’t tell.”

This was Shimotsuke's reply.

They couldn’t see each other’s faces. Yet even as the stars glittered brightly overhead, the darkness remained so thick that not a glimmer of their light could pierce through.

“Is anyone falling behind?” The same voice asked with concern.

Deputy Envoy Kurokawa Ōsumi said to the retainers, “Each of you, state your names. State your names.” From when they had departed Echigo, their party had consisted of ten members—beginning with Chief Envoy Saitō Shimotsuke, down to the Deputy Envoy and even including the servants. “—We are here. Ten men—not a single one missing—are present.” Eventually, when he heard someone answer, Shimotsuke— “I see.” He nodded as if relieved and remained silent for a time, but eventually dismounted from his horse. “From here on, it’s nothing but mountains—Amagoi, Kurakake, Horai-ga-take—one range after another. To avoid those, there is a straight shortcut along the foothills of Yatsugatake—a road Shingen developed for his frequent campaigns to the border, called ‘Shingen’s Bōdō’— Of course, there are barricades and fortresses everywhere—passing through is impossible.”

Shimotsuke explained the enemy country’s geography as though it were his own home’s garden. And then, “Ultimately, we must cross mountain after mountain and descend through pathless terrain as far as we can—there’s no other way.” “Everyone—discard your horses and proceed on foot.” “Let’s cross this mountain stream and enter those distant hills.”

“Let’s cross this mountain stream and enter those distant hills,” he said. A somber resolve naturally rendered the entire group silent. They wordlessly discarded their horses. Shimotsuke ordered the servants among the retainers to gather the ten horses together and securely tether them within a nearby grove. “Anyway, we should just abandon the enemy’s horses and leave them to their fate.”

The people eager to press onward urged, but Saitō Shimotsuke shook his head, “Even a farmer’s workhorse knows its own stable and returns alone from the fields.” “Moreover, these well-trained horses—if released—would immediately dash back to their original path.” “If that happens, they will lead the pursuers to us.” he said. However, despite his wisdom and meticulous preparations, there was nothing he could do from that point onward. Due to the negligence of those guarding the castle’s outer gate—having already learned that Saitō Shimotsuke’s party had breached it—the forces of Hatsukano Den’emon and Magaribuchi Shōzaemon soon swarmed into these mountains, advancing toward the slopes.

Not only that, they swiftly dispatched messengers along Shingen’s Bōdō to coordinate with the fortresses ahead, and by dawn, they completely sealed off Saitō Shimotsuke’s party atop Amariyama.

From the swiftness of their actions and the precision of their coordination, it became clear that Shingen's governance had permeated every aspect of his domain even during peacetime. Saitō Shimotsuke—thoroughly versed in these realities—instantly grasped the futility of attempting further escape. "It's hopeless." With that declaration, he dropped heavily into a sitting position amidst Amariyama's trees and turned to his retinue,

“It’s futile.” “There is no escaping.” “Rather than struggling pointlessly against fate—why not face our end with clarity? Let us instead take this final moment to behold autumn’s dawn.” He said this while settling heavily onto the forest floor.

…… Until then, they had strained with bloodshot eyes, listening intently to every sound and searching for escape routes—but at Shimotsuke’s words, each pressed their lips in anguish, “Wait for the enemy and be cut down?!”

Having seemingly steeled their final resolve, they all followed Shimotsuke’s example and plopped down into the fallen leaves. The autumn of Kōyama had already deepened; the lacquer trees were crimson, and frost lay upon the yellow leaves. As the dawn's light seeped down to the valley floor, delicate rainbows rose within the morning mist, and birds persistently trilled in high-pitched tones.

This life

“……” …… Everyone was compliant. Waiting for their pursuers, their faces set on dying by the sword.

They seemed to cleanse their ears with the birdsong, gaze upon the autumn-clad mountains, and ponder something far away—the autumn of their homeland in Echigo.

The households there, each of them. Since they were on a mission in enemy territory, they had already steeled their resolve beforehand. At this critical juncture, there was no point in struggling—

However.

Before long, when they perceived the enemy swarming toward them from the valley—from behind and in front—they raised their knees and gripped their long swords, "They’re here—"

“Leave nothing undone.” “Needless to say.” With fierce intensity, their eyes all gleamed, already conveying anguish through their brows and lips to one another as they stiffened their entire bodies like hedgehogs. “What? Die by the sword? “Nonsense! With just this, no matter how we fight, we cannot capture Kōfu.” “Enough, enough!” Saitō Shimotsuke squinted and rubbed his left eye—the bad one—with his fingertip. The hardships of these past ten-odd days, compounded by last night’s sleeplessness, had left it crusted with discharge.

The eyes of the group gathered on that face,

“Well then,” “Then… do you intend to commit seppuku with honor?”

Kurokawa Ōsumi and his men surrounded him, pressing in as if to corner him.

“Wrong. Don’t misconstrue this.” He wiped away the eye discharge, his composure unshaken.

“Neither committing seppuku nor dying by the sword… Then what is your resolve?” “Let’s get captured. If we stay like this, they’ll capture us. Let’s be dragged wherever they drag us.” “And then?”

“Let’s survive for as long as we can.” “Loyalty—that is the truer loyalty, I believe.” All their faces showed nothing but surprise. None had anticipated hearing such cowardly words from someone of Shimotsuke’s standing. Especially Kurokawa Ōsumi, the deputy envoy—a man of martial valor—spat out his words like phlegm. “What loyalty?!” “—To become prisoners of the enemy and live in disgrace.” “Lord Shimotsuke, such words are unlike you.” “Have you gone mad?”

“No, no—from the very start, if we could escape cleanly, we would escape cleanly. If that proved impossible, we’d obediently accept their bonds. We’d resolved ourselves to these two paths from the beginning. There’s nothing more to do—that’s only natural. That *is* loyalty.”

“Wh-why?” “If this were a battlefield where we became prisoners,” he said, “the matter would be entirely different. However, the mission entrusted to Saitō Shimotsuke was not to fight. We were commanded to come as envoys—nay, ordered to strive for peace and reconciliation by all means possible. What purpose would it serve if such envoys died by the sword?” “That’s sophistry,” spat Kurokawa. “Nothing but sophistry to justify wanting to stay alive.”

“I want to live—I want to survive.” “That’s true.” “You’ve pierced through this Shimotsuke’s very core.—But my reasons for clinging to life are no petty delusion.” “When I consider our young lord’s future—the fate of all Echigo Province—and envision our coming trials... I grieve life’s brevity. Were Kai Province our sole foe? That we need not fear.” “Our lord’s prowess ensures he’ll never fall before Shingen Harunobu... Yet do you not grasp what greater ambition stirs within Lord Uesugi Kenshin’s breast?”

“…………”

“Kurokawa—your ancestors and mine both flow from Yoshisuke Wakiya of the Nitta clan’s line. This blood should still carry Lord Yoshisada’s legacy, pulsing unbroken within us…” “In the Uesugi domain—beginning with our lord—we’ve made that spirit bushido’s true principle and archery’s grand vow. Through the oaths sworn before the gods with every campaign, you ought to grasp this clearly!” “No! Even *that*—to stain an Echigo samurai’s name—”

“Live on without accomplishing anything worthwhile, and be laughed at when you die.” “You need not concern yourselves with the praise and censure of such an interim.” ――As envoys, we have fulfilled our duty. “Even if captured—even if we live on—what shame could there be?” “……All of you, follow this humble one’s example.”

Already. The grove was surrounded by the iron armor of Kōshū soldiers. The glint of spears, long swords, and armor peered through the gaps between the trees.

Cow’s straw sandals The scarlet-robed archbishop was performing the goma ritual facing the altar. Below, Shingen’s armored body appeared rounded at both shoulders and hips.

The monks conducting the prayers and Shingen’s generals were arrayed amidst the goma smoke filling the temple complex. And the occasional tolling of bells for vanquishing enemy realms and the chorus of sutra chants could be heard even at the foot of Mount Resseki’s Unpō-ji Temple.

It was a considerable length of time.—The sun of the seventeenth day, now past noon, was already beginning to pale beyond the Fuefuki River. When deploying for battle, it was customary for commanders to purify their minds and bodies in some form; Uesugi Kenshin would conduct Shinto rituals to worship the gods, while Takeda Shingen, upon his deployment, invariably set forth after offering prayers at this Ressekizan Unpō-ji Temple. Since the previous night, Shingen had promptly departed Tsutsujigasaki in Kōfu and here prayed for victory while awaiting the arrival of his Zen-practicing allies, who were now rushing to gather one after another.

Once his summons spread as a rallying manifesto throughout his domain, what manner of army would answer the call? Even when viewed from Mount Resseki, their numbers defied estimation at a single glance. The temple precincts, mountain compound, and branch temple gardens went without saying. As far as the distant foothills—along roads, through hamlets and fields—all lay shrouded in banners, great war standards, and the whinnying of steeds. In that autumn afternoon they swayed—seeming to shift yet holding fast—charged with martial intent as they awaited the departure order. Not just the warriors but even the horses appeared restive.

Amidst this, Saitō Shimotsuke and his party of ten envoys were dragged forth, bound together in a chain. As a natural expression of defiance, “That’s him?” “That’s him!”

“Kill them!” “We’ll hold the blood ritual on the mountain as ordained.” “Dragged here shamelessly without so much as biting your tongue in protest?” “You coward!”

Blocking the path and standing in front, the Kōshū soldiers and servants shouted abuse at them. These envoys had wagged their tongues to convince their own leaders of peace talks, and in the meantime, the Echigo forces had surged forward to seize strategic positions—a rumor that had even reached the ears of the lowliest foot soldiers, further fueling their outrage. One-eyed Shimotsuke, since his eye could only perceive half of the hostile atmosphere around him, wore an expression as if he were carefree. The Kōshū soldiers, who found that face unbearably detestable,

“One-eye!” “Cripple!” With that, they hurled cow-hide sandals and such at him. However, once they entered the mountain temple grounds—where many strategist retainers stood in solemn order—no vulgar jeers could be heard. In its place, a chilling aura pressing in on them gripped the hearts of the ten men. A mass of flame. Shingen was leaning back on a camp stool that had been placed directly in front of the main hall. The scarlet robe over his armor and his wrathful face both appeared as a single mass of flame.

At the base of the steps, the ten were dragged into position. With the nine behind, Saitō Shimotsuke alone was thrust forward and made to sit.

Shingen glared down at him with torch-like eyes. It was an interval that felt truly long. Shimotsuke also appeared to be silently watching Shingen’s face.

“Messenger.—No, you wretch. “You one-eyed cripple. “Why do you not respond?” Saitō Shimotsuke adopted a tone meant to placate Shingen’s emotions, “My lord, have you already forgotten this humble one’s name? “This humble one is Uesugi Kenshin’s retainer, Saitō Shimotsuke.” said Saitō Shimotsuke.

Next, Shingen—with his trademark thunderous roar—seemed about to bellow abruptly. His complexion suggested as much, and the thick flesh of his shoulders swelled like tumors. But by forty-two—unlike Takeda Harunobu of his youth—it seemed discernment now arrived in time even when surging passion had welled up. Suddenly, he broke into a sly grin. And then, shifting his tone, he asked:

“Ah yes—Saitō Shimotsuke of Echigo, the envoy.” “Now I ask again: until yesterday, you claimed it was Lord Kenshin’s will to reaffirm our longstanding peace treaty.” “With honeyed words and bowed heads, you feigned courtesy to lull me into complacency—all while scheming under Kenshin’s orders before your departure, were you not? …Well?” “When you came as envoys, did you know your homeland would so abruptly march troops into my territory—or were you ignorant?” “Speak truthfully.” “Truthfully…”

A defiant laugh. Shingen’s questions seemed not only to address what was explicitly stated but also to conceal an intent to extract something from Saitō Shimotsuke’s answers. Right now, regarding the strategic plans he himself was urgently required to undertake, “the extent of the enemy nation’s resolve” must surely be one of the most troubling issues.

He may have been attempting to read that implication from Shimotsuke’s expression. That such sharpness in spontaneous stratagems belonged to an exceptionally shrewd general was something Shimotsuke had long heard about. Had Shimotsuke realized this, or was he considering how to respond? Then abruptly—

“Ahahaha.” “Hahahaha!” He laughed with a voice so loud it nearly blew away his dirty front teeth. And having stopped laughing, he slowly answered. “I have always heard that the Lord of Kōfu, Venerable Kizan, possesses fearsome discernment, but your current inquiry—resembling a trick to snatch sweets from a child—does not a little diminish Your Lordship’s dignity.” He acted as though no one else were present. It was a brazen remark that ignored not only Shingen himself but even the surrounding generals. Naturally, the emotions of the generals seated around them—glittering in their iron armor—could not remain unmoved. Relentlessly, hostile glares and shifts in posture bore down wordlessly on Shimotsuke.

But Shimotsuke showed no reaction whatsoever.

The trait of having one impaired eye seemed to make maintaining composure remarkably easy in such situations. He kept blinking his single eye rapidly, but if allowed to speak, he still had more to say. "As for other provinces, I cannot speak, but in our Echigo, both military strategies and domestic governance are all decided solely at Lord Kenshin’s discretion. Those consulted are limited to a very few senior retainers and members of his inner council." "How could such matters be known to a junior like this Saitō Shimotsuke? …As for Your Lordship’s inquiry—whether we came as envoys knowing or unknowing—even unasked, it is conclusively established that we are envoys who knew nothing." "…The reason is," "If an envoy himself were aware that there existed in Lord Kenshin’s mind a stratagem separate from the official message he was sent to deliver, he could not venture into enemy territory and maintain such a composed facade of falsehood before the enemy lord." "Some trace of human honesty would inevitably show itself." "That Your Lordship would overlook such a thing is unthinkable—a fact Lord Kenshin and all of us in Echigo have long since grasped. Take, for instance, this past spring: while Lord Kenshin was absent, you spied upon Echigo’s exhaustion from years of campaigning, then suddenly broke our pact to seize Warigadake Castle at the border. Even for a cat, that’s a feat only the craftiest, most cunning tom could pull off."

Had they given Shimotsuke another chance to roar with laughter after this, those around Shingen or perhaps the generals below might have immediately stomped on his head with their muddy feet or spat on him.

However, Shingen, true to form, restrained it with a wry smile. As if to forestall any untoward incident, even before Shimotsuke’s words had fully ended, he hefted his massive frame from the camp stool with a creak— “Have the monks of Unpōji Temple take custody of this long-tongued wretch and toss him into a cellar until Lord Shingen’s triumphant return—make sure of it.” “Throw all the rest of them into prison as well.” “I’ll deal with them once I return to the province.” Shingen’s demeanor—that he had no spare moments to deal with such individuals now—was immediately apparent to the generals.

Shingen’s act of rising from his camp stool was itself already a command to the entire army— “Now—” he had commanded the deployment with that single word: “Now—”

In the eastern and western corners of the corridor, the conch blowers who had been standing there pressed the mouthpieces of their shells to their lips and blew notes—thin, high, long, and short.

The method of blowing conches differed from province to province, it was said. In any case, the deploying warriors discerned the sound with their entire beings—their fervent blood boiled in an instant, their eyes already beholding the battlefield. Moreover, the people left behind throughout the province also—through that sound—learned of the army’s deployment, and while envisioning in their thoughts the familiar officers and soldiers marching off with the troops, held that moment in their hearts with silent prayers. Bōdō

A long, winding road stretched endlessly northward.

The road’s earth color was fresh. One could tell it had been developed in recent years. This could be said to be a diagram of Shingen’s ambition etched upon the earth. This was the military route of the Kō Army leading to Shinano. By taking this straight road, it was said that one could reach the border a full day and a half sooner. Thus, the farmers and travelers had come to praise it as customary. Lord Shingen’s Bōdō—so they called it. Because he possessed these Bōdō roads—radiating from Kōfu to the west, east, and south in numerous lines—the neighboring provinces, such as the Hōjō, Tokugawa, Oda, and Saitō clans, found themselves ceaselessly occupied day and night with engaging in diplomacy, waging war, and embroiling themselves in disputes with him. It felt as though they were dealing with a multi-armed, multi-headed titan. Thus, in the neighboring provinces, rather than referring to him as Shingen,

(Lord Long-Legs of Kai)

they referred to him by such epithets. Thus, one could grasp how formidable Shingen’s Bōdō proved in crises—their lightning-like swiftness rendering them a vexing trial for enemy nations. A host of over twenty thousand would have made a magnificent sight on the day they marched along it. By dawn on August 19th, a torrent of elite troops and horses was already surging northward with urgent haste from Yatsugatake’s foothills toward Daimon Pass.

“Dōki! Dōki!”

With that, Takeda Nobushige turned around and called out from horseback.

Nobushige was Shingen's younger brother. Under twenty-one banners of the central army, they advanced alongside Shingen's legitimate heir Taro Yoshinobu and other clan members.

“Did you call for me?”

The one who answered was Yamamoto Kansuke, one of the strategists who had taken the tonsure and adopted the name Dōki. He wore a jet-black helmet over his shaven head, the white eyebrows visible between the cheek guards giving the appearance of having been planted there. He was over sixty years old. “How’s the weather? The weather… You’re skilled at reading the skies—do you think this clear spell will hold for four or five days more?” “Are you inquiring about clear skies or rain?”

Kansuke looked up at the sky, his brow meticulously furrowed. “The swiftness of these clouds. Once night falls, we may see occasional showers, but it likely won’t develop into a heavy downpour. While the air remains warm during daylight hours, this clear weather may continue for several more days.” “If this clear weather holds until we meet the enemy, it would be fortunate. It would be ill-advised to exhaust our troops and horses with forced marches.” “No, no—we do not yet know the enemy’s exact whereabouts, but even if we proceed there this time as well, it will likely result in a prolonged standoff. I believe we must avoid a prolonged engagement that would wear down the troops’ morale.”

“Hmm. What was it? ... .”

According to successive reports from messengers arriving from Shinano Province, Kenshin, the enemy, had already crossed the Sai and Chikuma Rivers and advanced deep into our territory. “Naturally, once we arrived there, a battle would be unavoidable.” “Why would someone of Kenshin’s caliber persist in such reckless advances without purpose?” “Undoubtedly, they were preparing at their base and also likely anticipating unforeseen contingencies.” “If that’s the case, we might avoid a prolonged standoff…” “However, judging from their intent to send a mere envoy like Saitō Shimotsuke, lull us into complacency, and exploit that opening to advance into Shinano, it’s clear they had no real confidence.” “If they truly believed in certain victory, they wouldn’t have resorted to petty schemes like using such a messenger.”

Then, his elder brother Shingen—who had been arranging pieces—turned his gaze from beneath his helmet’s visor toward Nobushige’s profile,

“Nobushige. Nobushige. Do not spout baseless speculations. Saitō Shimotsuke is a fine samurai—one who does not disgrace his lord’s commands. Kenshin’s deft use of him was, though he is our enemy, maddeningly brilliant this time. In any case, my deployment has fallen a step behind. Only after we reclaim this step will the true battle commence. As Dōki says, the enemy has their preparations and likely contingencies. You must not make rash judgments. Even a single word from you exerts subtle influence among the troops. We must not allow even a semblance of disparaging the enemy to take root within our ranks.”

With that, he admonished.

Lord Nobushige obediently replied, “Yes.”

With that, he made an awkward face at Taro Yoshinobu beside him.

Then, this time, Taro Yoshinobu turned to his father and posed a question.

“When you departed for battle, why did you not cut down Saitō Shimotsuke and those other insolent messengers as a blood offering? I was certain that would happen yesterday.” Shingen’s eyes turned toward Taro Yoshinobu with paternal severity. “We should avoid fulfilling the enemy’s designs. Those men have already discarded their lives—nay, they deliberately provoke my wrath to make their deaths all the more consequential. To slay them would be to dance precisely to their tune.”

“Why is that?” “If news that we slaughtered their entire envoy party as a blood sacrifice were to resound through Shingen’s camp, merely hearing of it would make the Echigo forces’ blood boil—undoubtedly intensifying their ferocity.”

“But there’s no way that fact would reach the enemy within a month or two, right?” “Well, according to the arrival notice, the envoy was a party of twelve.” “If we count those captured and brought to camp yesterday, there are only ten individuals.” “The two will undoubtedly slip through the net and report every detail back to Kenshin. Moreover, dozens of our own Kōshū spies have been captured in Echigo... Cutting them down now would serve no purpose.” “To cut down enemies as a blood sacrifice and sally forth in order to rouse morale is a poor strategy and not something a commander of discernment would do. While it is true that during the Mongol invasions, Lord Tokimune executed the Yuan envoys, and long ago, those who slew the rude messengers of Goryeo and Baekje—such acts of severing ties with foreign nations were understandable—but…”

At that moment, a billowing cloud of horse smoke approached from ahead.

By their banner markings, they could immediately discern which lord’s army it was. They were not enemies. It was allied forces encountered along the way joining their ranks. The three hundred horsemen who had now arrived included Koshiba Yoshitoshi and Kurita Eijuken, who governed villages near Zenkōji.

Hailing this as a “welcoming,” at every place they went, Takeda allies continued to join them one after another—groups of two hundred horsemen, then five hundred. As a result, the banners of the entire army grew ever more numerous as they advanced, and their military strength visibly swelled with each mile they covered.

A Single Stone in the Battle Formation

Bivouacs—how many nights? The Takeda forces crossed Ōtoge Pass and emerged from Kōzuke to Nagakubo. By the time they came within sight of the Chikuma River’s waters, messenger cavalry from their ally’s Kaizu Castle arrived in a steady stream like the teeth of a comb, bringing reports of the enemy’s movements. “…Hmm.” “Hmm.”

With that alone, Shingen gradually grew more taciturn; whether in conversations with his staff or when hearing messengers’ reports, he came to respond with nothing but nods.

By the time they had taken the left bank of the Chikuma River and reached the vicinity of Shiozaki in Sarashina District, their military strength had markedly increased compared to when they had departed Kōfu, and the faces of the officers and men—honed by the autumn winds sweeping across the wilderness—had broken out in goosebumps here and there.

“It’s cold... This wind blows from Echigo.”

Someone muttered.

Shimojō Hyōbu of Shimoina and his troops hurried here to join them. Judging by the order of arrivals in the encampment ledger, the usual allies—down to every last village and hamlet’s samurai—appeared to have mustered almost without exception. Yet, the overall morale still appeared bleak. As for the cause, Koyamada Yashirō Nobushige, one of the military commanders,

“Since arriving here, our lord’s deliberations have been uncharacteristically thorough.” “Why is it that no lightning-fast orders have been issued this time?” lay in the fact that everyone was perplexed—or so he claimed.

Nobushige’s doubts were not his alone. Though the departure from Kōfu had been one of such urgency that every moment was contested, ever since arriving at this vast basin, Shingen now lingered as if deliberately dawdling—following the Saigawa River, measuring the Chikuma’s rapids, taking positions in the mountains, allowing his troops to rest on hillsides—so that his entire encampment seemed to remain unsettlingly unanchored. By the 24th day, Shingen had finally set his headquarters at—

“Here.”

And with that, he seemed to have resolved. It was a hill in Shinri Village, part of Sarashina District. It was a highland that the locals called Chausuyama. The Takeda family’s battle standard—on a navy-blue ground measuring one jō and eight shaku— Swift as the Wind. Gentle as the Forest. Fierce as Fire. Immovable as a Mountain.

One bearing two lines of golden characters, and a crimson banner measuring one jō and three shaku, Namu Suwa Nangū Hōshō Jōge Daimyōjin and another bearing a single line inscribed with "Namu Suwa Nangū Hōshō Jōge Daimyōjin" were erected there. Shingen had set up his camp stool beneath the autumn winds that ceaselessly stirred the battle standards, gazing with eyes of utter tranquility. His eyes held no cloudiness, as though he had slept deeply. "This defies comprehension..." Time and again, his lips released the same murmured words.

Beyond the vast open terrain embraced by the twin currents of the Saigawa and Chikuma Rivers, Kenshin's entrenched Mount Saijoyama stood visible. Serenely. Quietly. There was truly not even a whisper of martial tension. Yet from a topographical perspective, that Saijoyama encampment remained an insoluble riddle no matter how Shingen analyzed it through decades of experience and military science—it appeared nothing less than a stance of total self-abandonment. Were Shingen to switch positions and occupy that ground himself, he felt certain he could never maintain such composure.

"A death ground… To willingly take a death ground as one’s encampment?" It is said that the wise drown in their own wisdom— Shingen tried to admonish himself. Yet he also felt that without employing wisdom, he could not penetrate his wisdom.

“Ah—Not here either. Our position here is also ill-chosen.” He twisted away from the camp stool. Surveying the figures packed throughout the encampment—not just behind him—there was Takeda Yoshinobu, his heir; his younger brother Nobushige; his next youngest brother Takeda Shōyōken; along with Nagasaka Chikan, Anayama Izu, Ōbu Toramasa, Yamagata Saburōbyōe, Naitō Shuri, Hara Hayato, Yamamoto Kansuke Dōki, and others—so many that he momentarily hesitated on whom to focus his gaze. Even when looking at the banners across the heights and lowlands,

The banners of Amari Saemon no Jō—Koyamada Bitchū—Baba Nobuharu—Kobatayama Jō no Kami—Sanada Danjō Ittokusai—Kosaka Wakasa no Kami—Morozumi Bungo no Kami—Ichijō Nobuhide—Aiki Ichibei—Ashida Shimotsuke no Kami—and others snapped and fluttered in the wind, their rustling mingling with horses’ whinnies and soldiers’ clamor, as though all the autumn voices of heaven and earth had gathered here.

“Break camp. “Leave this place and descend to Amamiya Ford. “With the Chikuma River before you, take positions on the northern bank at Amamiya Ford—each unit to its assigned post.”

It appeared to be a decision made quite abruptly. He had not consulted the veteran generals and strategists on either side, nor had he issued orders through them; he himself had issued the command so abruptly.

At the same time, Shingen paced through the camp enclosures. Even as he walked, he seemed to be ceaselessly wrestling with his own intellect. It was akin to a Go master hesitating before a single stone he would not lightly place. At times, he would stand with lips tightly sealed, staring fixedly at the ground beneath his feet. Beneath the direct rays of the autumn sun, ants still scurried through their countless holes.

The Girl from Koshi

The name Kawanakajima is ancient. Of course, it dates from before the Eiroku era.

Enclosed by the crisscrossing torrents of the Saigawa and Chikuma Rivers, a vast triangular sandbank had formed in part of the Zenkōji Plain. The Kojiki records that this place is called both "Kawanakajima" and "Hachimanbara," but the local people take a broader view, customarily referring to all the riverbeds and plains across that area—Sarashina, Hanishina, Mizuuchi, and Takai—as the Four Counties of Kawanakajima.

“…No matter which direction she faced, there were the same autumn grass plains, the same rivers.”

Where had she come from?

The traveling woman, standing here forlornly as though day had ended on her journey, looked west and east,

“Which way should I go?” She seemed to ponder.

She wore a stiffly lacquered sedge hat. Though she did not appear to be a peddler, she carried a bundle on her back, had her hem tucked up short, wore straw sandals and carried a staff—presenting a strikingly gallant figure.—It bears mentioning that she had not yet reached twenty years of age. Her fair, smooth skin immediately brought to mind a maiden from snow country. Indeed, from her attire to her features, she possessed the distinctive beauty characteristic of women from Echigo.

—Suddenly, the sound of a sickle could be heard somewhere. It was the crisp, satisfying sound of grass being cut. Her round eyes suddenly darted toward it.

In the autumn grasses in the distance, the backs of several bareback horses could be seen. Those who had finished bundling the cut grass and loading it onto the horses’ backs led them away into the distance—yet behind them, another group of grass cutters advanced toward the riverbank, sickles at the ready. “Excuse me, could you tell me how to reach the Kōshū Road?” Because they were suddenly addressed by a woman’s voice asking this, the grass cutters startled and rose to their feet. These all appeared to be farmers from nearby villages, but they had been conscripted as military laborers—cutting horse fodder, clearing roads, and assisting with transport.

“Huh. To the Kōshū Road… But where in blazes did you come from?” When questioned in turn, the girl suddenly let her eyes wander, gazing around at the flows of the Saigawa and Chikuma Rivers—though which was which remained unclear—but

“From over there.” She pointed toward the distant hills where the hall of Zenkōji Temple was said to be. “So did you come down the Hokuriku Highway from the north?” “Uh... uh.”

She nodded. But even that nod appeared utterly ambiguous in her expression. The conscripted farmers admonished her: “Whether you knew or not, this entire area has been a battlefield for two or three days now. That’s why you won’t see a soul tilling fields here even at noon, nor any travelers about. If anything moves through these wilds at all, it’d be naught but birds passing overhead…” “What madness brings a woman alone to loiter in such a place? Be off with you! Follow this riverside south—keep south—and you’ll spy post-town roofs soon enough. There, ask proper directions for wherever in Kōshū you’re bound. And mind you hurry before nightfall!”

After conveying all this in a chorus of voices, the many sickle-wielding hands bent back to the grass roots, and those men too began hurrying toward their task of cutting the allotted horse fodder.

Then—it was unclear from where, though likely from the opposite bank. Bam-bam-bam-boom! Five or six gunshots rang out in rapid succession. The conscripted laborers all cried out as one and threw themselves face-down into the grass. After an interval, about ten more bullets came flying. The final two or three shots were terrifyingly precise—one man hiding in the grass took a bullet through the leg.

“Don’t stand up.” “Don’t make a sound.” “…………”

They continued to endure with immense patience, lying perfectly still. After that, the gunfire ceased. A white evening mist began to settle over them... It was then. Cautiously raising their heads together, “Run!”

With that, those who hoisted only one wounded comrade onto their backs and ran off were— However, about eighteen meters ahead of where they had stood up lay another who had been struck by a bullet and fallen. What misfortune—it was none other than that Echigo girl in the woven sedge hat who had just set out after asking these grass cutters for directions.

A Tempest in the Forest of the Mind

The woven sedge hat with its red cord snapped off lay in the dayflower grass where it had been since yesterday, having passed through the night.

However, the expanse of grassland stretching southeast from that riverbank—nearly a kilometer away—had completely transformed its appearance overnight. Takeda Shingen’s entire army, which had been gradually descending from Chausuyama since yesterday afternoon, crossed through Fuse Goake and Shinoi Village, shifted positions overnight before Amamiya’s Crossing, and by this morning could be seen arrayed in five rows with twelve legions centered around a single corps— (We have words for Kenshin on Mount Saijō.) As if to proclaim this intent, they had planted countless banners across their positions, vividly displaying even their crests to the enemy’s eyes.

(They approach imminently!) On Mount Saijō as well, they must have discovered it that morning in the sunlight piercing through gaps in the clouds—eyes widening, hands instinctively rising to shade their vision. Against this grave declaration by the Kōshū Army, Mount Saijō itself remained shrouded in morning mist for now, its night-long encampment lying perfectly still—not even a hint of awakening could be glimpsed through the haze. Moreover, the distance between there and here was perilously close.

The river here was wide, but once one crossed the waters of the Chikuma, the opposite bank could practically be considered the foothills of Mount Saijō. And then— As the sun climbed higher, the perceived distance between the two armies shrank. The morning mist that had enveloped the Kōshū Army's banners and the white fog blurring Mount Saijō's golden leaves, verdant greens, and crimson foliage gradually dissipated until the air had cleared enough that from their respective positions, each side could now discern the movements of the other's sentries and shadows of tethered horses.

On this day as well, Shingen within his curtained headquarters remained seated on his camp stool, meditating silently throughout the day before the enemy's Mount Saijō. "......?"

The doubt he had been harboring since yesterday still wore an unresolved expression on his face. It was the mind of the enemy general Kenshin on Mount Saijō—his will, his transformation, and his conviction. "What demonic schemes and divine calculations does he possess to display such recklessness, such rash acts, such audacity before me?"

And Shingen sat perplexed.

Like a bird caught in a fowler’s snare, his mental anguish could not help but writhe. Though seated on his camp stool with an air of composure, in truth, since yesterday, the detached units dispatched from this headquarters under his orders had flanked the enemy’s northeastern flank to emerge near Yashiro, severed liaison routes with the Hokkokukaidō highway, and even demonstrated a force poised to cleanly split apart Uesugi’s sole supporting stronghold—Asahijō Castle in Koshiba near Naganomura village—by pressing forward with these deployments. Yet Mount Saijō’s expressionless visage remained unchanged from yesterday to today—did it truly lack any will to fight?

It was as if, having agreed to a life-and-death duel with naked blades, when he rose up prepared to strike, the opponent—without assuming any defensive stance—had simply walked straight into the guard of his sword. Such was the attitude of Uesugi Kenshin. If this had been an idiot or a man incompetent in warfare, Shingen’s mental anguish would have been nonexistent. On the battlefield, none understood Shingen better than Kenshin—not even those within Shingen’s own headquarters. Conversely, none knew Kenshin’s true nature in greater detail than Shingen—not even those who stood at Kenshin’s side.

Swift as the wind, Silent as the forest. The characters on that massive battle standard—one jō and eight shaku in size—which he himself had raised as a declaration of his identity fluttered above Shingen’s head, seeming to ceaselessly hint at something. Yet his heart was by no means as tranquil as a secluded forest.

Sunshade.

Another morning came.

It was already August 28th. The units led by Yamagata Saburōbyōe and Hara Hayato, who had gone on a reconnaissance mission along the Susohanagawa River toward Nagano and Zenkōji, returned and— “We observed no movement at Asahijō either.”

they delivered this report. Shingen, upon hearing this,

“Are you certain that Koshiba Palace Attendant of Asahijō Castle showed no signs of leaving the fortress?” he pressed firmly. Both Hara Hayato and Yamagata,

“There is none—” they repeated clearly, “The notion that Saijoyama’s troops and Asahijō’s troops would lure our forces into a pincer attack is utterly inconceivable. Not only is there no such concern, but due to our allies having deployed in a position that interrupts between both sides, it appears that even the enemy’s supply transport to Saijoyama is facing extreme difficulty.” They stated explicitly.

For an instant, a shudder of dread flickered across Shingen’s face. When it passed, he resolved the doubts that had plagued him these past few days. Kenshin’s state of mind had, to some extent, been reflected within Shingen’s own.

“Den’u! Den’u!” "—It’s Hatsukano Den’emon!"

Not long after that, Shingen’s voice rang out toward the curtained enclosure where his hatamoto retainers were assembled.

“Here I am!” Den’emon ran through the wind-blown curtain hem and immediately knelt before Shingen’s camp stool. “Den’u, go and carry out this mission.” It was offhand—

“Come closer.”

At this gesture from those commanding eyes, Den’u—startled by some sudden realization—crawled forward on his knees toward the camp stool.

“To Saijoyama.”

As for what orders followed—those whispered commands were too quiet to hear. However, at that moment, all of Shingen’s generals and scribes had been kept at a distance. Before long, Hatsukano Den’emon was preparing to go to the enemy’s Saijoyama to meet Kenshin, adorned in the finery befitting an envoy. He changed his camp surcoat and even renewed his undergarment. Being a battlefield envoy, he took particular care to avoid bloodstained attire or traces of gore. Of course, it went without saying that preparations for a "tidying up" in death—in case of the worst within the enemy’s headquarters—had been thoroughly considered.

He took four or five subordinates with him. Among them, could there be the son of one of our allies, brought along by someone for his first campaign? There was also a boy warrior who looked no older than thirteen or fourteen. The young boy, carrying a long-handled sunshade, waited until Den’emon had left the encampment and reached the banks of the Chikuma River. Then, with a swift motion, he opened the sunshade and held it aloft over his master’s head. This umbrella was by no means meaningless travel attire.

It was stipulated by the laws of war that military envoys crossing a river must hold an umbrella while aboard the boat. It was established that no bullets or arrows would ever be fired at boats crossing over with umbrellas opened. The flat-bottomed riverboat, resembling an enlarged rice paddy skiff, now carried the boy holding aloft a sunshade, his master, and a few subordinates as it poled its way from the northern bank of the Chikuma River toward this shore. Cutting through the swift current, soldiers propelled their boat forward with deft thrusts of their poles while red dragonflies darted playfully above them. They perched on the tip of the pole momentarily before darting off—

Climbing Saijoyama "Oh... From the enemy side?" "A military envoy approaches." "It’s an envoy." The scouting unit standing at Saijoyama’s edge—who had kept constant watch over the opposite bank—now shaded their eyes with curiosity. Oni-Kojima Yatarō commanded seventy soldiers quartered in this area. Rustling through the brush, he emerged shielding his pockmarked face—its white scars visible—and muttered: "Hmm... That’s Hatsukano Den’emon of Kōshū—a samurai skilled in negotiation. What’s his purpose here?"

he muttered. Naturally, from the unit at the mountain's base—who must have spotted it earlier—a group could be seen immediately racing toward the riverbed. They numbered thirty or forty warriors. Toward the prow of the boat that had scraped ashore on this bank, "Where do you seek passage?" they divided into two flanking columns and thrust their spears forward to form a barrier. This was less a threat than a ritual for receiving a military envoy. The spears' beauty lay in their declaration of non-aggression. Equally striking were the sunshade's vivid hues descending into that white gleam. Most commendable of all was the envoy's unshaken composure.

“I am Hatsukano Den’emon, a retainer of Kōshū. Having received orders from my lord Shingen, I humbly request an audience with Lord Kenshin himself. Thus have I come to visit during this lull in the battle. I beg your conveyance.” “Wait here.” Leaving the encirclement formation as it was, one man ran to the unit. Soon, an officer arrived. And then, “We are still awaiting your lord’s response, but as this is the roadside, perhaps you would come to my encampment and rest awhile.”

With that, he guided him to his assigned post and provided a camp stool. Before long, Shibata Owarinokami and Oni-Kojima Yatarō, among others, descended from the mountain—ostensibly to greet him but in truth to provide security. "His Lordship has deigned to grant you an audience. Now then, please come along. I shall guide you." "I appreciate your trouble."

After bowing once, Hatsukano Den’emon followed after the two men. Naturally, he had left both his subordinates and the sunshade at the mountain base. —And thus the mountain path he ascended alone, step by step, wound almost entirely through Uesugi forces' banners, swords, horses, guns, and bows.

Along the way, Oni-Kojima Yatarō drew close to Den'emon's side and asked, "Do you remember this humble one's face?"

Den’emon replied with a faint smile, “Your face is quite hard to forget. After all, those white pockmarks make for a good identifier—yes, that must have been seven or eight years ago now.” he said.

“No, it can’t have been merely seven or eight years.” “This was before the armies of Kai and Echigo had ever clashed here.” “It must be ten years now.” “Ten years.” “How time flies.” They might have been mistaken for old comrades exchanging reminiscences after long separation. Yet their shared history held no such warmth—indeed, recalling it would make one’s hair stand on end. At that time, Oni-Kojima Yatarō—who had accompanied Kenshin on his journey to the capital—suddenly disappeared while en route to Kyoto. Some say Kenshin, nurturing grand designs for the future, had knowingly permitted this vanishing. Whether lord and vassal shared some tacit understanding mattered little—Yatarō spent at least two or three years afterward touring provincial armaments and fortifications. This was what later generations would call a warrior’s pilgrimage.

And then, at some point, he had come to be in Kōfu. Of course, entering the domain as someone bearing such a mission would have been difficult. He had been kneading fire-resistant clay for a castle-town gunsmith. With hands caked in mud like a plasterer’s, he built fire-resistant clay for casting barrel hoops and assisted with the bellows. Military commanders of the Takeda family who frequented Kōfu would sometimes pass in front of this house on horseback or in plain clothes. Among them was the gaze of Hatsukano Den'emon. On one occasion, he specifically requested that the man with white pockmarks deliver a matchlock gun ordered from his residence.

Yatarō delivered it. However, he merely handed it to someone in the residence and then immediately left Kai Province via the mountain pass. For he too had foreseen that had he entered beyond the gate, he would have been bound on the spot.

However, even that alone could be called a form of kindness on Den’emon’s part. If he had truly intended to capture him, he could have surrounded the blacksmith’s house directly and prevented his escape; moreover, had he dispatched mounted pursuers afterward, Yatarō might never have managed to flee beyond the borders. Yet none of this came to pass, and he returned safely to Echigo. ――Today marked their first meeting since that day long ago. It was a chance encounter that had brought them together this day. Thus, within their smiles were wrapped unspoken nostalgia and a wry sense of familiarity.

Kubisute Tatewaki

War is, in the end, a sophisticated expression of human strength pitted against strength. Throughout history, in every era, there has been no change in the fact that from the inception of actions to their outcomes, all lies in human strength. Political strategy, military tactics, economic management, and the utilization of talent—of course—harnessing the natural mountains, rivers, and plains; allying with the moonlight and blazing sunlight; devising advantages from the darkness of night and dawn; mobilizing every phenomenon down to the coming and going of clouds, the direction of winds, and the temperatures and weather of heat, cold, humidity, and aridity—imbuing them with mobility and breathing life into them—and yet the core that makes this "our camp" is humanity—nothing but human strength.

Therefore, the Sengoku period hones people. Moreover, each individual—without needing to seek others—must hone themselves; otherwise, they cannot survive the Sengoku era.

They were relentlessly trampled underfoot, falling by the wayside. Even the lives of those who were mourned went unnoticed, and the era pressed onward without a moment to spare for looking back. The lives of those who were not even mourned were treated as nothing. Thus, in the Eiroku 4th Year [1561], people were much, much more robust—far sturdier in bone—than in later eras like Tenshō or Keichō. They were bold-hearted, their lives laid bare in raw form.

The Echigo forces and the Kōfu forces were no different in this regard. The opposing entities known as the "Uesugi camp" and "Takeda camp"—these "camps" were such conglomerations of human strength.

Gathering here the cultivation of a composed mind and the tempering of the body, they stood under the impartial natural elements that favored neither friend nor foe. “Now!” they staked their respective purposes and beliefs here, and here they put them to the test.

Therefore, whether a camp's overall character would prove robust or fragile was determined by the quality of each individual composing that gathering—that "camp." When comparing from this perspective the Takeda camp at Amamiya Ford across the Chikuma River and the Uesugi camp atop Mt. Saijoyama at this time, neither could be considered particularly robust nor fragile. Both camps—from the veteran commanders and strategic generals under their banners down to the common soldiers—could truly be called assemblies of exceptional talent.

If we follow the adage that "a wise ruler attracts wise retainers," then perhaps their greatness lies precisely in their commanders—Shingen and Kenshin. It is said that Echigo's renowned retainers, widely acknowledged by society, are Usami, Kakizaki, Naoe, and Amakazu; while those famous as Kōshū's Four Retainers include Baba, Naitō, Obata, and Kōsaka. Moreover, in the Battle of Hara-no-machi of years past, there were many valiant warriors among their subordinates—men like Hoshina Danjō, who single-handedly charged into the Uesugi forces and speared twenty-three enemies to earn the epithet "Spear Danjō," or Sanada Danjō, whose military feats proved no less remarkable and saw him equally renowned as "Demon Danjō."

Spear Danjō and Demon Danjō were valiant warriors of the Kōshū faction, but among those serving under Uesugi as well existed countless individuals whose martial prowess was in no way inferior to theirs. Yamamoto Tatewaki—whom Kenshin favored above all others—had even been called Asura. In every battle, even when retreat gongs rang and allies began withdrawing, he would not return from enemy territory unless he was absolutely last. Each time he returned, his form would be dyed crimson from his helmet's crest down to his straw sandal cords. Moreover, no matter what enemy commander's head he took, he never fastened it at his waist to bring back. By doing so, his deeds went unrecorded in the military merit ledger,

“All your hard-earned military achievements will go to waste.”

When people would say this, he replied, “No military achievement is wasted.”

he is said to have answered. If one carries heads as trophies for military glory and concerns oneself with their count, it will hinder one’s subsequent deeds. That was his creed. Thus—in Echigo, they gave him nicknames like *Kubisute Tatewaki* (“Head-Discarding Tatewaki”), but because of this, his deeds never appeared in the military merit ledger, and for many years he remained a low-ranking commander of about fifty foot soldiers. There was a reason why his lord Kenshin had subtly shown him favor, but there was also another, separate circumstance involved.

It had become known without anyone explicitly stating it that Yamamoto Tatewaki’s elder brother was Yamamoto Kansuke Dōki, the master strategist of Kai Province. Upon closer examination, though their fathers appeared to differ, it became clear that he was undoubtedly Kansuke’s half-brother—raised together since childhood. However, even though his brother remained within the Kōshū army, in the several subsequent battles between the Kōshū and Echigo forces, Tatewaki’s conduct on the battlefield never differed in the slightest from his actions in other campaigns.

If anything, it was even more fierce. “Even so—for brothers to serve in opposing camps must be bitter indeed for them as men. There must be days when even their allies worry for them.” Kenshin, who had always spoken thus, in the year of the Eiroku 1 truce—the year the temporary peace between Kōshū and Echigo was established—finally sent this beloved and indispensable retainer of his to Tokugawa Kurando Motoyasu of Mikawa. attaching the messenger Imokawa Heidayū to his earnest written message,

(Though he is a cherished retainer whom I can scarcely bear to relinquish to another house—due to circumstances I need not elaborate—and as he himself finds this plight pitiable, if I must part with one so difficult to part with, I earnestly entreat you to extend your watchful care over him for years hence.) He imbued the messenger’s words with his intent and earnestly entrusted the man’s future to Motoyasu’s care.

Yatarō: Daily Precepts

Oni-Kojima Yatarō’s original surname was Kojima, and his given name was simply Yatarō Ichitada; only the “Oni” had been added later. He was born in Kamigō, Echigo Province, said to be the child of a cow herder.

When he was fifteen or sixteen years old, Kenshin—returning from a hunting expedition or some such outing—saw his unusual appearance and took him back, entrusting him to Usami Suruga-no-kami’s unit. “Take him in and raise him.” he entrusted him to Usami’s care. “Yata, are you an oni’s child?”

From that time onward, he was often teased by adults. His exceptional strength, red hair, and smallpox-scarred face likely contributed to this—but Kamigō in Echigo Province was also said to be where Shuten-dōji of Ōeyama had once landed from the sea according to legend, and this myth became associated with him. However, as he matured into a full-fledged warrior, the name ceased to seem strange. He grew into a formidable drinker. Though people of Echigo generally drank heavily due to their snowy climate, his consumption was truly bottomless. He held records like six shō in a single night and one to per day. Moreover, he even appeared to take pride in it.

In their pursuit of honing martial skills and cultivating manhood, there existed an ironclad rule concerning food and drink among the Echigo household. As a tenet, one of the articles promulgated in the domain's ordinances stated:

1. Do not drink heavily; even if one does not become intoxicated, it appears perilous in the eyes of others. Moreover, it becomes an ailment to the internal organs. 2. Gluttony is the height of baseness. It is nothing more than self-indulgent pleasure. Consider enjoying in moderation with retainers and friends as the highest principle; despise solitary indulgence and excess.

1. In all matters of food and drink, one must exercise great restraint. If one were to fall ill, it would bring disgrace upon the morning’s battlefield. If one were to lose their life, they would betray the twin paths of loyalty and filial piety. It would invite the mockery of generations to come and the disgrace of one’s house—outcomes even worse than achieving no merit on the battlefield. This was merely a section of the Uesugi clan’s precepts intended for retainers in general, but Kenshin further appended his name as the general of the headquarters to, Fushikian Household Daily Moral Cultivation Scroll he had been presenting a sort of “Bushido precepts” to the domain’s youth.

A lifetime's duty: today's affairs

Commencing with:

1. Rise at dawn and perform ablutions. Rituals for ancestral gods and Buddha worship go without saying. 2. Patrol the estate once around; for men, tying one’s hair promptly is of foremost importance. Meals shall not exceed two prepared dishes.

1. The stable shall be inspected daily without fail, even when there appears to be no immediate need. 1. Consider all those in my household as your own children. Show compassion and benevolence as you would apply polishing powder to your sword. 1. Even if they are my beloved children at night, do not let them sleep by my side. Keep the bedding attendants warm; leave my child in the cold. While these covered everything from the minutiae of daily clothing, food, and shelter to public duties, friendships, correspondence, and leisure, when it came to moral cultivation as a warrior, Kenshin’s policy instructed as follows.

1. Apart from one’s household duties, if there is leisure, one shall make an effort to study literature.

1. Though poetry is the duty of court nobles, it is good for warriors to hold some appreciation for it. Having some is better than having none. 1. The lord's words and retainers' duties are like wind and plants; those who guard them with iron resolve are called truly loyal retainers. 1. Do not argue with the people over even a single word or phrase. That which we know being spoken by others holds interest; listening to others speak of what we do not know is the path to understanding. An ancient proverb states: Cedars stand straight; pines bend—how fitting! Each to your own hearts.

1. Do not dwell on thoughts of “loneliness.” One may even take those of unseen ages as friends. If you feel lonely, open the documents of your household duties. Countless urgent matters and pressing duties lie within them. Though the articles were numerous, even glimpsing this fragment alone revealed how Kenshin devoted meticulous care daily to cultivating his warriors—and how the entire household, bound by these ironclad rules, silently honed themselves for emergencies. What lay there surpassed imagination.

However, even with such ironclad rules and organization, they were not a lord and retainers who took pride in mere lifeless form. Even these ironclad rules were infused with human vitality, and the domain as an organization was bound soul to soul, human to human. Thus, even someone like Oni-Kojima Yatarō—with all his habits—was permitted to dwell within that framework for a time, and until he became a full-fledged member, "Problem child"

Even if he had not yet become the very epitome of a “problem child,” from his friends to his superiors, “Someday, when the time comes, we’ll be of use to you.” It seemed they were compensating for his shortcomings in such a manner. However, in Oni-Kojima Yatarō’s case alone, even those around him were growing somewhat weary. Even when they provided him with a wife, no matter what they tried, his heavy drinking would not cease.

Not only that, but he would also frequently stray from the explicit precepts of the warrior’s code that Kenshin had laid out. There was a terrible incident.

Winter.

It was a night of heavy snow, characteristic of Echigo. At the corner where the moat of Kasugayama Castle met the road to the main gate stood a gathering place for the guard samurai who kept watch over the Second and Third Gates in that vicinity. The guards' residence and townspeople called it that. Through gaps in the snowdrifts there, light seeped out. “Hey! Open up! Open up!”

Then, someone was violently knocking there.

Inside, more than ten off-duty guards sat drinking in a circle. It appeared to be one of those nights when they often gathered with each bringing a shō of sake. “Don’t open it,” someone warned. “That’s Oni-Kojima’s voice.” “If he barges in here, we’re done for,” another muttered. “He’ll drink us all dry.” “The blizzard sounds fierce,” a third remarked. “Keep pretending you don’t hear him. He’ll give up and leave eventually.” Inside, they treated this as added amusement, neither responding nor ceasing their adjustments of the hearth fire—poking logs in and out. Outside, Yatarō showed no sign of departing.

“Hey! “I’ll freeze to death!” “Open up!” “Hey! Won’t you open up?” “Pretending not to hear won’t work!” “It’s Yatarō’s nose!” “When I passed by earlier, didn’t it come wafting over?” “How could I just pass by this snowy road?” “...Don’t be mean now.” “Oi!” “Hey!!”

Inside the house, stifled giggles could be heard. Yatarō knocked even more fiercely,

“What fools you are! After I went through all the trouble of bringing these fine goodies for drinks, you’d waste this—this very offering?!” Perhaps because he sounded convincing—or perhaps lured by the promised snacks or simply worn down—those inside finally relented, opening the door to welcome Yatarō into their circle. Yatarō drank voraciously. Having arrived empty-handed, he consumed enough for five men before sprawling by the hearth, soon filling the room with thunderous snores.

“What an unpardonable rogue!” One of them surveyed the conspicuously vacant seating arrangements because of him and complained. “This is becoming habitual.” Exchanging meaningful glances and nodding in unison, they roughly shook Yatarō awake. Then they censured him, declaring it unconscionable for a samurai to utter falsehoods.

“Bring out the snacks. Hey, where’s that souvenir you promised?”

When they all pressed him, “Snacks?” With that, Yatarō replied nonchalantly, “There are none here.” “So, it was a lie?” “Apologize.” “On your hands and knees, apologize for your lie.” “Otherwise, cut your belly open!” “It’s simply that there are none here. There’s no need for seppuku over this.” “Then bring them here, right now!” “I can bring them. However—it’s you lot who are beyond words.” “What do you mean ‘beyond words’?!” “There isn’t even enough alcohol here to get me drunk. The snacks I bring aren’t such cheap stuff. Go procure more alcohol. Then I’ll bring them.”

“Even if we don’t procure any, there’s still plenty of alcohol left.” “It’s because you didn’t bring out the snacks that we’ve been holding back.”

“What? You still have some left?”

“Bring out the snacks, or else get down on your hands and knees and apologize to everyone.” “What... That’s ridiculous!” “I’ll bring them now.”

He stood up and staggered out into the snow. And before long, “Here! I’ve brought it! How’s this for a snack—a rare delicacy under heaven! Ever tasted anything like it?”

With that, he held up something he had brought dangling from his hand at the entrance to the room.

“Ah…?” Those who were there sobered up completely the moment they laid eyes on it. The Duck of Worldly Desires

The thing Yatarō had shown was a duck from the moat. He was grasping the duck by the neck and holding it up above his face to show them. Of course, the duck was dead.—Come to think of it, there had been a gunshot-like sound in the snowy wind moments earlier. He might have taken the matchlock gun that hung in this great hall and finished it off with a single shot.

“You’ve done a terrible thing…” Every face, every single face turned pale, and they could feel no appetite for it. For on the notice boards by the moat,

Catching Ducks Strictly Prohibited was clearly written, and from Lord Kenshin’s usual words, “The waterfowl of the moat are also one of the fortress’s defenses.” they had heard this teaching. Of course, violators were punishable by death—a law that had been in place since the time of the previous lord. Yatarō, passing through toward the kitchen, looked down at the silent group, “Someone, put on the pot. I’ll pluck the feathers as it is and cook it up.” he said.

Faithfully, he went outside the kitchen, plucked the feathers, separated the meat and bones, and soon returned with them arranged on a large platter. But there was no one left there.

“...What happened to everyone?”

He muttered this, but without giving it much thought, he put on the pot by himself, ate by himself, and then went to sleep.

Instead, when dawn broke, officials came, solemnly surrounded him, and dragged him into the castle. He was dragged before Kenshin, "Why did you violate the prohibition?" When he was interrogated thus, his answer was exceedingly ordinary. "You see, every day when I come and go from the castle, seeing so many of them flying about made this worldly desire to taste one grow unbearable. To rid myself of that craving, I resolved to take a single one for myself."

Kenshin gave a wry smile. Still, such an answer could never warrant exemption. After all, being Yatarō, he must have wielded sophistry throughout his life. Though recognizing this as sophistry, Kenshin’s true intent had likely been reluctance to execute a valued vassal over a mere duck; thus, without ceremony, Yatarō was pardoned with mere house arrest. Yatarō’s disappearance occurred soon after, during Kenshin’s journey to the capital, and only upon his return to the domain three years later was his prior offense formally absolved. Moreover, through warrior training, he himself underwent complete transformation—now possessing both wisdom and valor—and was gradually promoted through merit until he stood recognized among the people as a distinguished commander,

“Hatsukano Den’emon of Kai—” When one spoke of Hatsukano Den’emon of Kai—without fail—

“In Echigo, there is Oni-Kojima Yatarō.” had come to be such that one would immediately be made to think: Lance. That Hatsukano Den’emon, appearing today at this Mount Saijoyama encampment as an envoy of the Takeda forces, had unexpectedly encountered his old acquaintance Oni-Kojima Yatarō. As they ascended toward the mountaintop where Kenshin’s headquarters stood, they walked while conversing so amicably that they hardly seemed like enemies. Yet the reason for Yatarō’s devotion to this man did not stem solely from a mere shred of personal gratitude—that he had been saved by Den’emon during his time hiding in Kōfu.

During his time in Kōfu, he had heard various accounts of the man’s character,

“Even within Kōfu, a samurai among samurai” because he had secretly acknowledged this.

At that time, even in the town of Kōfu, there was such a rumor that had spread. At Tsutsujigasaki Palace, when Den’emon withdrew from his lord’s presence, a monk’s sword had been placed in the antechamber of the inner court. Whether Den’emon had accidentally stepped on it or not, the monk became enraged. [The monk] flew into a towering rage.

“How dare you trample upon my very soul with your foot!”

The monk spoke with the bearing of a warrior. Monks, as a rule, are prone to resentment. Because they lack military exploits, they resent those who do. And they seek to counter this through internal political power. Such emotions are ever-present. Therefore, they refuse to let such opportunities pass unaddressed. They simply will not yield. "I have no excuse. In this manner, Den’emon places both hands on the ground and humbly offers his apology—"

He prostrated himself and apologized profusely. Despite this, the monk,

“A mere apology will not suffice.”

he persisted until finally, when Den’emon asked what he should do, “You trampled my sword underfoot.” “Even I must at least deliver a single punch to your head as retribution, or my anger won’t subside.” the monk declared. Den’emon, still prostrated, edged forward, “Then proceed.” and offered up his head.

The monk struck with all his might. The matter was no more than this, but when the townspeople of Kōfu heard of it, “Truly, he is a man of honor.”

And so, they all understood Den’emon’s true feelings and sympathized with him. For everyone knew that Den’emon was such a warrior that when he took to the battlefield, he always bore the emblem of the shogi “Lance” piece upon both his helmet crest and banners.

He was a man who had publicly pledged his resolve—"I shall not retreat"—by emblazoning that "Lance" upon his helmet crest and banners. Everyone immediately realized that such a man would never have allowed his head to be struck by the monk’s fist out of mere mindless fear of clerical influence, and they recounted it with even greater reverence. This incident would much later be attributed to Kimura Shigenari of Osaka Castle, becoming one of the anecdotes told to illustrate his character. However, it seems this version involving Den’emon had already circulated among the populace long before that.

Be that as it may. Guided by Oni-Kojima Yatarō through this Mount Saijoyama encampment, the envoy Hatsukano Den'emon made his way to Kenshin's headquarters. Kenshin, having received word, was already seated on a camp stool waiting.

The Focal Figure The one who greeted the envoy was Wada Kiheiei of the close attendants. He stood outside the camp curtain awaiting the arrival of the enemy envoy approaching this place. "...Ah, how quiet." Guided by Oni-Kojima Yatarō and others, the envoy Den'emon—who had come this far—unconsciously halted his steps and looked up at the treetops around him and the calls of birds. And then, secretly in his heart, (It was good I changed out of my blood-stained attire.) He thought that had he arrived in such warlike array—all bristling hostility—he would have been made a laughingstock.

So serene was the atmosphere around them. Even though shadows of armor and glints of swords and spears were visible, they were by no means intimidating the lone envoy. There was no sense of bluster-like pomp or ostentation. Moreover, around the curtained enclosure spanning about one hundred tsubo, even the broom marks stood neatly. It was exactly like a hermit’s mountain retreat. On the neatly swept earth, pine needles lay scattered.

Kenshin had encamped here around the 16th day, and today was the 28th. During that time, rain had fallen and winds had blown. Consequently, within the enclosure could be seen roofs of temporary shelters sufficient to withstand rain and dew—they had been thatched with cedar bark, cypress bark, and such. “Honorable Envoy. “Then we shall humbly take our leave here.” “From here onward, the envoy greeter shall guide you.” “What you see yonder is the honorable seat where Lord Kenshin resides.”

Yatarō and his men, having completed the handover of duties, made their way down toward the foothills. Naturally, Den’emon’s custody was transferred to Wada Kiheiei, and Kiheiei guided him, winding through several paths between the curtained grounds. “Please take your seat.”

Urged by this, the envoy Den’emon finally realized that Kenshin was there beyond the single layer of thin cloth before his eyes. On the mat provided, he sat quietly. The mat was a floor covering used within the encampment, and when taking a seat, one assumed the formal cross-legged posture of a warrior. This was what was called sitting cross-legged. “…………” The curtain before his eyes, which he had been staring at intently, was soundlessly drawn aside. At the same time, Den’emon lowered his head. And upon hearing Kenshin’s voice, he raised his face.

“You are Hatsukano Den’emon of the Takeda house.” “Though our armies have faced each other these many days without crossing blades, you come now as an urgent envoy—what matter do you bring before this Kenshin?” “Let me hear at once what message Kizan Daikoji has entrusted to you.”

Those were Kenshin’s words.

Den’emon once again lowered his head with a start there. There was no need to rush any answer. While telling himself this, as he steadied several breaths beneath his abdomen, he fixed his gaze intently and imprinted upon his pupils the very essence of the man known as Fusō-an Kenshin, whom he now beheld for the first time.

The Envoy’s Party

Kenshin had set up a camp stool on the grass and was leaning against it in an immaculately neat appearance. Over black-thread-laced armor, he wore a surcoat embroidered with chrysanthemum and paulownia patterns, with nothing more than a long tachi in a leather sheath laid out beside him. Merely by the autumn sun filtering through the trees, each time the gold rivets of his armor and the fittings of his long sword shifted with his movements, they glittered so intensely that it struck the eyes of onlookers. That said, Kenshin’s gaze was not one that sought to intimidate. On his full cheeks, the hem of his warbler-brown Zen priest’s hood hung. The softness and those eyes were not discordant.

What particularly caught Den’emon’s eye were the seventeen-string Chinese zither and small drum placed in one corner. The helmet of Namban iron crafted by Myōchin, with silver fukigaeshi cheek guards, was enshrined like an heirloom atop the armor chest beside it. A zither and a helmet.

And this person.

Den’emon compared them. No, that was already secondary; he was humbly conveying his message as an envoy to Kenshin just as it was. “Therefore, in accordance with my lord Shingen’s esteemed words, this recent challenge is truly a matter of utmost regret.” “Though we humbly perceive Your Lordship’s wrath stems from the matter of Warigadake—and had there been due cause for such grievance, peaceable discourse might yet have been achieved—Your sudden mobilization leaves us no choice but to deem the esteemed pact of the Eiroku 1st Year already annulled.” “...Having understood thus, we of the Kō Army have come to this place to pay our respects.”

“Hmm... And...” With that, Kenshin formed a smile. Den’emon began to speak with a slightly strengthened tone. “—Therefore, as my lord Shingen declares: The houses of Kō and Etsu have summoned storms of arrows and spears across these mountains and rivers, competing in martial strategy—three or four great battles, and skirmishes beyond count. The world mocks us; the peasants suffer. This time, he earnestly requests that you, Lord Kenshin, join him in gladly waging one grand battle to clearly determine victory or defeat.”

“Ah, so that’s how it is. A long-cherished desire indeed! When you return, do convey that Kenshin too agrees.” “In that case—with all due respect—I humbly inquire: Your Lordship’s deployment across the Sai and Chikuma Rivers in such depth demonstrates martial valor and singular daring that even Lord Shingen marvels at it, declaring it a warrior’s fortune to be born into arms and face a worthy foe. Yet now, does Your Lordship intend to storm Kaizu Castle henceforth? Or do you mean to engage Lord Shingen in open battle upon this plain? Such is my master’s command to ascertain.—I earnestly request Your Lordship’s definitive reply.”

“This shows remarkable thoroughness of late.” “Whether concerning Warigadake or this battlefield’s arrangements—the invitations, the seating—the lead role belongs to Kai’s Venerable Kizan, I presume.” “You are the host; we are the guests.” “Therefore, whether you set before us a meager traveler’s meal or a banquet of mountain-and-sea delicacies—the host may begin this feast as he pleases.” “We of Echigo—Kenshin and all my men—are northern-bred souls with iron resolve. We’ve no need for half-measures in your battle menu.” “Hah! There you have my formal reply.” “Den’emon—this day’s errand must have wearied you.”

With that, Kenshin briskly concluded the discussion himself, issued an order to the veteran general waiting at his side, then lifted the rear curtain and withdrew into the temporary quarters. Wada Kiheiei, tasked with guest reception, received instructions from the veteran general. He guided the remaining envoy beyond the curtained enclosure, arranged seating in a separate temporary shelter, and hosted him with food and drink. “A token from our lord Kenshin,” he said. “Though camp provisions are meager, please accept this humble substitute for a proper meal.” Sensing their meticulous hospitality even amid wartime formalities, Den’emon accepted the cup. Kiheiei divided portions onto an unvarnished wooden tray,

“I shall now go and fetch Lord Oni-Kojima here, so please feel free to converse at your leisure.”

With that, he bowed politely and took his leave.

Flowers of the riverbank. Looking at the dishes on the tray, they were not river fish or vegetables from this area. They were products of the sea from Echigo, and delicacies from the snow country. The sake, of course, was not refined. However, its aroma was incomparably better than that of Kai or Shinano.—If they were carrying even such things as this, their supply train must surely be laden with an immense quantity of provisions. Den’emon immediately began contemplating such matters. Before long, Oni-Kojima Yatarō came alone to receive him.

“Here, please make yourself at ease without reservation.”

Yatarō made the first move to be approachable. And he added: “Your lord has heard from this Yatarō about that time in past years when I infiltrated the castle town of Kōfu and, thanks to you, was able to leave the country without difficulty—and knows of that matter.” “Therefore, I believe it must be my lord’s gracious intention to deliberately have me attend to your hospitality, so as to rekindle old bonds between us.” “…I express my gratitude once again.” “At that time, I was deeply honored by your sparing me.” “Thanks to your help, I was able to return to Echigo and have been serving in this way ever since.”

“No, no—your gratitude is nothing but a bother.” “I don’t know how you’ve taken this to heart, but I, Den’emon, have no recollection whatsoever of ever letting an enemy spy slip through my fingers—not even once.” “I do recall you—disguised—kneading fire and earth at a blacksmith’s house in Kōfu.” “But such cases can be said to be not uncommon occurrences between enemy and ally.” “Ah, right! That remark of yours just reminded me.” “How many honorable daughters do you have?”

“Are you asking about my honorable daughters?” He must have been startled by the abruptness. A glint of that nature surfaced in Den’emon’s eyes. Here beneath this battlefield sky—within enemy lines he had entered as an envoy—this could only be called a panic born of groping through his entire being for a memory that did not exist. “Both my eldest and second daughters have wed into other houses. I have none I call daughter beyond them—” “No—you do have one.”

Yatarō took a sip of sake into his laughing mouth.

“When I was in Kōfu—at that time—there was indeed your lovely daughter who had not yet reached ten years of age. I saw her in town and at your family shrine’s garden—I remember well. However, years later, I saw that same young lady in Kasugayama’s castle town. To my surprise, she had become a servant in the household of Kurokawa Ōsumi, a vassal of the Uesugi family. They say she was taken in through arrangements by someone around Zenkōji Temple and hired as a nursemaid for the Ōsumi family’s only daughter… Her name was Tsuruna-dono, with a mole near the left corner of her lips. And there’s something about her that resembles your features.”

“…………” “Lord Den’emon, during your pilgrimage to Zenkōji or some such occasion, do you not recall having lost such an honorable daughter along the way? If you wish to inquire, I would be happy to inform you of her whereabouts.”

The stout-boned Sengoku warrior’s fierce spirit had already revived within Den’emon’s gut at this moment. Suddenly, he spilled the sake from his cup and burst into laughter. “No—now that you mention it, this Den’emon has recalled it as well. “Truly, several years ago, I did indeed lose my youngest daughter near Zenkōji. “That she was picked up and taken to Echigo, and that you happened to see her there—what a strange twist of fate—truly strange! “She must have grown into a fine young woman by now. “Yet I have no desire to see her. “I’ll let her stay where she is and leave the rest to heaven’s will. “After all, she was a child I had lost.”

“Well, you are a steadfast parent, aren’t you? If your child remains where she was, that would be well enough—but according to this humble one’s knowledge, Tsuruna-dono no longer resides in Echigo. Moreover, she recently departed Echigo attempting to return to the skies where her parents and siblings dwell. Yet alas, before she could set foot in Kōshū’s soil, it seems she became separated once more in these parts. No doubt she now prays to be gathered up by her true parent’s hand this time.”

“What—around here—” Den’emon involuntarily set his cup down. At that very moment, he had once again become a father to his child. As if thrashing against bonds he could never sever—no matter how hard he tried—he inched his knees forward. “Is that… true?” “What you just said—” “Why would you jest about such a thing now?” “Wh-why would she be around here…?” “I don’t know the details, but last evening on the far bank of the Chikuma River, a traveling woman wandered in from nowhere.” “She appeared to be asking directions from Takeda laborers cutting horse fodder.” “Our lookouts on Saijoyama show no mercy when they spot Takeda forces.” “They lined up four or five matchlocks and fired on the laborers.” “That shot—alas—struck Tsuruna-dono somewhere. From this very mountain, I—thinking she resembled someone—stared intently before rushing down to stop the foot soldiers, but it was too late.” “I meant to cross the river at once to save her, but then reconsidered—whether dragging her back here would bring her fortune or misery—that was the question. By dawn today, no trace of her remained.” “According to the foot soldiers, peasant grass-cutters carried her off under dusk’s cover and fled somewhere distant…… So she was injured but likely alive.” “I had been brooding over this since morning when—as if timed by fate—you arrived as an envoy from the enemy camp across the river.” “This was no coincidence.” “Perhaps Zenkōji’s Buddha orchestrated this meeting… Though you’ve no leisure from war duties—should you find even a moment—I suspect she’s being tended to in some peasant home near Kawanakajima.” “Go search for her.” “No—extend the Tathagata’s hand to her.”

Yatarō took the sake bottle, poured for the envoy, then poured for himself, repeatedly filling their cups.

Den’emon abruptly withdrew from his seat.

“This humble one has availed himself of your gracious hospitality. “This humble one has partaken sufficiently. “Kindly convey my regards to your lord.” “Will you be departing?”

“This is my inescapable lot.” “I fear overstaying.” “Furthermore—regarding your earlier kindness—I find myself at a loss for words to express my gratitude.” “When I remove my armor, this humble one is no different from any parent in the world. But clad in my armor, even should I witness a parent’s death, a wife’s tears, or a child’s blood before my very eyes, I shall have no memory of it.” “I have my own battle to fight.” “Therefore, I must inform you now: though today we share drinks here, and tomorrow we meet amidst troops by the banks of the Sai and Chikuma Rivers, Hatsukano Den’emon’s spear tip shall not dull in the slightest.”

“There’s no need for your concern.” “If that’s how it stands, then this Oni-Kojima Yatarō too—”

He grinned and stood up.

“Then, I shall escort you to the foot of the mountain.”

*Illusion and Reality* The messenger boat under a parasol once again crossed the waters of the Chikuma and returned to the opposite bank. Far in the distance, the Kō Army’s presence looming over Amamiya Ford and its surroundings awaited the envoy’s return with such intensity that even the wind whistling through their clustered banners revealed their impatience. “Lord Hatsukano has now returned.”

When this rapid voice reached Shingen in the central army, the air within the command tent abruptly tensed. Den'emon strode through and prostrated himself some distance from the camp stools where Shingen and his clan's generals sat. "...How was it?"

It was Shingen's question.

To the frank question, with a frank answer, Den’emon stated what he had observed. “—The enemy camp maintains extraordinary composure." "In Kenshin’s countenance, one could discern a serenity anticipating certain victory." “Moreover, all officers and soldiers appear to have marched forth from their province sworn to die.” “The camp’s cleanliness and strict discipline show not a single thread of disorder.” “Considering all this through my humble analysis, Saijoyama’s deployment is neither reckless nor lacking in strategy.” “Yet neither does it appear to be a calculated military scheme.” "What we confront here is the strategy of no strategy—the law beyond laws." "It is a formation stripped bare." "They stand ready for a suicidal charge." “Otherwise, how could Commander Kenshin’s central forces radiate such Zen-like voidness?” “Emptiness is reality itself.” “When I stood there—I felt myself crushed between illusion and reality, trembling at their duality.” “You must never launch surprise attacks—night raids or dawn assaults—against them.” “Whether engulfed by reality or trapped in illusion’s void, none would return alive.”

he explained in detail. Of course, he also faithfully recounted Kenshin’s response to their message exactly as it was spoken. Shingen remained silent, listening intently throughout. A single vein beside his hairy earhole swelled thickly. Until the sun set, this camp was in a tumultuous uproar for some reason. It stood in stark contrast to the central army at Saijoyama. In the curtained enclosure where Shingen resided, his clan and the star generals of Kōyama were gathered in close consultation for half a day, with people coming and going in constant succession. Even the horses outside the camp were neighing with such ferocity here that it was truly clamorous.

An autumn night as dark as ink once again revealed a world of nothing but insect chirps and stars.

Not long after mist-like cooking smoke began to rise from the camps, the Takeda banners gradually started to move. It was toward the upstream of the Chikuma River. Naturally, it had to be assumed that the enemy on Saijoyama was closely observing this movement. It could not be assumed that, toward their flank during this movement, a tempest of bullets and a cavalry charge from the opposite bank would not come crashing through at any moment, kicking up spray in their ferocious assault. While fully prepared for that defense—they were conducting an exceedingly perilous redeployment right under the enemy’s gaze.

The winding black flow seemed broader and longer than the Chikuma River’s span. And around midnight, part of the vanguard had already crossed a tributary of the Chikuma near Hirose. “……He had deciphered them— Shingen’s intentions.” On Saijoyama’s heights, Kenshin must have muttered this. The fact that the Kō Army had begun crossing the Hirose tributary made it all too easy to infer that their entire force was now heading toward Kaizu Castle. First, they would enter Kaizu Castle, join forces with their ally Danjō’s troops there, and further augment their military strength—that Shingen intended to respond to this Saijoyama with every stratagem and preparation lay as clearly in Kenshin’s mind as counting the stars of the Big Dipper.

Land Islands

If one viewed the plains as an ocean through a strategic lens, then the hills and mountains scattered across them could be regarded as islands in a vast sea, their utility coming into consideration. Kenshin's encampment on Saijoyama had been an early initiative to secure a forward base by leveraging the terrain's advantages, while Shingen's withdrawal from the plains to enter Kaizu Castle— "A prolonged encampment in exposed terrain is dangerous." —must have been motivated by such thinking. In that sense, a castle too could be called an island. It was a landlocked fortress port—a natural stronghold enhanced by human artifice.

Kaizu Castle was backed by mountains on three sides, with only its western face opening onto the plain like the mouth of a harbor. Beneath it flowed the Chikuma River, forming a vast natural outer moat. "You cannot discuss castles without having seen Kaizu Castle."

This was a phrase often repeated among the martial-minded warriors of that era who were deeply invested in castle-building techniques. Some attributed it to the meticulous planning of Baba Nobuharu, Minbu Shōyū—a renowned general of Kai—while others asserted it was designed by Yamamoto Kansuke. In any case, this place perpetually projected silent defiance toward the lands of Echigo. It stood as Takeda's spearhead. For the Takeda faction, mobilizing from Kōfu to this distant frontier whenever conflict arose constituted no ordinary military undertaking.

Therefore, it was necessary to maintain a standing garrison of fortress troops; moreover, it served as a base when large armies arrived, and should a prolonged encampment occur, its stockpiled provisions, horse fodder, and armories would prove critically vital. Of course, the Uesugi side also required such conditions. If one compares the distance from Kōfu to here with that from the Uesugi’s home province to this location, the latter was indeed much shorter. However, the wretched state of the roads meant it remained a campaign fought far from their homeland, no different from being in foreign territory.

Therefore, he too had the Mizusashi-yama Fortress in the north of Minamuchi District. Yet Kenshin had abandoned such strongholds far behind and advanced southward deep into enemy territory. Moreover, though the Asahiyama fortress—located midway between Zenkōji and the Sai River, closer to this battlefield than the Mizusashi-yama Fortress—ought to have been a dependable stronghold, Kenshin had abandoned even that distant redoubt without a second thought. Even when Shingen first moved his camp from Mt. Chausu to Amamiya Crossing and proceeded to sever the connection between Asahiyama Castle and Saijoyama, to Kenshin on Saijoyama, it appeared as though he was deliberately welcoming a perilous position and glorifying his isolation. Even Shingen, who had spent over forty years of his life on battlefields up to this day, had never before encountered such an enemy nor known of such battle formations existing.

Woodpecker Tactics

Outside the arrow slit, everything was hazed in a milky mist. It seemed to be falling—something between mist and a light drizzle. “Hyōbu, what is your assessment?” “Speak without reserve.” Shingen’s eyes fixed. They were eyes like amber orbs. Centered around the movement of those eyes, today’s military council convened once more.

It was inside Kaizu Castle. The space felt dim and cavernous, as if they were within the hollow womb of a Great Buddha. Though daytime, candles had been placed throughout the chamber, their flames flickering damply. Those assembled for the council comprised only the most restricted circle of qualified individuals: clan members, veteran commanders, and castle lords such as Kōsaka Danjō.

Ōbu Hyōbu Toramasa was a brave general known as the Fierce Tiger of Kōzan. True to his name, when Shingen called upon him to speak, he did so without hesitation. “To this warrior, such a prolonged encampment of inaction and these daily councils can only be declared useless.” “Useless, you say?”

“They serve only to weaken morale.” “When our eighteen-thousand-strong army set out from Kōfu, we were resolved to crush Saijoyama in one swift strike and press straight into Echigo territory in a single push.” “Yet, without doing so, you needlessly shift your encampments, probe the enemy, gauge Kenshin’s intentions—displaying an uncharacteristic indecision—and further shut yourself within this castle to spend day after day in councils such as these. It is only natural that the troops grow weary of the tedium.”

One could say that even this man had reached the limits of how bluntly he could speak. Shingen listened in sullen silence, his thick chin slightly upturned. "...And?" As he made a face that seemed to await further words, Hyōbu only intensified his tone. "Even the shadow of a mindless thing can be perceived in myriad ways if one insists on seeing intent within it. Our efforts to gauge Kenshin's intentions while encircling Saijoyama are akin to the folly of mistaking every shadow cast by moonlight for a specter - seeing phantoms where none exist. In my observation, Kenshin has no strategy - this warrior concludes. He has no strategy - it is merely our allies' overthinking. It resembles the act of a man casting his own shadow and then tormenting himself to interpret it."

"Hmm. That too has merit." Shingen deliberately neither scolded nor voiced any opposition. Slowly, he turned his gaze to Sanada Yukitaka, "And you?"

he asked.

Yukitaka replied tersely,

“I find Lord Hyōbu’s argument most reasonable,” he replied simply. “What do you think, Shōyōken?” Turning to his younger brother beside him, Shingen posed a similar question.

Takeda Shōyōken also largely supported Ōbu Hyōbu’s argument, “While we remain in this state, there is no guarantee that even larger reinforcements from Echigo will not arrive to cut off our rear, or that they will not launch an even more unexpected strategy." “Any actions taken under such circumstances will all end up being too late.”

he added, “Moreover, though Shinano Province is already largely under Kai Province’s dominion, Kenshin has boldly advanced deep into this very province with his entrenched position. Yet despite our Kai forces’ far superior numbers compared to the enemy, if we continue to hesitate and vacillate—unable to act or take initiative indefinitely—it will appear as though we fear Kenshin’s capabilities. This perception could adversely influence the hearts of the people across Shinano’s districts.” “Therefore, I humbly believe that the sooner Your Excellency’s decision is made, the more advantageous it will be.”

“Hmm... mmm.”

Shingen nodded to that as well. And, muttering to himself, "In these military councils, Kobatayama-jō Nyūdō—the elder who always offered me wise counsel—had fallen ill and died. Hara Minō-no-kami too lay gravely wounded from the assault on Warigadake Castle years past. To be deprived of their voices at this critical hour left me strangely forlorn. —Very well. I shall consult Dōki." "Dōki—your intentions?" And turned his face toward Yamamoto Kansuke Dōki.

Kansuke was a rigid old man. The words of this old strategist often clashed with Shingen’s. For Shingen was prone to swift, decisive action, while this old man was exceedingly cautious.

However, today’s situation was the opposite. The ever-aggressive Shingen showed no sign of movement, while Yamamoto Kansuke Dōki—who typically offered cautious counsel—opened his mouth and clearly proposed this. "As for the declaration made earlier by someone—'The enemy has no strategy'—I too am in complete agreement with that assessment." "However, that lack of strategy is entirely different from one born of ignorance or reckless abandon." "In my estimation, Kenshin’s so-called lack of strategy should be regarded as a terrifyingly desperate gambit—one that stakes his very life on this single battle, vowing never to set foot alive again in his homeland’s mountains should he fail to emerge victorious. Thus, I believe our allies too must steel their resolve to match his desperation, confronting him with equal ferocity." "And once we recognize this, there can be no hesitation. Granting him the destruction he seeks by immediately crushing his forces is—for our side—the sole course we can declare."

“So—the majority of you advocate a swift and decisive battle.” “First…” he said, exchanging glances with each of them. “Yet it appears all but decided.” “Very well.”

Shingen repositioned his thick knees. Then, for the first time, he declared his resolution.

“The council concludes today.” That Kenshin had no strategy—Shingen now discerned. If Kenshin himself had come to bury his dead in this land, then Shingen too would grant him a battle with no reservations. “Dōki—in this battle, I intend to test the Woodpecker Tactics. What say you?” “Are you referring to the Woodpecker Tactics, Your Excellency?” “Truly peerless discernment.” “At this juncture, I deem the enemy’s disposition most opportune.” At that moment, shouts erupted from the castle moat’s edge. Kōsaka Danjō rose from his seat and peered down through an embrasure. Shingen and his generals fell silent, watching Danjō’s back.

“They’re agitated.” “…Could it be that our ashigaru have started another brawl?” When Oyamada Bitchū-no-kami inquired from behind, Danjō shook his head as he retracted it from the embrasure,

“No, no. The large scouting party we secretly dispatched the night before last has just been decimated by gunfire. Only seven or eight men remain—all bearing light or grave wounds—but they’ve managed to return to the castle gate.” “Given their condition, they must have ventured too deep into enemy territory, been surrounded by Uesugi’s forward outposts, and barely escaped with their lives.” “I’ll gather full details and return later to deliver my report.” Having said this, Danjō received Shingen’s permission and hurriedly withdrew from the chamber alone.

Playing the Koto.

Scouting exchanges between both sides were frequent. The only way to uncover the enemy’s core was to risk death and approach their headquarters.

Ordinary scouting missions were typically conducted with a small party. There were also instances involving just one or two people. Yet among the small scouting units dispatched from Kaizu Castle, not a single member had returned alive.

Therefore, Kōsaka Danjō had dispatched a twenty-five-man large scouting party the night before last. With this large scouting party, even if they encountered the enemy’s scouting units, they could annihilate them and break through the sentry lines. If fortune favored them, they might even press close to Saijoyama’s headquarters, and he expected one or two men to return with some form of intelligence.

“Mataroku.” “Have you returned?” After descending the tower, Danjō immediately summoned Takaiido Mataroku, the head scout, into a room within the castle and pressed him for a report.

Mataroku had also injured his left hand, his elbow joint wrapped in tattered cloth like a grafted tree. "We crossed Tada and reached Ōmura, but—" "What? You only made it as far as Ōmura?" "We were surrounded by enemy ambushers, battered relentlessly in combat, and barely escaped with seven men remaining." "Did the rest all perish?" "No—before that skirmish, we disguised two men as peasants and sent them on a long detour from Mount Hōsenji toward Tsuchiguchi. If they return alive, we may yet learn Saijoyama's disposition."

Danjō was disheartened.

They had lost troops but gained nothing. So at Shingen’s military council once more, they had no material to report, but on the dawn two days later, one of the scouts they had given up for lost returned. He was a distinguished scout who had separated from Mataroku’s large reconnaissance unit, detoured around mountain after mountain, and successfully spied on Saijoyama’s headquarters. However, though this scout had with great effort entered such a lion’s den and come into contact with rare insights into the enemy’s true state—unfortunately being a man born in these nearby villages as a woodcutter by trade who possessed only dull-wittedness and earnestness—his responses to Danjō’s questions proved exceedingly vague and incoherent.

Below, when arranged side by side, those questions and his answers took the following form.

“Did you reach Saijoyama?”

“Yes, sir. I did.” “How far into Saijoyama did you go?”

“I walked all around from the mountaintop.”

“Why weren’t you captured by the enemy?” “Dunno.” “Even me…” “What did you find at Saijoyama?” “There were loads of Uesugi warriors.” “If you’d made it up the mountain, you should’ve seen Kenshin’s headquarters.” “Yes, sir.” “Spent the whole night up there, I did.” “Did you observe the command post?” “Heard a koto in the dead of night. Thought it was odd, so I went rustlin’ through the brush and crawled over.”

“The sound of a koto?….” “What is this koto sound?” “Were you perhaps dreaming?”

“At first, I thought I might be dreamin’, but when I peeked in, there was Commander Kenshin sittin’ with a small Chinese koto on his lap, playin’ it. Then I knew it wasn’t no dream after all.”

“You peeked? Where?” “Inside the headquarters where the bonfire was burning.” “So you claim Kenshin sat alone playing a koto late at night?” “No, he wasn’t alone. Toward the edge of the camp curtains stood a young general, a white-haired general, and five or six others—all either dozing off or weeping with their heads hung low, staying perfectly still.” “They must’ve been listening to Kenshin’s koto.”

“Maybe so.” “Did Kenshin say anything to his subordinates?” “He’d play the koto, look up at the moon through rain clouds, then just keep singin’ soft-like.” “Did the samurai in camp seem full o’ fight?” “The horses kept neighin’ somethin’ fierce, but…” “Forget the horses—how’d their spirits look?”

“Couldn’t rightly tell.” “Do they have provisions or not?” “Nothin’.” “None?” “Nothin’.” “You couldn’t even grasp whether morale was high or not, yet you somehow discerned the presence or absence of provisions.” “When I saw what the foot soldiers and samurai were eating, it wasn’t brown rice—it was millet gruel or potato gruel.” “Then, there were bones of packhorses that had been discarded.” “They’re eatin’ horse meat too.” “No matter where you look in the mountains, there ain’t no bean sacks or rice sacks either.” “How did you manage to return unharmed?”

“I went back downstream from Amamiya and wandered around the other side of Hachimanbara to return.”

No matter how thoroughly they grilled him, in the end, this was all they could extract. But when Shingen heard this report,

“He too is a brave warrior,” he said. Then he ordered generous rewards be given and pored over every detail of that unreliable intelligence report; it seemed he had gleaned something thoroughly sufficient for his purposes.

The month had passed, and it was already early September. For the Uesugi army, which had encamped here on the sixteenth of last month and already spent over twenty days, one could imagine that unless they had transported a considerable amount of provisions up that mountain, their supplies would have begun to run short. Even his desperate, all-out deployment must have significantly drained their morale during that time. Even desperate resolve was but a fleeting thing. When that razor-sharp edge of resolve was stripped away, they reverted to their usual vexations. Now, Kenshin and his men—in the strategy-free camp they had once deemed pure—instead felt emptiness and dread, unable to retreat or advance, having turned the entire Saijoyama into a cemetery of living corpses. That’s right. There was no doubt about it.

Shingen thought so.

And there was no need to rush their annihilation. Having concluded that letting several more days pass might prove more advantageous, he secretly worked to flawlessly deploy his Woodpecker Tactics—the strategy he had devised—while still preparing through diligent study of troop allocations, commander placements, timing, movements, and terrain features to ensure full effectiveness. This Woodpecker Tactics adopted the wisdom of its namesake bird: by pecking at the bark’s side, it startles swarms of insects hidden deep within tree hollows into swarming out en masse to the surface, where they can be freely devoured as prey. Applying this concept directly, Shingen aimed to achieve a cataclysmic slaughter that would shake heaven and earth.

Thirteen thousand dewdrops like white pearls. When a siege dragged on, weariness set in easily. Even the enemy’s strongest soldiers found it no easy task to battle against boredom. Weariness—surfeit.

This fog-like enemy within—arising from lethargy—would whisper complaints to induce fear, expose flaws among comrades to breed discord, and evoke nostalgia, exploiting every weakness of worldly desires as it gathered to shatter their ironclad morale.

Each day was an endlessly long battlefield. The soldiers who had held their breath in this standoff for twenty days—even a month—were not fighting outwardly, but within each of their hearts raged a battle greater than war. To conquer oneself!

This was the battle against it. This was a silent daily struggle far more difficult than vanquishing external foes—one demanding fiercer resolve still—and as the siege lengthened, it grew denser with each passing day.

But. Strangely, no such stagnation was visible among the soldiers of Saijoyama. Day after day passed in crisp autumn. On rainy days and foggy days alike, the hearts of over thirteen thousand men remained fused into a single mass, smoldering amid desolation. Whether one called this an immovable form or not, when morning mist cleared under sunlight, the entire army appeared as if steam rose from one spirit. There was no particular reason.

The endless delusions of weariness, nostalgia, and timidity took effect all the more persistently the more one found themselves in a place where the sense of life’s security was relatively abundant. It was as if those in the main force were more vulnerable than the vanguard, and those in the rear guard more vulnerable than the main force.

But on this Saijoyama, there was neither vanguard nor rear guard. The distance separating them from the enemy's Kaizu Castle measured barely under one ri. On clear days, from that mountain, those white walls and banners could be seen in vivid detail. A life existing this morning might not see evening; dreams woven through night grasses resembled the glimmering dew whose life knows no tomorrow—to find this strange was but a sweet delusion born of uneventful days of peace. Pressed to this extremity, each life had become like a white pearl honed to flawless clarity. All obsessions had been cast off, letting them dwell instead in artless smiles of unburdened ease. Least of all would these warriors of Uesugi of Echigo—who through autumn had ceaselessly sharpened themselves solely for this day—allow the warrior's "path," which they held dearer than life itself, to dull at this crucial hour.

A single chrysanthemum branch “Patience, Gonroku.” “I’m fine.” “Let me see— Want me take over?” “No, sir. Just a bit more now.”

Gonroku, upside down, thrust his head into a pit he had dug himself. He responded to his master from within the pit.

Oni-Kojima Yatarō also crouched down beside him, peering into the pit roughly two shaku wide from the side. Gonroku’s hands were scratching away the soil at his feet like a chicken.

And then, from between the trees behind them, someone approached quietly with a rustling sound. A red leaf from a wax tree danced onto that person's shoulder.

“Yatarō. What are you doing?”

Startled by the voice, the two men turned around. Gonroku—who had lifted his head from the pit—with his face and hands caked in mud, as if caught in some wrongdoing, startledly leapt back before prostrating himself.

“Oh! Was that you, my lord?” Yatarō replied with some fluster— “We were merely digging wild yams to pass the time. This young retainer here boasts of his skill at digging yams, and we thought to greatly nourish our vigor.” Kenshin gave a wry smile. It was a cliff right below the headquarters, but he was completely alone, without even his usual attendants. He walked over and peered into the yam pit, “I see. Wild yams.” “You’ve dug with such persistence.” “Come on, dig! Dig! No need to hold back.”

he urged, “How wondrous—even beneath the earth, such heavenly bounty still remains? “It seems that during these several weeks of encampment, everything above ground—akebi vines, walnuts, hackberry nuts, wild grapes, all edible things down to the bulbils—has been devoured... But Yatarō, there’s still plenty here, isn’t there?” “Yes, there certainly are. Should we wish to eat more—even grass roots or soil.” “Hmm...” he smiled and nodded, “And how are the men down at the base faring?” “Therefore, not a single one of them is idling away in boredom. “But... why are you here all alone and on foot, my lord?”

“As for me, it’s to ward off boredom.” “I went searching for wild chrysanthemums.” “Yet on this mountain, it seems there are truly few.” “Are there none?” “...I cannot find any.” “I saw some in the foothills.” “I shall go and fetch them.” “I see.” “A single branch will suffice.” “Bring it when found.” “Afterward.” “I will deliver them together with the wild yams.”

“Will you give me the wild yams too?” “I will humbly present them.” “Now is as good a time as any—I’ll accept without hesitation.” “And I shall await that branch of wild chrysanthemums!”

Kenshin turned on his heel and, alone once more, began making his way up toward the headquarters atop the mountain—a narrow flat area they called Jinbaira.

Double Ninth Festival

The autumn day, which had been so clear in the morning, began to cloud over around noon. Both Myōkō and Kurohime—all the distant mountains—were hidden in the fog. In recent days, the weather in the highland region had been unsettled, it seemed, for both the Chikuma River directly below and the Sai River in the distance appeared to have swollen considerably.

"That will suffice.—Summon them all." It was Kenshin's voice. Through wind carrying the dampness of passing showers, amidst the relentless flapping of battle curtains surrounding them, came his command.

The retainer, having answered, immediately ran off somewhere. It seemed he was heading to the encampments of each unit scattered in various places across the mountain. Before long, the summoned generals began arriving one after another.—Naoe Yamato-no-kami, Kakizaki Izumi, Amakazu Ōmi-no-kami, Nagao Tōtōmi, and others—only the so-called senior vassals of the headquarters.

“Oh!” “This...”

The moment they entered, all the generals' eyes widened, for a spacious straw mat had been laid out. Moreover, at each place where they were to sit, whitewood trays and cups were prepared. On the trays for the meal were kelp and chestnuts, arranged as if to celebrate a departure for battle or a victorious return. Persimmon vinegar-dressed dishes and simmered dried fish side dishes could also be seen. Though only in small portions each, wild yams had also been grated. "I came believing it to be some urgent summons... but what manner of celebratory banquet is this?"

Amakazu Ōmi-no-kami inquired.

Once the more than ten veteran generals had all taken their seats there, Kenshin, with a gentle smile,

“They say there is no calendar in the mountains, but today marks exactly twenty-five days since we departed Kasugayama Castle on the fourteenth of last month—passing a full month—and it is now the ninth day of the ninth month.” “...Unintentionally, it has become a long-drawn-out campaign.” “Each of you, day and night, have had no thoughts but of battle—you must be weary.” “Moreover, today is a day to be celebrated and enjoyed.” “Even as provisions are scarce, though we have nothing, let us share a single cup.” “Now then, relax and raise your cups.” Kenshin said. First savoring the warmth in Kenshin’s words, the generals felt their chests grow hot before their lips even touched their cups.

Naoe Yamato-no-kami pressed further. “Your intention was that today should be a day of enjoyment, but is there also some auspicious occasion to celebrate?……”

“No, no.” Kenshin shook his head,

“Have you all forgotten? September ninth—the auspicious Double Ninth Festival. Since ancient times, today has been regarded as a day for viewing chrysanthemums.”

“Oh!...” They all slapped their knees.

“Indeed, indeed. Why, today is indeed the Chrysanthemum Festival.”

For the first time, people’s eyes were drawn to the single-legged sutra desk at the center of the straw mat. In a small bronze vase with a crane-neck design stood a single branch of yellow wild chrysanthemums. They had finally realized these were no ordinary chrysanthemums in meaning.

“September ninth—the number nine is called the yang number.” “The term ‘Double Ninth’ likely refers to the accumulation of yang energy.” “It is also said that chrysanthemums are symbols of longevity.” “In China as well, there is such a tradition.” “In Runan, there was a man named Hengjing. One day, a hermit visited his home and said: ‘This autumn, disaster will strike. If you wish to escape it, place dogwood in a red silk pouch, carry it on your arm, and climb a high mountain.’” “Hengjing did as instructed—and indeed, that year, plague filled every village; even livestock and poultry perished, yet Hengjing’s household alone lived out their lives unharmed. In our land too, since the Heian era—whether in the imperial court or commoners’ homes—people have delighted their hearts by viewing chrysanthemums and nourished their bodies by drinking chrysanthemum wine.” “Moreover, on this day, it is customary to say that climbing to a high place brings good fortune.” “…Kenshin now finds himself at Mount Saijoyama without seeking it—and moreover, his longevity remains blessed by the heavens, vigorous as you see.” “Should we not rejoice?” “What else should we do but celebrate?”

Kenshin spoke well. He drank frequently from his cup. He seemed to be striving to dispel the generals' fighting spirit and the gloomy atmosphere of their prolonged encampment. While gazing at the chrysanthemums, all the generals raised their cups heartily. Joyful conversation bubbled forth; the gloom scattered. Yet—somewhere—an inescapable trace of sorrow still threatened to settle over them. "My lord..." "I wish to humbly offer my thoughts—might you grant me permission?"

Finally, as if he could no longer endure it, Naoe Yamato-no-kami spoke. As if wanting to say, "Well done for speaking up," Nagao Tōtōmi-no-kami on the right encouraged Yamato-no-kami from the corner of his eye. And uniformly, the eyes of all were gathered upon Kenshin’s countenance. Kenshin’s phoenix eyes flushed crimson. At the demeanor of the assembly, he, too, slowly set down his cup,

“Sanetsuna—what would you say?”

he deliberately inclined his ear. Persistent Counsel Naoe Yamato-no-kami Sanetsuna was a seasoned commander among seasoned commanders who had served three generations since Kenshin’s ancestors. His talent and loyalty were recognized by all. Kenshin's trust and affection were also extraordinary. Nevertheless, since setting out on this campaign, he had not once lent an ear to this veteran’s counsel. Moreover, he made no particular effort to consult them.

Since this was even the case with Yamato-no-kami, he did not seek any council with the other generals. Moreover, day by day, this perilous position accumulated the worst possible conditions for a military encampment. One might say that each day they remained there deepened their peril by another day. The reality drew near to the point where thirteen thousand lives would either starve or pile tombstones here.

“Now then—what are Your Lordship’s intentions regarding our advance or retreat here? We do not doubt Your Lordship’s valor and boldness in the slightest, but now, above all else, the provisions under your command have been entirely exhausted on this day…” “Is that all?”

Kenshin replied with utter nonchalance, “As for that matter, explicit orders were given when we first encamped here.” “Kenshin has no strategy—he makes the absence of strategy his strategy, a void-like and seamless state.” “There’s no need to repeat such matters.” “Have you not comprehended even a single word?”

It was an unprecedented manner of rebuke. “Y-yes…” he responded, trembling in fear yet clinging tenaciously as if determined not to let slip this perfect moment with both lord and vassal present.

“With all due respect, as retainers who have sworn our lives to your grand designs, how are we to proceed without understanding? However—though Lord Shingen entered Kaizu Castle after the twenty-fourth day of last month, fully prepared his defenses, filled his granaries, and now maintains utmost restraint while awaiting the perfect moment—he intends to exhaust our forces through prolonged encampment. The instant he detects weakness, he will strike like lightning to secure victory. Yet considering our own position: even if we attempt to transport provisions from Zenkōji now, Takeda forces will assuredly ambush us en route. Moreover, as I have previously reported on multiple occasions, even the exchange of correspondence with your home province has become impossible now that those routes have also been blockaded. Thus, not to mention grain provisions, the soldiers are already eating dead horses and boiling tree bark, enduring without uttering a word of weakness as they wait for your elite guard to make a move—but such patience without action cannot last much longer.—We humbly beseech you to reconsider your wise judgment and implement some measure now while there is still time. For days now, we have gathered together, our hearts pained by this matter alone, and in truth, we had privately resolved to come before you in unison to make this request.”

“Is it to that extent?” “Well now… It appears none of you can remain still by nature.—Then I shall inquire.” “Speak your thoughts first.” “How precisely do you claim we might find victory here?”

“In our humble view, this Saijoyama encampment has been overextended beyond measure. With the enemy’s main force now entrenched at Kaizu and controlling all major routes, altering our position has become nigh impossible. Yet even now, if we act swiftly, options may yet remain.” “You propose we embrace the unorthodox and shift tactics?” “Precisely, my lord.” “Rather than cowering here while our meager provisions dwindle, Your Lordship would far better uphold honor by adopting an orthodox approach: besiege Kaizu Castle outright and crush each scattered enemy contingent across the routes—or so this humble retainer believes.”

“No—had we intended to attack Kaizu, we would have struck before Shingen even left Kōfu,” Kenshin retorted, his phoenix eyes glinting. “Even then—if he had descended like a sudden squall with Kōfu’s main forces reinforcing en masse—our side would’ve been doomed to defeat. Why would I, who held back then, recklessly choose such a battle now?” Naoe pressed on, undeterred by his lord’s crimson glare: “If Your Lordship deems even this course unwise, might we instead treat this campaign as mere conditioning for our troops? Withdraw temporarily to Echigo, regroup through winter, and launch a renewed expedition come spring.”

“I have no such intention.” “Though this matter may border on needless anxiety—should the Takeda forces, twice our strength, leave a portion stationed at Kaizu and suddenly invade Echigo province with their remaining troops, even going so far as to besiege Kasugayama Castle in the worst case…”

“Ahahaha!” “If that comes to pass， it will make for an intriguing battle.” “If Shingen invades Echigo， Kenshin will swiftly overrun Kōfu—storming his Kai Castle would be a simple matter. Moreover， my Kasugayama Castle holds twenty thousand troops and a year’s worth of arrows and bullets in reserve.” “Nonsense! Would that cunning Shingen ever do something so short-sighted?”

Unnoticed, the sun was beginning to set. Inside the camp curtains, dusk had already taken on twilight hues. Beneath drizzling clouds through which the bleak sunset spilled, all generals rose with furrowed brows. Kenshin's words had finally run out that day without any strategy.

And eventually, within the camp where all human voices had ceased, there were only two bonfires, the wavering dusk, and occasionally, the faint sound of leaves falling like rain.

Distant smoke.

The Emperor, as the Heavenly Sun's Successor, Through generations of sovereign reigns: Do not conceal your clear hearts Before the Imperial Majesty perfected in glory, Serve evermore—generation upon generation— May those who witness pass this down through ages, May those who hear take it as their mirror! Fresh and pure—that hallowed name. With clouded mind do not ponder— Never sever our ancestors' name with hollow words. The Ōtomo clan, bearing their name with honor— Stalwart warrior companions.

It was still the evening of September 9th, the Double Ninth Festival.

Perhaps still slightly intoxicated from his heightened sensitivity, Kenshin sat alone after the evening meal with a Chinese zither upon his knees, plucking its seven strings as he softly chanted ancient poems from the Manyōshū. It was a "Song to Admonish the Clan"—one Ōtomo no Yakamochi had composed for the youths of his lineage. Pine firewood in the bonfire crackled and spat in the light rain. Not enough to drench. Leaves mingled with the scattered droplets falling through gaps in the clouds, while above them all, the moon of this Double Ninth Festival night cast its pallid glow across mountains and rivers.

“That’s the sound of wild geese.”

Suddenly, he raised his eyebrows.

The moonlight was white on Kenshin’s face.

The old retainer and young samurai who had been stationed at a distance by the hem of the curtain both raised their faces. Their lord’s lips had closed, and the zither had fallen silent.

“Hmm?” ……

“Who’s there?” Kenshin suddenly noticed a lone figure perched like a crow in the large tree above his headquarters and began to stare intently.

But. Immediately—it seemed he realized it was one of their own scouts assigned to keep constant watch on Kaizu Castle day and night—

“Summon that man down here,” he ordered.

Understanding the order, one of the close retainers immediately dashed out and soon returned with the man who had been scouting from the treetops. It was exceedingly rare for Kenshin himself to personally summon and question someone, so the man appeared to be in fearful awe, likely thinking he was about to be reprimanded for some failing.

“Even on a night like tonight, can Kaizu Castle be seen?”

Kenshin's question was simple in content and gentle in tone. The scout answered as if finally relieved. "While the moon is out, it can be seen dimly through the haze, but once hidden, nearly nothing remains visible." "That stands to reason," he laughed. "It must be trying to remain treetop-bound without respite. Tonight - has there been any change around Kaizu?" "No irregularities whatsoever." "I see. What of the Chikuma riverbed?" "Earlier, from the castle's western gate down to the lower banks, we observed unusual smoke gathering. At first I took it for night mist—"

“—Smoke?” “That is correct.” “Still now? …Can you still see the smoke?” “It still rises faintly.” “This humble one believes it to be smoke from cooking evening meals.” “On a night with such rain clouds, it does not rise as usual but instead lingers low and heavy from the castle walls. At first, this humble one found it somewhat suspicious, but…” “Alright!” “Leave!”

That was close to a barked command. Struck by some impulse, letting the Chinese zither fall from his lap, Kenshin abruptly rose to his feet and without a word strode out beyond the camp curtains.

Light and darkness alternated moment by moment.

Kenshin stood motionless. Jinbara-daira—from his headquarters' position there, he climbed one tier higher to the edge of the mountain spur and stood rigidly for an interminable time. The nearby commanders and elite retainers,

“Huh? What’s happened?”

From the nearby tents and huts，they swarmed out chasing after him，then huddled together at a distance． ........

From here, looking upon the upper reaches of the Chikuma and Sai Rivers, Kaizu Castle lay a little less than one *ri* away. From distant mountains beyond mountains to the base of this Mount Saijoyama, the wide basin plain stretching continuously across the entire area also lay entirely within view.

“…?” Kenshin’s pupils were fixed on a single point of the distant Kaizu Castle. He continued to gaze intently, unceasingly. But the night was dark, and the sky was heavy with rain clouds. From between those clouds, the moon flashed for an instant, and in another instant, the dark clouds sealed it away. The light flickered without pattern; heaven and earth ceaselessly alternated between darkness and brightness. “Is Suruga here? Is Usami here?” “We are here.”

“Naoe, Amakasu—come here.” Kenshin turned rearward and beckoned. The three men—Usami Suruga-no-kami, Naoe Yamato-no-kami, and Amakasu Omi-no-kami—swiftly drew near and lifted their gazes to Kenshin’s face. Yet Kenshin’s eyes remained fixed on the distance; he did not deign to look upon those who had gathered at his feet. “My lord… Have you perceived some anomaly in the enemy’s Kaizu this night?” “Look there—” Pale moonlight suddenly bathed the entire landscape from Kenshin’s countenance. Even his pointing hand gleamed white.

“Smoke still rises over Kaizu even now—from earlier until this moment.” “If this were their usual evening cooking smoke, the timing would be earlier.” “Moreover, this increasingly dense billowing far exceeds their daily cooking smoke—I perceive they’re preparing provisions for tomorrow and beyond.” “Without doubt, Kaizu’s great army means to sally forth tonight and bring battle upon us.” “How delightful! How joyous! The time has come!” Having concluded this speech, he added one final word:

“We too must prepare.” He said, grinning with genuine delight. The absence of a plan was not mere recklessness after all. It had been a breath held in wait for this moment. In drumming, one must measure the “ma”; in all performing arts, they say “ma” proves essential. The subtlety of military strategy too lay in *ma*.

“Our defenses have been fully prepared at all times.” “Should the enemy come, it would be a blessing beyond our hopes. We shall not permit them to breach even the first or second palisade—we will slaughter them to the last man.” Usami and Amakasu had evidently interpreted this solely as preparation for defensive battle. What Kenshin had meant—preparations—carried an entirely different implication.

When they answered thus immediately, Kenshin shook his head in denial and spoke while containing some laughter.

“This is but a temporary foothold—merely a staging ground to await his maneuver.” “He has already revealed his hand; Kenshin too must claim his rightful position.” “In defense or battle—in all matters—we shall never assume passivity.” “Not one hair’s breadth has Kenshin’s purpose wavered since departing Kasugayama.” “Thus we press ever forward on the offensive—advancing relentlessly, planting Kenshin’s standard within the very marrow of Shingen’s formation.”

And then, he requested a writing set, grasped a brush, and immediately wrote down several articles regarding the preparations and protocols for deployment. “Have this immediately issued to each commanding officer’s forces.”

He entrusted it to two or three generals.

Unorthodox and Orthodox

The military orders are, in other words, the military code. That which was now issued from Kenshin’s hand was written out in this manner.

1. All soldiers under our command shall immediately begin consuming their provisions from this moment onward. 1. All finite supplies shall be allocated to field rations. In essence, one day's portion will suffice. 1. As long instructed: armor must not sit loosely. Tighten the cords of your straw sandals securely. Personal implements must be those accustomed to daily use. Do not pursue novelty; do not carry burdens beyond your capacity. Engaging unfamiliar targets will incur losses. 1. Abandon camp at the Hour of the Boar (11 PM). 1. Before vacating positions, burn all bonfires with exceptional vigor. Paper banners: erect every remaining one.

1. Prepare against enemy vanguard skirmishers and spies swiftly infiltrating the mountain. After our forces depart the mountain, one hundred elite warriors shall remain behind. If enemy infiltrators appear, they must be swiftly annihilated without fail.

1. My central army’s mounted guards: a large force is unnecessary; they shall be fixed at twelve men only. Chisaka Naizen, Ichikawa Shuzenno, Wada Hyōbu, Uno Samanosuke, Ōkuni Heima, Wada Kiheiei, Imokawa Heidayū, Nagai Genshirō, Iwai Tōshirō, Takemata Chōshichi, Kiyono Kunio, Inaba Hikoroku.

The above were written notices; however, the words conveyed through oral commands to the various units at the base of the mountain included:

“Tomorrow, His Lordship has been abruptly ordered to return to the province.” “Therefore, from this moment forth, promptly stow your bundles and secure them to the packhorses.” “Given the urgency, it cannot be predicted whether His Lordship may issue the command to depart before the Hour of the Boar.” “At any hour or moment, be prepared to rise immediately.” “If enemy forces obstruct our path along the way, you are to cut through them and break through to Zenkoji Temple—bear this in mind.”

Of course, this was a declaration born of thorough preparations intended to prevent even their own soldiers from learning the subtleties of their military strategy until the very last moment.

Meanwhile――

That night, around that very hour, Kaizu Castle of the Takeda forces was also thick with martial fervor and bloodlust.

The twenty-thousand-strong army had already completed even their foot preparations down to the last man and stood assembled in the castle’s plaza,

Grand Stratagem Division Great Righteousness Division had been divided into two groups: the Grand Stratagem Division and the Great Righteousness Division. Their stomachs full, the soldiers had even finished their meals. They also carried ample field rations. The matchlock unit cut their matchcords to two shaku and five sun each, bundled and folded them in two to hang at their waists, then fastened two leather bullet boxes to each side of their waistbands. The majority were long-shafted spear units. The core of Kai’s proud forces—wielding long spears with three-ken and two-and-a-half-ken shafts like a forest—comprised what was called the elite among elite cavalry, with many belonging to this unit,

“In this decisive moment—”

Rubbing their arms in anticipation of the impending clash, they steeled themselves for glorious deeds. “What’s happening?”

“Not yet?” Seething, seething, the twenty thousand troops and horses pushed and jostled within the confined castle walls, waiting impatiently for the order to advance they so desperately awaited. Shingen had already prepared himself, set up a camp stool in the watchtower, and cast his blazing eyes both upon his own forces swaying below and toward distant Saijoyama—his gaze particularly intense this night. Even at this critical moment, the Takeda scouts somehow detected the movements on Saijoyama and reported,

“The enemy began securing their packhorse loads this evening—we’ve observed signs of movement in that area.” And, “The Echigo forces seem poised to break camp tomorrow and withdraw to their homeland.” They delivered such reports. “Precisely as planned!” Shingen rejoiced—his stratagem was unfolding exactly as conceived.

Moonset

The Takeda army’s operational plan roughly involved dividing their entire force into two, employing their signature Woodpecker Tactics to strike one enemy flank while encircling and annihilating the other. Of the total twenty thousand troops, twelve thousand were designated as the Great Righteousness Division; they would cross the Tada Pass in the mountain foothills, emerge at Kiyono, and launch a grand dawn assault using what was termed an orthodox frontal attack. The remaining eight thousand-odd soldiers would shift direction entirely: crossing the Hirose ford to advance into the Kawanakajima plain, anticipating the inevitable scenario where the Uesugi army descended from Saijoyama and surged toward this front—a stratagem to intercept them through unorthodox tactics.

“What hour is it now?” Shingen asked repeatedly. Among his retainers were advisors who measured nothing but celestial phenomena, wind direction, temperature, and weather conditions. This Confucian scholar-like old man always remained at Yamamoto Kansuke Dōki’s side. “The Hour of the Boar approaches its latter part.”

The one who answered was Yamamoto Kansuke Dōki. Shingen nodded and then— “As for moonset—” he asked. Kansuke again consulted the advisors before answering.

“The moonset on this ninth day of the ninth month is reported to occur six minutes past the Hour of the Rat—approximately twelve forty in the morning.” “Then it won’t be long now.” “It will not be long now.”

“Minbu.” “Baba Minbu.” “Yes! At once!” “Once the Hour of the Rat arrives, have them blow the conch immediately.” “Sound the battle drums!”

“Understood.” “When exiting the castle gate, have the Taishō’s twelve thousand take the lead. Ensure they do not rush or jostle each other.” The commanders had already fully grasped their duties. Yet Shingen was taking every possible precaution.

The reason they had assembled their forces yet were idly passing the time was that the night sky’s weather had begun to change drastically as the hours grew late. In the early evening, amidst scudding clouds, the moments when moonlight spilled through were fleeting; but before they knew it, the clouds across the great sky had parted entirely, revealing a vast expanse of stars polished to a metallic sheen. Regardless of whether launching frontal assaults or surprise attacks—for those who initiate battle—it goes without saying that moonlit nights are detested.

However, that too lasted only until midnight. "Drummers! Strike!"

At the same moment Baba Minbu shouted the signal, the three conch blowers standing facing the three sides of the watchtower pressed the mouthpieces to their lips and blew with all their might. Long. Short. Long again— In an instant, from the castle grounds beneath their feet, the clatter of armor skirts and the stamp of hooves could be heard flowing out—clanging, clattering—like an awakened tidal wave. “Then, with your permission, I shall take the lead.” Yamamoto Kansuke Dōki was the first to rise from his seat. Following him,

“By your leave.” Then Ōbu Toramasa, Kōsaka Danjō Masanobu, Baba Nobuharu, Sanada Yukitaka, Oyamada Bitchū-no-kami, Amari Saemon-no-jō, Aiki Ichibē, Obata Yamashiro-no-kami, and others—one after another—bowed to Shingen and departed from his presence.

All those commanders belonged to the Saijoyama orthodox frontal assault unit and were those who would make their way around via the mountain foothills.

Takeda Shingen himself departed Kaizu approximately half an hour after seeing off the twelve-thousand-strong vanguard from the outpost. Leading the eight thousand of the unorthodox tactics interception unit himself, he took a completely different route, crossed the Hirose ford, and set his course toward Hachimanbara Plain. The distance itself was not particularly great, but mobilizing twelve thousand troops followed by a column of over eight thousand soldiers through the castle gate must have taken considerable time. By the time they had arrived at their objective—Hachimanbara Plain near Kawanakajima—it was already nearing dawn, around the first part of the Hour of the Tiger (3:30 AM).

No sooner had Shingen arrived here than—

“Set up the headquarters in the precincts of Hachiman Shrine,” he immediately specified,

“At key positions, scrape up earth to construct earthen ramparts (defensive bulwarks) and dig trenches (saps).” he ordered. While sappers began working diligently on the still pitch-dark ground, Shingen’s headquarters’ curtains were swiftly encircled within Hachiman Shrine’s precincts. Sun Tzu’s great standard and Suwa Myōjin’s banner already fluttered noisily, stirring the blood. The twelve commanders of the curtained enclosure, over a hundred horsemen of elite retainers, and all eight thousand soldiers dampened their brows in the mist, buried their straw sandals and shin guards in the grassy fog, and firmly swallowed down their battle-ready vigor—prone to rising recklessly—into their tanden.

Perhaps because the rain had lasted into the evening, the fog at dawn this morning was exceptionally thick. It was a dense fog so impenetrable one could not see an inch ahead. Because of this, droplets kept falling incessantly from the battle standards, horse insignias, and helmet visors as though a light rain were dripping down.

Decoy Campfires

The route taken by the orthodox frontal assault unit, which had detoured over the mountains, proved grueling. From Saijō, the road became an ascent, and the Tada Pass in particular narrowed sharply. Since they had waited for moonset before setting out, they carried ample concealed torches; however, if those flames lit up the sky too brightly, there was considerable fear of enemy scouts detecting them.

Though the mountains were small, with their peaks and valleys, the soldiers and horses were drenched in sweat by the time they reached Seino. Though the distance was short, it need not be said that it took time; laboriously, the men and horses were already in a state akin to being in battle.

“What terrible fog…” “Heaven’s divine protection. They won’t notice a thing until we’re upon them.”

Midway, the two units of Amari and Sanada branched off onto separate paths. It was to strike at its vulnerable point from above Monomidaira to the rear of Saijoyama.

Time.—Night was already paling; today was September tenth. The first war cry of this great battle erupted from this dawn, from this point of assault. A dawn raid. War conches, gongs, advancing drums. All at once they shook heaven and earth as they stormed up Saijoyama from flanks and front. The battle cries of twelve thousand men made the very firmaments tremble through sound alone. Like scattered ashes, small birds took wing. Every tree across the mountain shuddered; fallen leaves cascaded like rain; thick fog coiled into whirlpools.

“Wh—what?!” “What the—?!” “An empty camp!” “Paper flags!” Here and there, the same astonishment and the same hollow shouts began to be heard. The mountain they had charged at with such tremendous force already lay devoid of any human figures. The vexation of paper flags soaked in fog; the resentment of decoy campfires still blazing fiercely. “Outmaneuvered!” The countless feet in warrior sandals kicked apart the decoy positions across the entire mountain, trampled them down, and exchanged warnings.

“Don’t let your guard down.” “The enemy could appear anywhere!” “Regrettable.” “Kenshin had already known our movements in advance!” Too slow—too slow—the Takeda forces!

Kenshin would surely be smiling like that. The dismantling of his camp had been carried out last night while moonlight still lingered—quietly, neatly, efficiently. The soldiers muffled their armor, the horses’ lips bound; under the moon’s gaze, they descended the mountain. By the time they began crossing the Chikuma River, the moon had finally set. Submerging naginata blades and tachi scabbards into the dark autumn waters, the entire army—a long serpentine column—solemnly crossed to Inugase’s opposite shore. “Kamon! Kamon!”

Suddenly, Kenshin reined in his horse before the rapids. Then, he called Amakazu Kamon-no-kami from the rear guard and, “—Come closer.” “This far.”

and beckoned him close to his own saddle, then bent down from his horse and whispered something into his ear. Arteries and veins. "—Your detachment shall separate from our main force, cross Jūnikase several chō upstream from here, and take position on the northern bank of the Chikuma near Komori." "Understood!" "And consider every shadow in this vast dark field and deep misty riverbed to be the enemy—show no negligence in your vigilance. If you spot any lurking scouts, let not a single one escape."

“Understood.” “The main force of the Kō Army has likely crossed the lower reaches of Hirose and advanced to Hachimanbara Plain.” “—Their left flank—that is, the plains northeast of where your unit is stationed—will indeed be the area closest to the enemy.” “While keeping your ears attuned to his movements, should any change occur, dispatch messengers from my rear to the pursuit force each time.” “Understood!” “Understood. I will act entirely in accordance with your command.” Amakazu Kamon-no-kami bowed to Kenshin on horseback and departed—entirely in accordance with his command. This signified the unfolding of the battle formation Kenshin desired. It had been an order for them to maintain readiness as a surveillance force against the Kō Army during the critical half-hour interval until Kenshin completed this deployment.

Approximately one thousand soldiers of the Amakazu unit dashed along the southern bank of the Chikuma River, hurrying toward Jūnikase. When observed from the Amamiya Crossing downstream, the shadows of the Amakazu unit crossing toward the Komori shore—shrouded in white spray and night mist—appeared as nothing but phantasmal movement, indistinguishable whether human or water, water or mist. “Good!”

Kenshin’s steeds, having rinsed their legs, were crossing the river waves with a splashing sound. When the river ran dry, its waters formed but a single large channel across the riverbed. Yet when rains swelled the mountains at its source, this wide basin suddenly etched countless waterways—as though tracing human arteries and veins. It was autumn—the season when water’s roar from all directions reached its fiercest intensity.

The heavens remained dark. Excluding Amakazu Kamon-no-kami’s unit, the entire army had completed the crossing, with Naoe Yamato-no-kami’s large baggage train at the forefront. Both horses and men glistened, soaked through. “Quiet... Don’t let the horses neigh!”

Perhaps someone had removed its muzzle—a single spirited horse shook its ears and mane, neighing loudly. While hurriedly scolding it, the unit commander leaped over and clasped the horse’s neck to his chest. —Don’t neigh. For mercy’s sake. He soothed the horse without making any demands. The advance from this point onward truly required stealth with every single step. Flickering red lights spilling from the soldiers’ waists were the glow of their matchlock fuses. They wanted to conceal them at all costs to avoid alerting the enemy—but the foe might already be right under their noses. It would be too late to light the matchcord after spotting the enemy.

To the left, tree-lined rows resembling the Hokuriku Highway.

Ahead lay the sound of the Saigawa River and a shadow resembling the grove of Tanba Island. The fog hung thick, the night an impenetrable dark; with no discernible landmarks to guide them, the entire force—over twelve thousand soldiers, horses, and carts—followed Kakizaki Izumi-no-kami as the vanguard commander felt his way forward. Muffling every sound, they trod upon Kawanakajima and marched ceaselessly northward until reaching the Saigawa’s banks. The previous night, when breaking camp at Saijoyama, they had been abruptly told—

(The entire army returns to Echigo) Having been told this—and believing it without question—most of the soldiers had not doubted until arriving here that they would cross the Saigawa River further north and head toward Zenkōji. Yet now—from the large baggage train at the forefront to the vanguard Kakizaki Izumi-no-kami’s unit, the second Honjō Unit, third Murakami Unit, Shibata Unit, Nagao Unit, and even Kenshin’s elite guard in the central army—all halted their advance before the Saigawa’s waters, pressing back against one another.

Through the jostling mass of horses and soldiers, the rushing river glinted ahead—yet Kakizaki’s unit’s large turnip banner, the central army’s Nakanomaru banner, and Bishamon banners merely fluttered and rustled in vain. Hours passed without horses advancing or soldiers crossing. Only more troops arrived from behind, layering tens of thousands of shadows until—in moments—they swelled into a vast black mass within the fog.

“—Has the vanguard begun crossing?” “Not yet… Doesn’t look like it.” “What’s happening? What on earth—” “I don’t know. Something’s happening—all the generals are gathering around His Lordship in the central army.” “A field council?”

No sooner had such whispers begun to stir into a mild commotion among the rear ashigaru units than Kenshin’s voice and figure surged forth toward the entire army— “Excluding the small and large baggage trains, starting from the vanguard unit, advance gradually in a detour toward the east—the direction of Hachimanbara Plain—keeping the Saigawa River to your left.”

A thunderous command was heard. The horses’ straw-wrapped hooves kicked out pebbles once more. At a sharp angle, the troop column veered sharply rightward again and again. While advancing through these rotations, they began reorganizing from their previous single-file column into a clearly defined three-line, four-tier formation under each general’s command. At that hour—either the Tiger hour (4 AM) or still some time before the Rabbit hour (6 AM)—

Of course, the heavens were still dark. Due to the darkness and fog, neither the Echigo nor Kōshū forces had yet noticed at this time that directly ahead on Hachimanbara Plain, the Takeda had already deployed their massive army, and around Hachiman Shrine—designated as Shingen’s command post—they had begun vigorously digging trenches and erecting earthen fortifications.

The distance between them—of course, was only realized later—measured a mere ten *chō* between the vanguards of both armies.

A lone house.

“Oh? …What could this be?” Tsuruna lifted her face from the pillow. Having been ill for over twenty days and confined entirely to her sickbed, her once sun-browned cheeks and neck—tanned from journeying—had grown deathly pale. “Oh—the horses’ whinnies… those voices… this is no ordinary matter.”

She had been straining her ears when, abruptly, she forced her aching body upright on the sickbed, "Priest! Priest!"

and she called out toward the next room.

This was a solitary house in the very heart of Hachimanbara Plain, encircled by a cluster of trees. Beside the house stood an ancient, weathered torii. Here had dwelled an elderly shrine priest and his family. Some twenty days prior at dusk, Tsuruna had been struck by a bullet and collapsed along the banks of the Chikuma River, where she was borne by chance passersby gathering horse fodder to this shrine residence for treatment. Ever since then— She had remained under the care of the kind old priest, nursing her wound. But whether due to the amateurish extraction of the lead bullet, her left leg—from instep to ankle—had swollen grievously, leaving her still unable to walk ten paces even now.

“Priest!” “Madam!”

There was no reply. She crawled. And still she shouted toward the next room.

“The battle is finally upon us.” “It seems fighting will soon break out nearby.” “You must move your children to safety now—they’ll be injured otherwise.” “Stray bullets and arrows may come flying this way…” “Madam—are you awake?”

Her leg throbbed. She tried to rise but could not. She crawled closer and opened the sliding door.

And then, she crawled to yet another room.

There should be no reply. The old priest, his daughter, and her child—where had they gone? The bedroom lay as an empty shell, stripped bare. She appeared momentarily bewildered, yet also somewhat relieved. She had concluded that the daughter must have swiftly carried her child on her back, and the daughter’s husband must have supported the elderly priest as they evacuated somewhere.

“Was it the Kōshū army or the Echigo forces that set up camp here?” As for herself, there was neither any particular sign of grief nor any visible appearance of loneliness at being left utterly alone in this lone house. Outside, the cedar grove roared thunderously at the sky, and the sound of falling leaves swept through the fog. Among the sounds of the wind racing around this house were clearly mingled the footsteps of soldiers. When the family members fled, they must have left the doors wide open. The storm shutters on the veranda had been removed, and the kitchen door lay collapsed. Around the dark water jar, a gigantic shadowy figure suddenly loomed. And no sooner had there been a clattering noise than someone retrieved a bucket from there and immediately approached the well at the back.

With a splash, he opened the well bucket and began drawing water into a hand bucket. It was the shadow of the seemingly gigantic armored warrior. “Ah! “Father! “Could it be… you are Father?!”

Tsuruna screamed. Still gripping the well bucket’s handle, the armored warrior—his face concealed beneath a bowl-shaped helmet and thinly gilded faceguard, only his eyes and nose visible—turned toward the house and stared fixedly at Tsuruna’s shadow for a long moment. The armored parent. The warrior showed no reaction, as if deaf or mute. He released the well bucket. He lifted the water pail. Without a word, he began walking forward. “...Wait!”

She rushed down the veranda. Or rather, tumbled down.

Instantly, both the swelling in her foot and its pain had left her. Crawling after the warrior who carried a water bucket along the cedar-lined path into the distance, “F-Father? Is that truly you? “You are Lord Hatsukano Den’emon—an elite retainer of Kōshū—are you not?”

“No.” “That’s not true—there’s no mistake!” “No, no.” “But the crest on your armor’s breastplate is the Hatsukano family’s Dakimyōga crest.”

“The Dakimyōga crest exists in other families as well.” “I distinctly recall there being none. It has only been four or five years since I left our home in Kōfu. How could I ever forget our family crest?” “Who are you?” “I am Tsuruna. Father. Even just your noble gaze and voice—your true child would recognize them. Why won’t you say ‘Tsuruna’?” “I don’t know.” “How cruel your words are. When I was around fourteen years old, while accompanying you, Father, on a pilgrimage to Zenkōji Temple, I suddenly received strict orders: ‘For the sake of Kōshū! For loyalty to our lord! We abandon you—go be taken in by Echigo!’ My person was entrusted to caretakers and sent into service at the residence of Lord Kuroda Ōsumi, an elite retainer of Kasugayama.…And when we parted, I faithfully followed the earnest instructions you gave me, Father, and have been constantly sending detailed secret reports to Kōfu through letters regarding the affairs of the Uesugi household, the movements within the castle town, and the rumors circulating among the retainers… And yet…”

A gunshot rang out somewhere. With a roar, the sound wave cut through the vast field, shook the fog, and pierced even the grove here.

“Let go! Do you take this for some ordinary place?”

Den’emon raised his leg.

Water from the bucket splashed onto Tsuruna's back. As though that water held far greater import than his own daughter, Hatsukano Den'emon neither glanced back nor lingered, but raced away through the cedars.

On the Brink

A single structure with a cypress bark roof and decorative crossbeams stood visible. It was the old worship hall of Hachiman Shrine. Facing south with its back to it, camp curtains were spread out across a fairly wide area. The headquarters where Shingen was stationed could be said to encompass the entire area spanning approximately one chō square from this vicinity. There were so many identical encampments that one could not determine which curtained enclosure—in which part—contained Shingen himself seated on his camp stool, even if searching solely by banners and war standards.

“I have come seeking good water.” Hatsukano Den’emon concealed himself within one of them. There, unmistakably, was Shingen. Leaving his camp stool empty, Shingen stood. His entire being radiated martial intensity. The violent surge of blood through the night had parched his mouth. He had craved a single cup of water since earlier. Though they should have dispatched even a foot soldier, a lowly servant proved unreliable for the lord’s drinking water. “It was I—” Den’emon himself had walked to fetch it—the well water he had finally found.

“Ah, good. “I am satisfied.” Shingen drank about half the water in the ladle in one gulp and returned it to the bucket. The ladle’s handle clinked against the rim of the bucket. As if it were some kind of omen, his large, hairy ear pricked up sharply. “……Hmm. “Den’emon—do you not hear it?” “What might that be?” “Something is off… I can’t quite put my finger on what.” “If it is the sound of gunfire, I did happen to hear it just now on my way back.”

“No, that was a panicked shot fired by some timid sentry in Nobushige’s encampment who carelessly mistook something in haste. But that’s not it—it’s something far more immense, yet without form or sound.” “What should I say?” This deep fog’s flow—its pure white darkness—piercingly pressed down upon my camp, or so it felt. That’s it… It had to be the movement of troops and horses. “Bungo! Bungo!” At one side of the tent entrance, Morozumi Bungo-no-kami—who had been standing guard with four or five elite retainers gripping long-handled spears—abruptly stepped forward five or six paces and responded.

“Have they finished digging the key trenches?” “Have the earthworks also been completed?” “Or are they still not done?” “They are still hurrying at the front of Lord Naitō’s position and beside Lord Ogasawara’s camp.” ……Could that be the sound? The sound of panting voices? Shingen then reconsidered and seemed to try settling his mind on the camp stool for a while, but suddenly summoned Mochizuki Jinpachirō, the chief scout. “Have the scouts you sent out still not reported anything about the situation at Amamiya Crossing or the Komori area?” “Has any returned?”

he asked.

Jinpachirō,

“Only one has—” he answered with some hesitation, “Shall I go myself to investigate?”

...he peered at Shingen’s face. But at that moment—whether Shingen’s heightened senses had detected something—his large eyes snapped upward, and his body rose abruptly from the camp stool, “Oh! How unexpected!” he exclaimed loudly, alone. “Though none of our allies who attacked Mount Saijoyama have sent messengers, nor have any scouts returned—there should be no reason for Uesugi’s forces to come here… How could this be?! “...What is that tremendous noise of troops and horses?”

At his words, the officers and soldiers within the tent all pricked up their ears. The clang of armor reverberated. A rumbling shook the ground—clearly an army approaching. Suddenly, commotion erupted around Shingen. “Do not panic.” Shingen abruptly assumed a composed demeanor. Seeing his calm visage and imposing belly, their agitation subsided. He barked orders: “Urano Minbu! “Minbusaemon. “Scout at once. “No formalities! Move!”

No sooner had the reply come than Minbusaemon’s upper body loomed high above the camp curtains. He had leaped onto the horse’s back. The moment he applied the whip, he wheeled back in an instant. Thud—he leaped down from the saddle and immediately crouched before Shingen to report.

“It is indeed the enemy army.” “What? So it’s the Uesugi forces after all?” “They are advancing northward in an extended column formation, heading toward the Saigawa River.” “Has their vanguard crossed the Saigawa River, or do they remain on this side?” “From that area onward, they turned right and are gradually forming a large crescent formation. However, judging by their marching pace, even if battle were to commence, I do not believe they will achieve such rapid progress...” With his words trailing off, Urano Minbusaemon looked into Shingen’s eyes. Shingen read the unspoken confirmation in his gaze—a silent “Hmm”—and nodded deeply.

There is a proper way to deliver scouting reports. It is considered proper not to speak needlessly of matters that would dampen the morale of one’s own forces, induce panic, or highlight the enemy’s strengths. Nevertheless, if one does not speak the truth, the commander’s judgment will err. There are times when they communicate through their eyes, and they may deliberately deceive those around their lord with their words. In essence, it can be said to lie in quick-witted improvisation. Wheel Formation

Ah! So it is—Kenshin has descended from the mountain. This shock was indeed present within Shingen’s breast.

Yet, his brows did not stir. Moreover, he had intuitively sensed it—the gravity of the situation and its urgency. “…………” After hearing Urano Minbusaemon’s report, for an instant, he rolled his large eyes beneath their lids. A low hum escaped his nostrils. And then, the moment the handle of the military fan in his right hand left his knee— “Muroga Nyūdō. For thoroughness’ sake, go reconnoiter once more.” A commander of Kenshin’s stature would never abandon a camp held for over twenty days and withdraw to his province without engaging in a single battle. Moreover, having crossed the Chikuma River since before nightfall and still remaining in this vicinity to pass the hours until dawn—this could not be mere withdrawal. Minbu’s report must be mistaken. “Hurry back and ascertain Kenshin’s battle formation once more.”

He pointed toward the man who had been waiting in the corner and issued his command. “Yes, sir! I will go reconnoiter.” Muroga Nyūdō was a local samurai intimately familiar with the terrain. No sooner had he vaulted onto his horse’s back than he cracked his whip and galloped away. Shingen immediately summoned Hara Hayato no Kami and Yamamoto Kansuke Dōki next, drawing both men close to either side of his camp stool where they engaged in urgent whispers. By then, the first pallid light of dawn had begun etching their features. Night’s darkness was indeed fading, yet within the deepening morning fog, even the barest hint of color proved indistinguishable. In such mists, vision faltered—and sound fared no better. The whinnies of their own horses and nearby clamor alike reached their ears as if muffled through layers of wool.

Shingen had fully accounted for this. He had meticulously applied his daily knowledge of military strategy to his five senses, taking utmost care to avoid errors arising from common assumptions about sight and hearing.—Yet despite this, even he had been harboring a miscalculation in estimating the enemy’s distance—a fact that became unmistakably clear mere moments later. “I have seen and returned.” No sooner had Muroga Nyūdō returned than he bellowed. The situation had already grown urgent beyond urgency, leaving no time for elaborate explanations.

“The Uesugi forces appear to advance toward the Saigawa River in their entirety—layer upon layer of thick columns pressing forward with our allies to their right, abandoning us here to our fate as they go. But in truth, while drawing a massive whirlwind-like vortex across all of Hachimanbara Plain, they gradually close the distance toward our forces.” Upon hearing this, Shingen readied himself like an eagle beating its wings, “So it was as I thought.” “That is precisely the Wheel Formation!”

he leapt to his feet. “Farewell, Lord Hayato. As Kansuke Nyūdō has just stated, since the enemy shows such resolve and presses forward with close-quarter formations, our defenses in this current disposition cannot hold. Quickly now! Relay orders to all units to reform their positions according to Kansuke’s instructions!” Was it present? Was it absent? The question of whether that day’s opening engagement at Kawanakajima began with contact from the Uesugi’s “Wheel Formation”—or conversely, whether no such formation existed at all—has for ages been fiercely debated among military strategists.

However, Uesugi Kenshin—

To this very clash— Having firmly resolved and with meticulous precision, he had devised a direct assault on the enemy’s central axis—an unmistakable stratagem. To achieve this breakthrough, conventional rigid formations and fixed-distance confrontations would never suffice to penetrate Shingen’s central army. Thus, exploiting the dense fog, he directed his entire force toward the Saigawa River, feigning a withdrawal to their homeland while keeping troops in perpetual motion. In truth, they advanced upon Shingen’s position by wheeling a colossal ring formation—like a typhoon shifting latitudes—a strategy as inevitable from his resolve as it was sound in military logic, by no means without justification.

According to critics who deny this,

(On this day, during this opening engagement, Kenshin too had not known Shingen’s precise whereabouts. For when the Kō Army of over twenty thousand departed Kaizu, it had split into two: one contingent followed mountain paths toward Saijoyama for a surprise attack, while another crossed Hirose and emerged onto Hachimanbara Plain. Thus, whether Shingen and his direct forces were with the interception unit in the foothills or this field standby unit remained unclear even to Kenshin’s piercing gaze—and there had been no reason to recklessly charge the enemy with a suicidal formation like the Wheel Formation.)

This argument may hold some validity, but by focusing solely on Kenshin's strategic brilliance, it overlooks aspects of his psychological state. Even before abandoning Saijoyama and throughout the subsequent march and river crossing, the scouts he had deployed were relaying constant updates one after another. While these reports did not conclusively verify which camp housed Shingen, they undoubtedly furnished Kenshin with sufficient intelligence to make that determination.

Moreover, according to a document passed down by the elders of the Uesugi family, even after emerging onto this plain, Kenshin—to accurately pinpoint his target—specifically ordered two of his elite retainers, Yamayoshi Genba and Suga Tajima, “Go and conduct a deep reconnaissance.” There was also the fact that he had ordered them to infiltrate the Kō Army’s patrol zone. A “deep reconnaissance” was no ordinary scouting mission; it was the perilous work of ninja penetrating enemy lines—a life-risking operation demanding mastery of transformation, evasion, and concealment arts.

The fog was thick; the world, predawn. In the haze where even the figures of allies and camp curtains were indistinct, where and how such non-allies—resembling wild mice—might be lurking could never be predicted. Yet in preparation for this, even here at the central army where Shingen was stationed, they had now concealed all symbols that served as the Kō Army’s greatest emblems—Sun Tzu’s banner, the Hōshō banners, Suwa Myōjin’s divine banner, and the hanabishi crest banners— (Here is Shingen)

They had not adopted any formation as conspicuously revealing to the enemy as "(here is Shingen)."

The Centipede Banners

This is a digression concerning events much later, but even when Oda Nobunaga charged into Yoshimoto’s central army at Okehazama, they could not pinpoint Yoshimoto’s exact location until breaking into the camp. While searching here and there for his figure, they came upon a resplendent black-lacquered palanquin and for the first time became convinced this was the spot; it is said Nobunaga’s subordinates grew further emboldened, vying to distinguish themselves. There are also tales that Shingen—being exceptionally cautious even among men—had eight body doubles, though how much truth this holds remains unclear. However, considering the military lives of commanders like Ieyasu and Nobunaga—where examples abound of them placing stand-ins at headquarters while secretly joining the vanguard to issue commands directly—it would not be unreasonable to conclude that even Shingen, while whether he maintained eight permanent doubles is uncertain, frequently employed proxies when circumstances demanded.

Moreover, there were skeptical theories regarding the effectiveness of the Wheel Formation itself. However, according to Yamaga Sokō’s military treatise, "The Wheel Formation yields great merit when employed against enemy formations arrayed in three or four layers. This is called the small wheel. However, if one employs the large wheel against an enemy formation arrayed in ten or eleven layers, there is no advantage."

When considering this, [the text] fully acknowledged the value of the wheel formation but emphasized that its effectiveness depended on the enemy’s preparedness. Opposing this theory, among the scholars who denied the Wheel Formation were contemporaries such as Ogyū Sorai. Sorai vehemently argued that since the Takeda forces’ formation at this time was the so-called fish-scale twelve-layer formation—a robust defensive structure—there had been no reason for Kenshin to employ the Wheel Formation. However, military formations inherently contained constant change—where emptiness became substance, and the orthodox transformed into the unorthodox. The essence of military formations lay in their capacity to rapidly and mutually transform; whether it be the Crane Wing, Serpent Formation, or Bird-Cloud Formation, to stubbornly adhere to them as they were would render them dead formations rather than living ones.

―The Wheel Formation! The moment Shingen intuited this―it goes without saying that when Shingen urgently ordered Hara Hayato no Kami to send messengers racing to all allied units with the command “Quickly! Quickly!”, he immediately commanded a “change” in response.

Moreover, the reason a hint of panic had surfaced on Shingen’s face in this situation was that until this very moment, he had believed that he— (he had seized the initiative against the Echigo forces) —he had been convinced. Whether it was directing a surprise attack force toward Saijoyama or being stationed here with an ambush formation lying in wait for the enemy’s collapse, he had viewed all these maneuvers as a game of shogi where he had taken the initiative.

However. Their positions had reversed. While Kenshin was already advancing resolutely toward this position without hesitation, Shingen had been forced into the necessity of altering his own forces’ deployment at the critical moment—in other words, he had been placed on the defensive. For Shingen—who, despite his seasoned judgment and unshakable belief in ultimate victory, had been outmaneuvered at the very outset by the young Kenshin in this masterstroke of divine wisdom and technical mastery in warfare—humanly speaking,

"Kenshin's petty conduct"— he could not help but feel his emotions flare into anger. he had no choice but to be filled with a fighting spirit that declared, "Very well—I shall show you what I’m made of!"

Strategic Overview

“His Lordship’s order to reform the battle formation!” “Reform the formations now!” Several horsemen bearing Centipede banners on their backs galloped between various allied units, fervently relaying the orders to each encampment. “Lord Yamagata’s forces are to push forward into the very heart of the vanguard and erect the White Bellflower Banner as your marker—such is the military command!” “Lord Takeda Nobushige and Lord Anayama Genba’s forces—when Lord Yamagata sights the White Bellflower Banner—to the left formation!”

“To the right formation: Lord Morozumi Bungo.” “Lord Naitō Shuri Masatoyo.” “At the center: Lord Shingen and the elite retainers.” “Next, the left flank’s forces.” “Lord Hara Hayato.” “Lord Takeda Shōyōken.”

“To the right flank: Lord Takeda Taro Yoshinobu.” “Lord Mochizuki Jinpachirō.” “—As for the rear guard: Lord Abe Ōi-no-suke, Lord Imafuku Jōkansai, Lord Asari Shikibu-no-shō…” Busily, loudly, and suddenly—while Centipede Unit messengers raced about delivering these orders across the field—Yamagata Saburōbei’s vanguard and other units had already begun moving like clouds spilling from a gorge’s mouth. Yet by then, it could be said that time had grown too late.

The fearsome advance of Kenshin’s Wheel Formation had already reached right before their eyes. This approach was not what one would call a direct frontal assault. Like interlocking rings of an immense iron chain ceaselessly rotating closer, if one sought where the formation’s combat edge lay—the very moment they collided with the enemy vanguard became that razor-sharp point itself. Now its ends seemed to have made contact somewhere.

For the Takeda forces, even now—as they were struggling to reset their entire formation—their foothold had not yet been properly secured.

Naturally, confusion began to break out in some positions. “Damn it!” Even Shingen must have felt his blood run cold at this moment. Whether in response or mere coincidence, from near the curtained enclosure where he stood, the thunderous sound of a great war drum suddenly resounded in valiant cadence—one booming strike after another. But—it was the combat directive.

Still, it was not yet the relentless drumbeat commanding a heedless all-out offensive. "Messengers! Messengers!"

Nearby, the elite retainers were shouting. Yamamoto Dōki and Hara Hayato had also all hurried back to their respective posts; their figures were no longer present here.

“Hah! At your summons—” Two or three bearers of the Centipede banners came running. Their eyes, their lips, their complexions—none were as they normally were.

“A second command from His Lordship! All vanguard left and right units are to hold firm in each and every one of their assigned positions! Do not leave your encampments without cause, nor retreat under any circumstances! You are to hold your positions firmly and fight to the death against the enemy’s fierce assault—so it states! Hurry and relay this to the commanders everywhere!”

When they received another command from headquarters, the messengers once again dashed off, their Centipede banners fluttering on their backs as they pleased. Since he had used war drums, it is said that this side deliberately employed gongs instead.

In any case, they now clearly saw each other as enemies. In their eyes, ears, the tips of their feet—every hair-raising pore across their bodies.

Before they knew it.

In the sky, the sun was rising. Judging by the sun’s position, the time appeared to be around the Hour of the Rabbit (approximately 7 AM). The mist had not yet fully dissipated but now carried a milky-white translucence as it churned and surged like steam from a hot spring. Where its thinning veil draped across the land, everything from Kawanakajima’s plains—let alone the Saigawa and Chikuma Rivers—to the distant Myōkō and Kurohime mountain ranges emerged in a luminous yet hazy silhouette.

“They’re close! “They’re close now!” “Forty, fifty ken (approximately 72–90 meters).” “No, it’s only about thirty ken (approximately 54 meters).” Crouching at the very front of the vanguard was a small squad of matchlock gunners under Yamagata Saburōbei’s command. “…Not yet. “Not yet, I tell you!”

Having loaded their ammunition and aimed their muzzles at the enemy from the cover of a slight depression, they still measured the distance and refrained from firing.

“Wait until twenty *ken* (approximately 36 meters).” “Boldly draw them closer!” It must have been the squad leader. He added from behind.

For the gunners holding their carefully aimed stance, it felt interminably long.

Even as they held their position, the slightest lapse in attention risked the dew-drenched autumn grass extinguishing their matchcords and dampening their ammunition.

“Not yet?” “No good!” The effective range of matchlock guns at the time was said to be around thirty *ken* (approximately 54 meters), but even bullets that reached this maximum distance would simply ricochet off armor skirts and leather cuirasses. The bullets—lead pellets weighing between three to seven monme (approximately 11–26 grams)—were such that managing to fire even three shots was considered a success; after that, they couldn’t be used again without cleaning the barrel’s metal fittings and fouled sections of the cartridge chambers. Troublesome as they were, these were state-of-the-art weapons that had only recently made their appearance on battlefields. Even the financially robust Kōshū forces and even Kenshin, culturally astute as he was, could barely muster no more than a hundred guns or perhaps a hundred twenty to thirty across their entire armies.

Consequently, each shot— “We won’t fire a single shot in vain!” With this resolve— “If we’re to cut them down, let it be their commander.” —and they harbored a preference for high-value targets. Indeed, they could achieve their objectives more precisely than with traditional bows. Thus, the matchlock unit leader believed that failing to achieve greater merit in the opening battle than the archery unit commanders would be inexcusable to his lord. He was responsible for the muzzles of merely twenty to thirty men, but this naturally had a significant impact on the entire army’s fighting spirit.

――Footsteps. Footsteps. Even the enemy’s footsteps had now reached their ears. It was not only the figures of the Uesugi forces that churned and swirled restlessly. The varying density of the fog, too, swirled with terrifying force. And each time the sunlight pierced through, countless things glittered behind the mist. It was the Uesugi clan’s renowned long-shafted unit. They were wild warriors carrying what appeared to be great swords with elongated hilts—prey in their grasp. But before one could process this thought, their rotating formation swept past like a raging torrent, and in an instant, an entirely different unit materialized. Glinting and gleaming, a column of spear screens advanced in unison like an evening downpour.

“Fire!”

The matchlock unit leader’s gaping mouth unleashed a full-throated roar. Boom! Bang! Thud! The reports were uneven. This was due to factors such as inconsistent gunpowder charges and damp bullets mixed among them. Among the twenty-some gun barrels, five or six had misfired.

However, these dull reverberations, along with the sudden billowing stench of gunpowder smoke, were more than enough to enrage the blood of armored warriors.

Whether friend or foe was indiscernible. From an interval of about twenty-five or twenty-six *ken* (approximately 45–47 meters) between both sides, a thunderous roar erupted all at once, shaking the very heavens and earth of dawn.

The Vitality of the Killing Ground

As the dense enemy front ranks advanced gradually—yet with the ferocity of raging waves—in what is called the warrior’s push, a relentless pressing forward, a thunderous roar erupted at full voice from somewhere in one of their own formations. The opposing side also roared back in response. Rooooar... rooooar! Shouting and screaming as they advanced step by step, both sides closed the gap between them. This state of closed ranks showed no sign of progressing to the next phase. Truly, for every step forward they took, they let out a roar; for every half-step they inched ahead, they bellowed at the top of their lungs.

Rather than advancing toward the enemy with their legs, they pressed forward with every ounce of their voices' power - so much so that this description was more accurate than literal. They were shouting themselves hoarse. No, for mustering courage in the opening battle, raised voices alone proved insufficient. Behind the front lines, they now beat war drums fiercely. There was an art to drumming: it was said that unless the drummer himself struck the drumsticks with all his strength and a spirit akin to praying to heaven and earth, he could not drive his fellow warriors' footsteps step-by-step toward the enemy.

At first glance, this might make them all seem fearful in the opening battle—uncharacteristic for the fierce warriors of that era—but no matter how seasoned a warrior one was, the moment one faced the battlefield, saw the enemy's shadow for the first time, and pressed into close combat, no matter how many times one had experienced it, ——Honestly, it was terrifying. This was something not even true warriors would deny. Though he belonged to a much later period, an old text recording Miyake Gunbei of the Tōgun-ryū school's firsthand account—as told to others—also described the terror of facing battle in this manner through Gunbei's recollections.

(—The enemy’s spear screens and our own pressed forward with shuffling steps, exchanging shouts dozens of times until even the war drums faded from hearing. Our own voices and others’ became indistinguishable; eyes dimmed, hands gripping spears stiffened, body and mind unmoored. In that instant when heaven and earth seemed plunged into utter darkness—enemy faces now vivid before us—yet not a soul stepped forth from their ranks, nor did a single ally charge ahead, speartips aligned as if frozen. Was this a thousand-*ken* abyss? Empty void? Feet rooted, spirit reeling—then in that very moment, a warrior of unknown origin leapt forth with a cry, hurling himself bodily into the enemy throng. Only then did we too forget ourselves and, emboldened by that brave soul, follow in rushing headlong into their midst.) Therefore, the distinction of being first to charge cannot be attained carelessly. (Even for skilled warriors, this distinction is not easily won. Though one may possess daily courage and strength, when faced with that moment, all become equal—and even one such as myself, though having trodden battlefields many times, finds the trembling of his body at the outset impossible to suppress.)

Even a warrior of Gunbei’s caliber says as much. This later account—told by someone when asked about their experience of valiantly serving in the Matsudaira family’s encampment during the Osaka Summer and Winter Campaigns—suggests that whether speaking of him or not, of the Osaka Campaigns or otherwise, the beginnings of battles must often have been like this. Decisive Single Strike

In the close combat at Kawanakajima, where even a slight influence of matchlocks had already begun to manifest, the organization of battle formations—and consequently their preparations—naturally differed from those of earlier engagements.

Generally, it had become standard practice to position matchlock units at the very front, followed by archery units, long-shafted units, and warriors—forming a four-tiered formation. And ordinarily, the matchlock units would begin firing from a distance of two or three *chō* [approximately 200–300 meters] between themselves and the enemy. At this distance, the bullets would not yet reach; however, they would first fire with the aim of raising their fighting spirit, much like warriors’ shouts and war drums. When the distance narrowed to forty or fifty *ken* (approximately 72–90 meters), the bullets could reach their targets. They fiercely exchanged fire. Even so, since reloading and cleaning the guns took time, the matchlock units formed roughly three rotating rows: those who fired would retreat backward, while the next row—having reloaded and waited—would advance forward to fire. And then retreating—this was the method they had adopted.

And when they closed to within half a *chō* (approximately 55 meters), the archery unit loosed arrows like rain. When they closed to within ten *ken* (~18 meters), then seven, then five, it was only then that either long-shafted units or spear units commenced their assault, marking the start of hand-to-hand combat. At this juncture, a secondary tactic called *nino-te* would be employed: once the urgent conch and rapid drums sounded, foot soldiers and samurai alike would plunge headlong into enemy ranks without hesitation. Swords, spears, bare hands—regardless of tools or tactics—they would seize victory and overwhelm the foe, entering what is known as a state of chaotic warfare.

However, on the morning of September 10th, in the opening battle of Kawanakajima, these conventional tactics differed drastically. For on their side, the Kō Army had detected that the enemy was deploying the Wheel Formation and pressed forward with a formation even more rigidly fortified than standard doctrine dictated—but Kenshin had long since

(This time—)

he had resolved, and his tactics were unbound by conventional wisdom, *I will fight with a single decisive strike and decide victory or defeat in an instant.* This was a policy he had already asserted to his various generals and retainers on both flanks.

A decisive single strike meant there would be no second move. There was neither a four-tiered formation nor an opening battle. From the very outset, he aimed to plunge immediately into a decisive engagement—an all-out, life-risking fight that left no room for retreat.

The very first to take the lead was the unit of Kakizaki Izumi-no-kami. Adjusting the large turnip-shaped decorative ribbons on their banners, they launched a surprise attack, while from the left and right, Honjō Echizen-no-kami, Yamayoshi Sonjirō, Irobe Shuri, Yasuda Jibu, and others raised war cries as they took up their positions.

The astonishing thing was that Commander Kenshin himself was positioned in the second line immediately behind Kakizaki’s unit.

If the allied forces in front engaged the enemy and scattered, Kenshin’s position would immediately be exposed before them. It defied description as either bold or anything else. "To this extent"—even Shingen had not imagined it. Even the strategic brilliance of Yamamoto Kansuke and Hara Hayato could not fully discern it. The Kō Army, following standard protocol, deployed their heavy, meticulously arranged battle array and commenced matchlock fire from their front-line gunners toward the enemy’s rotating formation—but no sooner had the urgent bell rung from the Uesugi side than war cries erupted.

“A single decisive strike! —Do not retreat! Not a single step back!” Commander Kenshin himself shouted these words while raising high before his horse a crimson banner emblazoned with a dragon—the battle-torn flag— “Charge! “Charge!”

Under his bellowing at the top of his voice, he waved the banner again and again with such force that the pole might snap and the cloth tear, rallying his men.

The battle-torn dragon banner was what the Uesugi clan called the charge-through banner—a banner of certain death. When this banner was waved, under its shadow, the entire army had sworn an oath that nothing existed save for certain death. No matter how overwhelming an enemy’s might they faced, if they faltered even a single step or retreated half a pace, they could never again show their face among men as warriors—such was the spirit of integrity and shame within the Uesugi house, one facet of their samurai ethos that held disgrace as true disgrace.

A Different Expression They charged toward death. No—they plunged headlong to seize death.

Even so, it still fell short. No words could suffice to describe it. In an instant—as the surging wave of gleaming blades plunged with abandon into the enemy ranks—there was no earthly phenomenon of life that could compare to this spectacle. Solemnity, grandeur, grief, ecstasy. It was beyond all words to describe.

If we were to ascribe a deeper significance, it was the ephemeral "beauty" of life’s pinnacle that humanity could achieve. This was where it found its culmination.

At this moment, the fastest was Kakizaki Izumi-no-kami's unit from the Uesugi side—from the commander down to every last soldier, they all charged fiercely on foot. Foot soldiers and samurai alike pressed their helmet visors low, heedless of bullets or arrows, and barreled forward with a thunderous roar—*Waaah! Dodododo!*— And collided. The Kō Army unit that took this single decisive strike belonged to Yamagata Saburōbee Masakage's command. "Damn it! Nozoe! Pull back the archers and matchlocks! Long-shafts! Forward... Forward! Advance!"

Beneath the White Bellflower banner, Saburōbee Masakage was leaping up.

Nozoe Magohachi, following that order, shouted even louder toward the front lines, but the allies had already descended into chaos.

In the opening battle, they had been caught off guard. First, while they were still under the assumption that if they fired their matchlocks, the enemy would at least respond in kind with their own guns, that fierce enemy had already broken into their ranks.

“Oda Kōsuke of the Uesugi!”

“I am Soboya Gonnosuke—the one they called a man of Kasugayama!” “I am Koshi Samanosuke! Witness the skill of an Echigo warrior!” The voices heard on the right were enemies. The voices thundering on the left were enemies. Even Yamagata Masakage’s shout of “Damn it!” came too late. Like clear water bursting through a ship’s hull, the entire encampment was overrun by Uesugi soldiers in an instant; across its expanse—gruesomely crimson with the blood of countless warriors now corpses—from gaps in the dispersing mist streamed a blazing morning sun, redder than blood itself.

On a knoll resembling a tumor protruding from the wild plain stood a young general of the Kō Army, watching this opening battle. It was Takeda Nobushige, the Danjō—Shingen’s younger brother. He had positioned himself far to the left of their ally Yamagata’s location with approximately eight hundred troops under his command;

“What?! This—the morale of the Uesugi forces—was anything but ordinary. Never before had I seen an enemy fight so fiercely from the very start of battle. For the Takeda, who had never known defeat, today would likely become a desperate battle where nine die so one may live. “Well then—Danjō Nobushige too resolved that today was the day he would die.”

After muttering this, he struck his horse with a whip. Just as it seemed he was charging toward the enemy, he dismounted before his brother Shingen’s headquarters, lifted the curtain, and immediately stood before Shingen.

And having reported both the urgency of the situation and that their allies’ position had now reached its most dire state, “Here—with full resolve—Your Lordship’s deliberation on our strategic fortunes must take precedence.” “To declare that peril now singes the Takeda clan’s very brow would be no exaggeration.” he pressed his brother toward decisive action. Shingen, however, “Danjō? What brings you here?” responded with unshaken composure—even as Nobushige stood before him with tears pooling in his eyes,

“For our final parting in this life—” As he bowed—or rather, looked down to hide his tears—Shingen glared fiercely at him,

“Do you still hold in your heart that kin remain on this battlefield? “Shingen has twenty thousand vital troops; beyond that, whether he has a brother or not has never crossed his mind. “Useless sentiment—a hindrance to duty. Begone!” he barked.

“It was my lapse.” “Grant me your forgiveness.”

Danjō shed his tears, left his brother’s headquarters, and spurred his horse. Then,

“Is that not Lord Nobushige?”

Then, from behind, someone called out. When he looked around, he found himself before Yamamoto Kansuke Dōki’s position. “Ah, Dōki!” “The army appears to be in disarray already,” said Kansuke. “That I should unexpectedly behold your noble form amidst such chaos speaks to an inexhaustible bond from this fleeting life. For many years have I received your profound kindness—today, this monk too believes it time to bid an eternal farewell. May your martial fortune endure long.” This encampment too was filled with a ghastly air—its front palisade already breached, corpses of friend and foe alike strewn in disarray, broken spears and trampled battle standards littering the ground.

“What’s this, Dōki? The road to death is one we’ll both be treading soon enough." “Even so—has your position already been overrun by the enemy like this?”

When Danjō turned around and replied, “Not at all—this Yamamoto Dōki will not crumble so easily. Our position was once trampled by the enemy forces of Honjō Echizen and Kakizaki Izumi, but we desperately pushed them back, exploited their retreating momentum, and are now doing our utmost to support our vanguard Yamagata Masakage’s faltering front.”

“……Ah—is that human whirlpool yonder, like a tidal surge?” “If we hold firm, our allies’ victory leaves no room for doubt.” “Once we endure until the ten thousand reinforcements who stormed Saijoyama last night come charging here, today’s triumph will assuredly belong to our Kō Army.”

Just as he was about to say this, a messenger behind him— “Strategist! The right defense of the Yamagata unit—the two forces of Naitō and Morozumi—have been shattered by the fierce assaults of Shibata Owari-no-kami and others. Quickly to that area—His Lordship commands that reinforcements be prepared there. Hurry!” and with that shout, he dashed off again.

“What? The right defense too?”

Upon hearing this, the old strategist—already over sixty years of age—rose abruptly, using his spear as a staff like a man in his prime.

And then, staggering five or six steps as he began to walk, he turned once more toward Danjō— “Farewell,” he said. Danjō watched him go, his eyes filled with anguish. On Dōki’s body, several spear wounds and gunshot wounds were already visible. Yet he showed no sign of yielding; immediately mustering a hoarse voice, he shouted something into the midst of the battlefield.

Severed Heads

Takeda Nobushige’s attire that day consisted of armor adorned with an u-no-hana pattern; a helmet bearing kuwagata crests fitted low on his neck like a boar’s nape; a long spear tucked under his arm; and astride a Kai-bred black steed. He had slung his helmet behind him, smoothed his disheveled hair with a blood-stained headband, and stood valiantly at the vanguard himself—when, as if struck by a thought, “Gennojō! Gennojō!” Then, summoning Kasuga Gennojō, a retainer at his horse’s side, he tore off the purple-and-navy horo he had wrapped around his back,

“This was a keepsake from Father Nobutora-sama. This horo bearing his calligraphy—should the enemy seize it, your honorable name would bear eternal stain. I entrust it to you to deliver to my son Nobutoyo.” He flung it toward him. Gennojō scrambled to catch it, but— “By entrusting this to me and ordering its delivery to the young lord—are you commanding me to return alive to Kōfu? With deepest respect, I beg you appoint another. I shall not yield one step from this field today.”

he retorted to his lord on horseback, as if shouting, as if weeping.

Danjō deliberately feigned anger, “If I meant to have another carry out what I ordered by my own judgment, I wouldn’t be telling you.” “Quickly, return to Kōfu.”

No sooner had he barked this command than that figure was charging into the fray.

Echigo warriors Nojiri Yasusuke, Sekigawa Jūdayū, Kashiwara Kurando, Kumasaka Daigo, and their ilk— “There he is—Danjō!” “Shingen’s brother!” The moment they saw him, they abandoned their other opponents and, “It is I!”

With that, they thrust and charged, "Unless we receive that head of yours, we samurai would be satisfied to perish in mutual combat!"

They blocked his path，gave chase again，and pursued him tenaciously without respite. Danjō was disarmed of his spear. He immediately drew his camp sword and cut down Kumasaka Daigo.

Sekigawa Jūdayū— “Splendid work. Now, face me!” With that, diagonally, he extended his spear. That spear—because Danjō had inadvertently grabbed it in front of his face—

“Urgh!” With a forceful pull, Danjō was yanked over the horse’s head and tumbled forward. As Nojiri, Kashiwara, and others scrambled to claim the head, Danjō’s dozen or so subordinates surged forward in a mass. Amidst the flurry of slashing blades and chaotic movements, Danjō’s figure was lost from view. “He’s getting away!” When they found him, Danjō had already whipped his horse and retreated right to the edge of the Chikuma River.—Judging he was out of reach, one of the Echigo soldiers fired a matchlock gun. Danjō plunged into the river, sending up a spray of water.

With a splashing roar that kicked up white waves, a great number of Echigo soldiers rushed into the river. Their aim was to claim Danjō’s head. Danjō’s body bobbed up and down as it drifted with the current. At last, Umezu Sōzō—a retainer of Usami Suruga-no-kami—seized the corpse. In an instant, he dyed the river crimson. Severing only the head and tucking it under his arm, he emerged from the water once more with a violent splash. But just as he took his first step onto the bank from the river—Danjō’s retainers Higuchi Saburōbee and Yokota Mondon, among others—

“Hand over the honorable head!” With that, they struck. Umezu Sōzō swept one man aside with a horizontal slash of his longsword, deftly struck down another, then ran toward his allies while shouting something at the top of his voice. Probably, “The honorable head of Lord Shingen’s younger brother, Samanosuke Danjō Nobushige, has been taken by Umezu Sōzō, a retainer of Usami Suruga-no-kami!”

He must have roared this declaration, but amidst the panting breaths, frenzied clamor, and cacophony of battle, what he shouted could not be clearly discerned.

Yet even within the Uesugi ranks, there was a lone soldier who had followed deep into their midst and, unexpectedly from behind, cut down Umezu Sōzō with a sudden strike. Immediately after snatching his lord Danjō’s head from Umezu’s hands, he drenched his entire face in tears and rushed into the Takeda camp. It was only after the war that it became known: that soldier was a young man of very low status serving under a page named Yamadera Myōnosuke, whom Danjō had always looked after.

The Howling Battlefield

Morozumi Bungo-no-kami, a general of the Takeda army, had been suffering from diarrhea since the previous day. When the torment grew unbearable, he would sometimes lie atop his shield while continuing to command, but now he cast aside his ailment and took up a spear himself to repel the enemy.

The Uesugi forces attacking here were the vanguard of Kakizaki Izumi’s unit that had breached the Takeda army’s center. “Do not linger on these foot soldiers’ resistance. “Second and third ranks—plow through fiercely! Make straight for Hachiman’s Forest! “There lies Shingen’s headquarters!” Through the din came an enemy commander’s voice—unidentified. Morozumi Bungo-no-kami’s hair bristled. The enemy showed no interest in winning skirmishes—they were fixated solely on striking at Shingen’s encampment.

“If they break through here—” When he looked around, his subordinates were locked in desperate combat everywhere. Some crossed spears with the enemy; others cast aside broken shafts and charged into the blood mist with camp swords still raised.

A horse with its bright red intestines exposed galloped madly through the chaos. Men falling from horses; men trampled beneath hooves; men clinging to stirrups, trying to drag mounted enemies down. Those who, attempting to strike from horseback, were instead impaled by enemies below and met a gruesome death in battle. Others threw down their prey and grappled with each other. Kneading grass, soil, and blood, deadly forces clashed until one side finally felled the other and raised its severed head—only for a fresh enemy to appear at once.

“For my fallen comrade!” As if crying out their vengeance, fresh enemies emerged. In moments—one after another—lives were mercilessly cut down, corpses stacking into mountains. Across the bloodied plain, dew had dried from grass blades. Where morning mist once lingered now swirled horse-churned dust and coiling smoke from spilt blood. Amidst the indescribable cacophony—human shrieks, twanging bowstrings, gunfire’s crack, equine screams, earth’s shuddering groan—there came,

“Danjō Nobushige has been slain!” the Uesugi forces’ triumphant song that proclaimed—

“Alas—Lord Nobushige has fallen!”

The triumphant cries of "Danjō Nobushige has been slain!" from the Uesugi side and the mournful voices of allies lamenting "Alas—Lord Nobushige has fallen!" reached Morozumi Bungo-no-kami's ears intermingled.

Morozumi Bungo-no-kami’s Death in Battle

Those who meet their death in battle are said to have let slip some words that seemed like a premonition before that day. “Since this morning they kept saying today’s battle would be Danjō’s place of death—and now your younger brother has…” Now the Takeda forces were unmistakably on the brink of total defeat. “Come—I too shall follow you in death!”

Morozumi Bungo-no-kami, hastening toward death, paid no heed to bystanders and met each successive enemy head-on. Driven back by this momentum, Kakizaki Izumi’s unit scattered momentarily, but Shibata Owari-no-kami’s force—also of the Uesugi faction—struck Morozumi’s troops on their flank. Kakizaki’s men rallied again. Caught in this pincer attack, Bungo-no-kami found himself utterly hard-pressed. “I perceive you are a warrior of repute.” “This humble one is Matsumura Shin’emon, retainer of Shibata.” “Yield your head!”

From behind Bungo-no-kami, a lone figure came running, shouting thus. When he turned around, there stood a warrior on foot. He held a long oak-shafted spear. “Have at you!” While shouting, he turned his horse’s head and slashed downward from below the stirrups—Shin’emon’s spear struck the opponent’s horse squarely on the neck. Bungo somersaulted from the saddle. “Got him! Got him! The head of the Takeda forces’ samurai commander, Morozuka Bungo-no-kami—”

While dancing wildly and holding aloft the severed head to display it to both allies and enemies, Matsumura Shin’emon was already surrounded by Bungo-no-kami’s retainers—Ishiguro Gorōbyōe, Yamadera Tōemon, Hirose Gōzō, and others—and with a thud, he collapsed into the thicket of enemy spears.

The Matter of Kansuke Dōki From around the Hour of the Dragon (8 AM), when both armies plunged into full-scale combat, even by the Hour of the Horse (12 PM), they still clashed chaotically across the entire field—swirling thickly, not for a moment ceasing their screams of deadly struggle. Even the Ushikubo-shū—the ironclad bastion of the Kō army said to have never collapsed in any past melee—had now lost their formation and were engaged in desperate individual combat. Witnessing this, all of the Takeda forces— "Is this… the end?"

—they could not help but resign themselves to their own army’s total defeat.

The Ushikubo-shū were a jet-black unit organized entirely by valiant generals and fierce warriors from the same homeland—Ushikubo in Mikawa Province—beginning with Yamamoto Dōki Nyūdō, and including Daibutsu Shōzaemon, Isahaya Gorō, and others. Hats, helmets, armor, and banners—all were uniformly jet-black. “When we fall, the Kō army will be annihilated.” This was what the Ushikubo-shū had always boasted. Today—had that day finally come? The Ushikubo-shū too had been driven into disarray and scattered, and though there were no witnesses, their commander Yamamoto Kansuke had also met his end amidst the chaotic battle.

According to the post-battle military merit investigation by the Echigo side, those who killed Yamamoto Kansuke Dōki were four retainers of Kakizaki Izumi-no-kami—Hagita Yosabee, Yoshida Kishirō, Kawada Gunbee, and Sakanogi Isohachi—who together accomplished the deed. The location was said to be near Numaki Myōjin Shrine in the precincts of Tōfuku-ji Temple, while the place where the head was washed is claimed to be Mizusawa within Hachimanbara Plain. However, at that site, not one but three monks’ heads were washed. Due to one resembling him among them, it was reported as Yamamoto Nyūdō’s severed head—a fact that later caused even within the Uesugi clan,

“Whether it was indeed Kansuke Dôki’s severed head remained unclear.”

and has also been called into question. However, even the very existence of Yamamoto Kansuke himself had long been disputed. The *Buko Zakki* records that Kamiizumi Ise-no-kami and his disciple Torahaku encountered Yamamoto Kansuke at the Makino family’s residence in Ushikubo, Mikawa Province, on their return from Kyoto. Meanwhile, the *Hokuetsu Gunki* writes at times as if he existed and at others as if he did not. As the expositor of Lord Shingen’s military code in the *Kōyō Gunkan*,

Baba Mino explains how the army was formed. Someone determined battlefield positions in foreign territories; as for other deployments, Hara Hayato and Motsupara were consulted. Given this, the name of Yamamoto Kansuke—supposedly an overtly active staff officer in the field tent—is nowhere to be found. That said, even when considering sources like the *Kōyō Gunkan* and *Buko Zakki*, there are still limits to how much authenticity can be placed in them.

Therefore, we shall proceed under the assumption that there was indeed a man called Kansuke here—though it is with regret that we can only record our inability to provide a detailed account of the circumstances surrounding his final moments.

March Through Blood

Whether the fire from matchlocks had ignited dead leaves, or scattered embers from the camp had turned into wildfire, the skies over Kawanakajima were filled with smoke like spilled ink. Within that smoke, the sun—now nearing the Hour of the Sheep—smoldered like a single bead of coral. Word came of brave warriors from Kai falling one after another in battle: Hatsukano Gengorō at their head, followed by Takeda Nobushige—Shingen’s own brother—and commanders from the Morozumi, Yamamoto, and Naitō families. With this, the Kō army’s encampment now teetered on the brink of total annihilation.

Kenshin struck the pommel of his saddle at this moment, “The moment to fulfill my years-long ambition has come!”

He glanced around at his elite retainers. Of course, since that morning, he had not established his position in any fixed location. He himself had become the raging torrent, surging freely and unrestrainedly across the battlefield. Those who followed before and behind his steed—determined never to stray from their lord’s side—were none other than the twelve elite retainers selected from the initial descent of Mount Saijoyama under night’s cover. Chisaka Naizen, Ichikawa Shugen, Ōkuni Heima—though seven or eight faces remained visible at that moment, the rest had either sustained wounds or fallen in battle, for they were no longer present near Kenshin.

“Let’s go! Don’t lag behind!”

Kenshin shouted those words and spurred onward. When he applied a whip to his steed Hōjōtsukige, his figure charged into the ranks of Takeda Tarō Yoshinobu’s unit like a meteor. “Hrah!” “My Lord!” “At last! We now witness His Lordship’s resolve to fulfill his long-cherished ambition.” The elite retainers also charged after him. However, neither Kenshin leading the charge nor those on foot were traversing a deserted plain, of course. Blocked from the front. Attacked from the side. Surrounded from behind. Kicking them aside, knocking them down, trampling over them—it was an endless march through blood with relentless ferocity.

Naturally—Kenshin, followed by his elite retainers, was joined by other scattered units surging in from behind, and here they formed a single raging torrent amid the violent waves. Enemy and ally—some three thousand six or seven hundred men—intermingled in chaos: they stabbed and were stabbed, cut down and were cut down; they grappled for the padding in each other’s armor, wrestled and rolled across the ground; they seized heads only to rise and find them belonging to their own lords, then thrust spears demanding their return or leapt to strike down foes; pages of sixteen or seventeen years old, even down to the lowliest sandal-bearers, formed groups to fight, clasped hands in struggle, stabbed one another through, clutched at topknots—and not a single warrior from either side ended without having achieved something.

This is what the Kōyō Gunkan records, but the state of the clash must have been truly as described.

In any case, Takeda Tarō Yoshinobu’s unit was swiftly breached. Amidst the so-called carnage of seven flowers and eight splits—in the blink of an eye—Kenshin had already charged headlong toward Shingen’s central army, which he had detected since dawn. Sudden rain, a flash of lightning.

Kenshin bent his upper body as far as possible on horseback, pressing his face into the steed’s mane.

It was not to evade arrows or bullets.

"Shingen is nearby." This was because he had thought so. Until he could see Shingen, he was determined not to let the enemy recognize him as Kenshin. Nor did he wish to engage any foe but Shingen. Therefore, his attire had been made plainer than during their encampment. Over black-thread-laced armor, he wore a yellow-green damask vest and covered his face with a white silk hood wrapped like a traveler's—nowhere was there any ostentation befitting a commander. Yet his steed was the famed Hōjō, and his longsword—Azuki Nagamitsu—measured two shaku four sun.

"Shingen—where are you?" While scanning the area with torch-like eyes, he galloped near the Hachiman Shrine grounds.

When they had come this far, unexpectedly, no enemies clung to them. Numerous wild-eyed soldiers passed by him, yet none could have possibly suspected this was Kenshin, the enemy commander-in-chief. Kenshin paid them no heed either. He did nothing but search for Shingen to settle their life-or-death duel, stepping over and over the flags, shields, and assorted weapons that lay fallen upon the cedar needles.

At this moment, Takeda Shingen watched as the enemy unit that had crushed Tarō Yoshinobu’s forces passed toward Hachiman Forest like a whirlwind, “Now then, what scheme does the enemy plot now?”

He had gathered in a cluster with the three monk warriors and several elite retainers at his side, stirring up a commotion with suspicion.

When an eerie shout suddenly rang out nearby, every face present whipped around in unison— “Shingen! There you are!” Before them loomed a colossal figure astride a monstrous steed—so vast it defied comprehension through mere mortal eyes. —Ah! Kenshin.

Those present here must have realized in an instant. Within the curtained enclosure, those close to the lord carried no weapons such as spears or naginata. In that same instant, “Look out!” In their panicked state, the allies could not even maintain enough space between each other to draw their longswords, so— “You!”

One of the monk warriors hurled a nearby camp stool into the distance. Whether it hit or not, the camp stool’s whereabouts were anyone’s guess. Like rain, cedar leaves scattered down. For a moment, Kenshin’s figure on horseback seemed caught on the giant cedar’s lateral branch—but bending low and leaping once more, Hōjōtsukige’s hooves were already plunging into the throng. “Hrah!” A resounding noise rang out. Whether it came from Kenshin’s mouth or the swing of Azuki Nagamitsu—in that instant, a monk warrior staggered backward from his blade’s tip, severing the headquarters’ tent rope as he collapsed onto his back.

However, that was not Shingen. Shingen dodged and—like a fierce tiger that had ducked its body into a thicket—glared with both eyes as he watched Kenshin’s figure. No—those eyes had scarcely a moment to take it in. Kenshin, glancing to the right, twisted his body—which had just delivered a strike—to the left and turned toward Shingen, then once more— “Hah!” he shouted.

Indeed, this time, it was a voice that erupted from the very depths of Kenshin’s being. Shingen reflexively thrust out the military command fan in his right hand and slightly lowered his face toward his left shoulder. He discarded the military command fan from his numb hand. And as he shifted his stance like a great phoenix taking flight and reached for his longsword’s hilt, Kenshin’s second strike sliced through the space where he had pivoted. That was the instant. Hara Ōsumi, Commander of the Foot Soldiers, picked up a mother-of-pearl inlaid spear that had fallen in the distance,

“Grah!” With a snarl-like cry, he charged forward and, in the nick of time to save his lord Shingen from peril, thrust his spear upward at the mounted foe. Kenshin, without even glancing, “Kizan, you coward!”

While swinging back for the third strike, he attempted to leap—horse and all—onto Shingen. For Shingen, having sustained an injury to his right arm and clutching his elbow, twisted his body and feigned a retreat. Aiming for that retreating back, the gleam of Azuki Nagamitsu drew a flash—yet in nearly the same instant, Hōjōtsukige let out a shrill neigh and reared upright on its hind legs. —For Hara Ōsumi, too hasty in his urgency, had thrust his spear in vain and,

“Tch!” For Hara Ōsumi had merely adjusted his reversed spear and struck Kenshin’s horse with all his might. Elite Retainers versus Elite Retainers

“Can’t see him!” “Where to?” “Has our lord already fallen?” Chisaka Naizen, Wada Hyōbu, Ōkuni Heima, Oni-Kojima Yatarō, and eight or nine other elite retainers—being all on foot—had lost sight of their lord Kenshin along the way. “We who never left his side for even an instant have now lost our lord alone amidst enemy ranks—should harm befall him, we’d become the world’s mockery, a disgrace unto posterity!” Thus they dashed about hither and thither in desperate frenzy, like trees howling beneath a storm’s wrath,

“My lord!” “My lord—aaah!” they shouted frantically as they searched. Then two men from the same unit—Imogawa Heidayū and Nagai Genshirō—appeared as if tempest-blown sparrows, seen charging headlong toward the enemy’s curtained enclosures in the distance.

“Ah!” “Heidayū!”

“So our lord must be there as well.” The men vied to outpace each other as they struggled fiercely toward those curtained enclosures. No—not only Uesugi’s twelve elite retainers, but even Takeda’s own elite retainers, who had been darting about in disarray between nearby enemy huts and curtained enclosures, had all heard some strange noise emanating from their lord Shingen’s headquarters and were now rushing to converge on the very same spot.

Of course. As they closed in on that spot, both Kenshin’s elite retainers and Shingen’s elite retainers had become so densely packed that their bodies collided with one another.

Yet neither he nor they paid any heed to the enemies at their sides.

Takeda’s elite retainers dreaded the worst for Shingen, while Uesugi’s elite retainers likewise feared for Kenshin’s life—and before those blazing eyes and fearsome stances of both sides, there was nothing else—absolutely nothing—beyond the safety of their respective lords. At this moment, Uesugi Kenshin—alone on horseback—charged into Takeda Shingen’s headquarters, saw Shingen himself in person, and even unleashed one swift strike of Azuki Nagamitsu followed by a second blade swing—both in vain—inflicting only a minor wound on Shingen’s right arm. Thwarted by the enemy Hara Ōsumi, whose spear shaft struck his mount’s hindquarters, Hōjōtsukige—still bearing Kenshin—startled and leaped, then bolted sideways out of that encampment in a furious dash.

“Ah—” Amidst indescribable chaos, it could still be said to have been fortunate. As if tripping over a tree root, Hōjōtsukige lurched forward. And then Kenshin had been violently thrown from his horse. Hara Ōsumi, who had pursued him, along with several other spear-wielding soldiers, “Got him!” And they eagerly closed in on Kenshin’s figure, leaping forward to surround him.

“Look there! His Lordship is in peril!” “His Lordship is in peril!”

Uesugi's elite retainers—how could they possibly overlook this? With a roar, they charged sideways in a headlong rush. "Stand aside!"

They aligned their spearheads and blocked the path. Meanwhile, Hōjōtsukige—still bearing an empty saddle—charged recklessly into Nagasaka Chōkan’s position without hesitation. As for Kenshin, Oni-Kojima Yatarō had swiftly seized the bit of a stray horse and dragged it over. No sooner had Kenshin leapt onto its back than he laid on the whip, shouting to his elite retainers, “Back! Back!” Once more cutting through the swarming enemy, he swiftly retreated into friendly lines.

Hara Ōsumi’s voice His coming had been swift, but his departure was swifter still. Now, as to why Kenshin had been in such haste to withdraw—it was because, at the very moment when his elite retainers and the enemy’s elite retainers had erupted into a ferocious death struggle with their spear screens clashing against one another, Hara Ōsumi of the Takeda forces had bellowed out loudly: “Now is the moment our allies’ chance for victory has come—look! From Saijoyama direction, Lord Kōsaka’s, Lord Baba’s, Lord Amari’s, Lord Koyamada’s detachments and other units that set out last night are charging here like swift clouds!”

It was because he had been bellowing this repeatedly. The reason Kenshin had been hastening since this morning to decisively settle victory or defeat—and what had constantly weighed on his mind—lay precisely in the movements of those ten detached Takeda army units. Moreover, though he had left behind a regrettable single strike against the enemy commander Shingen, it could be said they had utterly ravaged his central army—thereby releasing a fragment of the rancor that had festered over years—and at the same time,

“Here...”

he swiftly considered the "shift" in military opportunity and cleanly withdrew with a rapid retreat. Since Kenshin had withdrawn, his elite retainers—Ichikawa Shōzen, Chisaka Naizen, Wada Hyōbu, Imogawa Heidayū, and others—all dashed toward friendly lines, following in his wake.

As they charged forward, Imogawa Heidayū and Oni-Kojima Yatarō— “The head of Takeda Daizen-dayū Harunobu—Imogawa Heidayū has slain him!” “The head of Lord Shingen! Uesugi warriors Oni-Kojima Yatarō and Imogawa Heidayū have joined forces to slay him!” “Takeda scum! Do not obstruct the path of Lord Shingen’s head!” They pressed through, roaring at the top of their lungs. Of course, it was false. Yet even Hara Ōsumi’s earlier shout—“Our Saijoyama detachment approaches!”—had been nothing but a flash of battlefield wit.

At times, such verbal exchanges could demonstrate combat power beyond what physical exertion alone could achieve.

Even amidst spear fighting, mounted combat, hand-to-hand struggles, and close-quarters blade clashes—when friend and foe intermingled in utter chaos, drenched in blood and clawing at each other’s flesh—battles were by no means fought in silence. Rather, enemies and allies alike barked and shouted in a cacophony, uttering all manner of curses and screams. Yet most of what they were howling made little sense. Some warriors made it their habit to fight while chanting Buddhist prayers; others... Voices chanting “By Kannon’s power, blades shatter!” could often be heard amid the chaotic fray; young warriors would repeatedly shout names of ancestors they revered, reciting them like mantras; while others—reckless fighters—bellowed “Heave-ho!” like woodcutters splitting logs or roared “Yah! Hoist! Yah! Hoist!” as they rowed through enemy lines like galley oarsmen.

Regardless of intent, they released every conceivable cry—conscious or unconscious. Amidst such chaos, if there existed a samurai who could interject with precise words—uttered in a tactfully appropriate instant—to divert the enemy’s focus and rally his allies’ morale, then such a man could only be either a warrior who had traversed countless battlefields or a truly exceptional figure possessing both courage and strategic acumen.

Be that as it may, on this day too, a gale began blowing from mid-afternoon, engulfing both enemies and allies in swirling sand and dust—so thick that one might have thought night had fallen, yet the sun still hung in the sky—a sandstorm people would later recount as being of such severity. The warhorses' hooves churned up the earth in wild disarray, and soldiers kicked the loosened soil skyward once more. This only added to the confusion, and with rumors flying thick as the dust itself, numerous friendly fire incidents occurred—both among Takeda forces and within Uesugi ranks—around this time.

Above all, “Lord Shingen has been slain!” The rumor—if only for a moment—spread through the Takeda ranks like a hex, and in an instant, a pall of despondency had shrouded the entire army. At last, as men regained their senses and word reached Shingen’s headquarters—where his camp stool now stood restored—Naitō Shuri, deeming this calamitous, raced through allied positions proclaiming: “His Lordship remains in fine spirits.” “He commands without hindrance. Should any ally succumb to enemy falsehoods and seek to confound our resolve—though they be comrades—cut them down without mercy.”

Although the entire camp’s uneasy turmoil had finally subsided thanks to this announcement, the Takeda forces’ central command—once trampled by Kenshin’s warhorses at the very heart of their formation—could not easily recover from their shock and disordered ranks. Yet this forbearance and self-restraint were an endurance only Takeda Shingen could have sustained. To the Kō Army, which had deliberately endured a passive and grueling battle from start to finish, auspicious tidings soon arrived. “They’ve been sighted!” “The ten allied units—over there! From both downstream and upstream of the Chikuma River—”

In the treetops of Hachiman Forest, those who had climbed up for reconnaissance shouted this report down to those below, and the general stationed there immediately headed toward Shingen’s encampment to relay the same message. The battle situation shifted. They were too late.

The arrival of allied forces diverted from Saijoyama had come far too late. Shingen and all the Takeda generals and soldiers embroiled in bitter combat— (What are they doing?) —must have been seething with rage in their hearts until this very moment. Yet from the perspective of those who had marched toward Saijoyama only to find Kenshin’s camp abandoned and stand there facing its hollow emptiness, their actions were not entirely unreasonable. The thick fog from morning until just before noon—which had completely obscured the Uesugi forces’ whereabouts—contributed to this delay. But more crucially, when shifting to their next course of action, they had prioritized extreme caution, wary of potential stratagems the Uesugi might have prepared.

And another factor was that, upon descending the mountain and beginning to cross the river, Amakasu Ōmi-no-kami—known to all as a brave general of the Uesugi forces—had secured the entire Jūnikase area from his position on the hill of Komori Riverbank on the opposite shore, ――When the enemy is crossing the river, strike them halfway across. it was a posture of preparedness in exact accordance with the tactics Sun Tzu’s Art of War had stated. Because of this, the time was further delayed, and amidst their fragmented discussions, the sound of gunfire could be heard in the distant direction of Kawanishima. War cries rose; replacing the fog, thick clouds of horse dust could be seen billowing up.

"Damn it." "The enemy’s main force had instead launched a fierce attack on our thinly spread main force." "There was no time to delay." Upstream and downstream—they began crossing from both directions. Unlike crossing alone on horseback, this required preparations and took considerable time. The number of troops here, though a detachment, far outnumbered Shingen’s main force that had earlier advanced to Hachimanbara Plain; organized into ten commanders and ten units, their total strength was no fewer than twelve thousand. It was precisely for this reason that Kenshin had been most wary of this cloud-like force moving from Saijoyama. To counter this, Amakasu Ōmi-no-kami, who had been securely positioned on Komori Riverbank since this morning,

“Now!” Seizing the moment before the enemy could set foot on this shore, they loosed arrows and matchlock fire upon them. Within effective range, spray like rain burst from the water’s surface. The river turned crimson as countless men fell—floating up, sinking down—carried away by the current.

From the outset, it appeared Kenshin had left nearly all of his army's matchlock units here. His own forces had been prepared from the beginning for a "single-strike" tactic and thus had anticipated bows and firearms would prove unnecessary. However, they had steeled themselves for casualties during river crossings from the start—these were no green troops to falter at such losses. In moments, Baba Minbu and Amari Saemon's units came charging upstream while downstream, Koyamada Bitchū's, Obata Yamashiro's, and Sanada Danjō's detachments made landfall.

At this moment, the efforts of Amakasu Ōmi-no-kami of Echigo and his men were truly remarkable, and for generations to come—

―The Uesugi house has Amakasu. Though their renown had resounded throughout the realm, a solitary detachment severed from the main army could not long withstand the tide of twelve thousand men, however fiercely they fought.

The enemy forces that had broken through from upstream had already reached Hachimanbara Plain. They finally joined forces with Yamagata Masakage’s unit—which had been driven to near annihilation—and in an instant counterattacked, pursued, and routed the opposing enemy forces: the triumphant Kakizaki troops of Echigo.

The Kō Army’s fresh troops that had advanced from downstream pressed relentlessly against the Uesugi forces’ rear. In response to the roars of “Waaah! Waaah!” from their main force in the direction of Hachiman Shrine—where Shingen was positioned far off—they too raised a war cry brimming with renewed vigor from this edge of the field and launched a fierce assault on the Uesugi army’s flank. Here charged the Naoe, Yasuda, and Arakawa detachments of Echigo. Pushed and pushed back—like raging waves, without end—the blood billowed like smoke.

The sun was about to set. “Yatarō! Yatarō!” “Hah!” “Plant the flags around here.”

“Understood.”

Kenshin had abandoned his horse and stood in the field. Far in the rear of their own forces. As Oni-Kojima Yatarō hoisted high the two banners—the flag bearing the character *Bi* and the sun flag—Kenshin commanded Uno Samanosuke, the conch-bearer, “Blow the conch.” he ordered. He did not specify which signal to blow on the conch. However, Uno Samanosuke, the conch-bearer, had understood. Because just now, five or six of the lord’s elite retainers—Ōkuni Heima, Wada Kiheiei, Ichikawa Shōzen, and others—from his left and right had headed toward their allies in all directions,

“Withdraw immediately!” They were dashing out in all directions to convey the lord’s command.

"The battle... this is as far as it goes." Kenshin, letting the wind blow across his still-damp face that hadn’t yet cooled, muttered these words aloud.

“Lord Kakizaki Izumi and others—I am concerned about our allies who have advanced as far as Hirose.” “—Is it sufficient to rely solely on the conch signal?” Chisaka Naizen craned his neck repeatedly to peer into the distance, his eyes filled with concern. “Then...” Kenshin too seemed to be considering it. For having crossed the Chikuma River and linked up with the main Kō Army, the fresh enemy troops had cut off the retreat path of the allies there.

“No, it should be fine. He is Lord Izumi-no-kami—he will surely break through the enemy’s fresh troops from the flank. Moreover, Amakasu remains at Komori, and the forces here—Naoe Yamato, Yasuda, Arakawa, and others—will unite as one and withdraw.”

Indeed, just as he had said, the allies gradually began to withdraw their positions.

Even so. The reversal of fortunes was undeniable. Up to this point, it had been clear—

“I have won.” Kenshin too had believed this, but now that twelve thousand fresh troops had joined them, his forces had no choice but to sheathe their spears; he, on the contrary, reversed the morning’s setback and— _Have you realized it now?_

As if declaring their intent, they launched a full-scale attack and, emboldened by this momentum, would now pursue relentlessly. No—if things went badly, at this very moment their allies might face annihilation. A formation that had reversed the battleground of victory and defeat now bore such a dangerously ominous aspect. Yet Kenshin’s countenance still retained its composure. He stood surveying his allies withdrawing from all directions toward his banner while in his heart, he turned these thoughts over.

“I’ve won—rightly won. …But how can I secure this victory? How can I see it through?” Though he saw his own battle as concluded, the Takeda army’s fight was only just beginning. Looking up at the eclipse-like sky, he judged the sun to be around the Hour of the Monkey—around four in the afternoon.

Unaware—they were facing Kenshin.

Someone was there. About ten horsemen. Bathed in the crimson light of the setting sun. But in the grass, evening darkness had begun to gather. The soughing wind blew darkly.

And there, an unidentified group of about ten horsemen raised a banner and were surveying their surroundings. On the white flag, the single character *Bi* was prominently visible. “Enemy!” “A fine general!”

And the Takeda forces rushed over.

They did not realize it was Kenshin. Moreover, Kenshin’s side too had apparently failed to recognize that the group of warriors belonged to the Takeda forces until they were at extremely close range.

“Is it Shibata’s men or Kakizaki’s?” Recognizing the banner here, they had assumed them to be nothing more than a contingent of allies quickly approaching. However, when they had drawn within about a hundred paces, “Kōsaka’s men!” At Kenshin’s side, Nagai Genshirō shouted—and for the first time, everyone realized— “Now!”

They instinctively shielded their lord. Kōsaka Danjō’s subordinates numbered two to three hundred. They were dozens of times more numerous than Kenshin’s elite retainers. Yet it was fortunate this constituted merely one unit of Kōsaka’s forces rather than their main army.

“That head!”

They lunged toward Kenshin, but there was neither a clear target nor a commander with conviction. They had simply chanced upon a small cluster of enemies amid this chaotic battle and had come solely with the intent to annihilate them. “You rabble!” Those protecting Kenshin strained with every ounce of their strength. Nagai Genshirō, Takemata Chōshichi, and Oni-Kojima Yatarō all sprang forward first, plunging into the enemy ranks. When confronting such overwhelming numbers with a meager force, if they let themselves be daunted by superior troops—cowering, defending cramped ground, and doing nothing but parrying—their isolation would become absolute, leaving them wholly at the enemy’s mercy.

The enemy forces scattered like shadows despite their dense formation before Nagai Genshirō， Oni-Kojima Yatarō， Takemata Chōshichi， and others could launch their fierce attack. A few shadowy figures appeared to charge ferociously with raised spears and swords， but Kenshin was surrounded by nearly all of Echigo’s most elite retainers—those who stood unmatched even among their own ranks. They were no match. As their great blades—both tachi longswords and naginata polearms—swept through all before them in chaotic disarray， “Hyaah!” “Hyaah!”

And so, they kept calling out to each other constantly. They were a mere force of just over ten allies. Scattering would be disadvantageous, and they were also determined not to break their formation serving as a shield for their lord Kenshin. Kenshin was already on horseback. And Uno Samanosuke and Chisaka Naizen were running while grasping the bridle. Following behind, Inaba Hikoroku, Wada Hyōbu, Iwai Tōshirō, and others continued to charge—cutting down approaching enemies as they ran, then halting to hold the rear. The heart of a general leading a wounded army mirrors that of a mother.

Kenshin spurred his horse in one breath to the bank of the Sai River. Just a quarter of an hour earlier, he who had single-handedly charged into the Takeda army’s headquarters with his galloping steed and struck with a flash of light above Shingen’s head now retreated without so much as a gnash of teeth or a moment’s hesitation. His demeanor remained utterly composed. “Wait, wait, Chisaka.” Naizen tried at once to guide his lord’s horse into the current, but Kenshin refused to cross the river and reined in his mount once more. “Ah—there you are.”

Earlier, Ōkuni Heima and Ichikawa Shōzen—who had gone to relay the full retreat order to various allied units—returned one after another to his side. As they still lingered, Oni-Kojima Yatarō, Nagai Genshirō, Takemata Chōshichi, and several others who had held off Kōsaka’s vanguard and finally carved a bloody path now gathered there, their forms drenched crimson. In clusters of ten or twenty, other allies began trickling in. Yet their troop types and affiliations formed a motley assortment. Even this sight made clear how the main allied forces and every unit had been fragmented—all locked in desperate combat wherever they stood—and how the entire front had plunged into chaos.

The water gurgled; the wind sighed through deepening dusk that brought an icy chill gnawing at Kenshin’s chest—he could not suppress his anguish for those officers and soldiers yet unreturned from battle. “Shibata Owarinokami… Niitsu Tangonokami…” “And Honjō Echizen-no-kami… Hōjō Akinokami—how have they fared?” “Did Kakizaki secure our retreat path?” “Naoe…”

The man who had seemed a god of war capable of crushing even demons stood surveying the dusk-cloaked field, muttering to himself like a mother waiting at the gate for a child who would never return—his figure bore not a shred of distraction. “All is well,” came Ōkuni Heima’s reassurance. “There is no cause for concern.”

Ōkuni Heima said encouragingly, “The enemy reinforcements from Saijoyama are, after all, a large force and fresh troops; we cannot hold them off entirely. However, all our allies are gradually withdrawing toward this side of the Sai River and Tanba Island.” “Some [enemy] units, unaware that Your Excellency still remains stationed in this area, may have already crossed the Sai River and withdrawn far to the rear—or so this humble one believes.”

Following Heima’s words, the others also spoke in unison to Kenshin. “Your Excellency’s remaining here with such countless numbers may instead be causing confusion among our allies’ assembly.”

“I beseech Your Excellency to cross the Sai River without delay and withdraw to a place of safety.”

“If Your Excellency remains here, there is no telling when danger may strike again.”

Kenshin heeded their counsel. With a parting thought, he turned his steed toward the riverbank to cross the river. Upstream in this sandbar called Tanba Island, there were places where even a horse could stand firm and a person could wade across with water up to the base of their neck—but from here downstream, the river grew decisively deeper.

The Chikuma River’s current flowed gently, its shallows were shallow, but compared to it, the Sai River was far more torrential. The water volume of this river course was at its shallowest and driest in midsummer July. By September and October, when the rainy season arrived in the mountainous regions, the water level would swiftly rise by four to five shaku—as was typical each year—and particularly downstream from Tanba Island, there was not a single shallow fordable by humans on foot. That Kenshin had been anxious and had kept muttering “retreat path” must have stemmed from his concern over precisely this.

Of course, all their allied commanders knew well the depths of this river course. But at the same time, such basic knowledge was also held by the Takeda commanders. Therefore, now that they held the advantageous position, it seemed likely that the enemy side was directing their spearhead and encirclement formation downstream along the Sai River with utmost effort. Kenshin and his elite retainers—over a hundred men in total—first had about ten lower-ranking samurai enter the river ahead of them, using their spears as staffs and splashing through the current while leaving Kenshin behind. They sought shallows to guide their lord's path.

However, those guides suddenly sent up sprays and collapsed in the middle of the river. It was not matchlock guns.

Nearby, a bowstring twanged. Before one could react, the elite Kō forces led by Takeda Yoshinobu— “Charge!”

“Seize the initiative!” They came surging forth like a swift wind—an onslaught far bloodier than anything Kōsaka’s ambushed unit had faced earlier. No—this assault carried a rage that verged on madness.

Some had waded into the river up to their shins, while Kenshin remained on the bank. Naturally kicking up sprays of water, those in the river turned back. Takemata Chōshichi crossed blades with a fierce foe, cut him down, grappled with the next enemy, then tumbled over and rolled toward the water's edge. "Tch!"

He rose from the blood and immediately charged into the swarming Takeda soldiers. His armor’s skirt plates had a sleeve torn off, his helmet was lost, and his hair whipped wildly in the wind.

Honda Ukonnosuke fought against a stalwart general of the Kō forces before Kenshin's very eyes—a sight like two eagles locked in combat. Wada Hyōbu and Uno Samanosuke kept their spears perfectly aligned as they fended off enemy after enemy.

A single spear thrust. Could this too be called a simple tactic? Moreover，not a single one of Kenshin’s surrounding attendants was unstained by fresh blood. Over a hundred men were reduced to forty or fifty in the blink of an eye. The enemy had also amassed a great number of corpses. Moreover，they did not retreat easily，nor did they falter. And no wonder—this was a unit led by Taro Yoshinobu，whose father Shingen had been wounded and whose own forces had once teetered on the brink of annihilation，now reorganized with fresh troops.

“If I do not wash away the disgrace of our first engagement, I shall have no face to meet the people of Kai Province while drawing breath.”

It was a leader of such gallant spirit and his elite troops. The sole regret lay here: even Takeda Yoshinobu, though the hour had reached twilight when even the water’s surface grew dark, ultimately let Kenshin slip away—right before his very eyes—without ever realizing he was Uesugi Kenshin.

Within death there is life. Kenshin spurred his horse once more and galloped onward. "Is all of tonight’s mist blood?" An ominous aura hung over the face of the full moon, as if ink had been blown across it. "Samanosuke. Where is this place?"

“I believe it’s Mimaki no Hatase.”

“Well now, we’ve retreated quite far.”

Disheartened, he looked up at the moon from his saddle. And Kenshin blinked one eye repeatedly. The blood soaking from his forehead down to his cheek was drying on his eyelashes and seemed to be blocking his vision. “Is it just you alone? Are there any others who followed?” “That is my recollection.”

Samanosuke, too, grew despondent. But Kenshin suddenly shrugged his shoulders and laughed, as if something had struck him as absurd. “Cross the river—it’s the foot of Takanashi Mountain. We’ll come out onto Nakano-suji. Then let us cross. Samanosuke, look for the shallows.” “Understood!” This area didn’t seem particularly deep. Samanosuke quietly pulled the bridle and guided the horse into the river.

The water was as cold as ice. And white waves washed over the saddle.

Kenshin muttered. As if reciting poetry.

"Within death, there is life. Within life, there is no life. Ah, treasured, treasured. The autumn waters felt icy. Kenshin was still seen to be alive. Within death, there is life. Within life, there is no life."

This phrase was Kenshin's daily utterance, spoken in all matters. Regarding this, his retainers had heard one such story.

When Kenshin was twenty-four or twenty-five years old, he met an old monk in Kasugayama Castle Town. (Monk, where are you going)

Kenshin inquired from horseback.

The monk was Sōken of Rinsen-ji Temple, who looked up,

(Castle Lord—where are you headed?) he retorted. (In that case, our departure leads to the battlefield.) As Kenshin said this, (Oh my, how unsettling.)

The monk merely offered a single bow and began to withdraw into the crowd lining the road. Kenshin suddenly dismounted from his horse and summoned his attendant, Honjō Seishichirō. (Go chase after that monk and apologize on Kenshin’s behalf for his arrogance.) And tell him to impart a single teaching for Kenshin’s sake.) (Am I to go and apologize?)

On the verge of departure, Seishichirō thought irritably, but he chased after Sōken and conveyed the message. Sōken, (How humbling.) And having returned, (I) possess no teachings or anything of the sort. (If there is anything this humble monk can answer, I shall answer whatever you ask.)

With that, folding his sleeves into his robe, he stood motionless. Kenshin, still dismounted, inquired with the utmost courtesy befitting a disciple to his teacher. “They say that when advancing troops, divine speed should be the guiding principle,” “—And in spreading the Dharma, what do you take as your guiding principle?”

"When advancing troops—put death first. In spreading the Dharma—put death first. All who exist today know life but do not know death—it’s nothing more than a simple reversal of before and after." "I humbly ask one more question."

Hmm... (To retreat when seeing weakness and advance toward strength—is that backward? Is that the proper order?)

“Those who do not fear death find peace; those who rejoice in life court peril. Strength and weakness, advance and retreat, the delusion and enlightenment of life and death—all reside within this truth. What say you, my lord?”

Abruptly faced with a counter-question, Kenshin pressed his lips together in silence for a moment before responding thus: Within death, there is life. Within life, there is no life.

Then Priest Sōken laughed dryly, "Good, good. ...Then off you go." He bowed and saw him off to battle. Later, after his triumphant return, Kenshin would reportedly don plain clothes, enter Rinsen-ji Temple, personally pay homage to Priest Sōken, and thereafter immerse himself deeply in study. The character "Ken" in Kenshin's name is said to have been bestowed by his teacher, from whom he had requested a single ideograph. Even examining journals from his youth—recorded by his secretary— "Though His Lordship occupied the main enclosure, his usual sitting chamber remained perpetually empty. Only attendants waited in the adjacent room. Was this to avoid hindering his Zen studies?"

It states,

One could perceive how deeply he had immersed himself in Zen, and his mentor was none other than Sōken, the seventh abbot of Rinsen-ji Temple.

That said, he was not solely devoted to Zen; his heart was deeply inclined toward Shinto, Confucianism, and Buddhism alike. He revered heaven and earth and understood the folly of humankind. As for Buddhism as well, he delved into its teachings without distinction between sects—Jōdo, Hokke-shū, Tendai, or Shinshū—drawing out their essence to store it all within the vessel of his heart.

Unbroken formation. From Hachimanbara Plain to the wilderness of Tanba Island, though the evening moon had risen, the war cries showed no sign of abating. Here and there, swords clashing edge to edge and spears glinting shimmered like countless fish leaping amid waves of armies roaring at each other—by now, the warriors’ attire, the colors of their banners, even the shadows of flags had blurred, and friend from foe had become indistinguishable. Kōsaka’s unit, Amari’s unit, Oyamada’s unit, Yamagata’s unit, Baba’s unit, Sanada’s unit, and other fresh forces created small encirclements at various points and annihilated the Uesugi troops trapped within them. The disarray of the Uesugi forces was, above all else, due to the overwhelming pressure from this fresh Kai army that had swung around from Saijoyama.

Amidst this chaos, there were 1,500 Uesugi troops maintaining an unbroken formation. They were under the command of Amakasu Ōmi-no-kami, who had been moving from the vicinity of Komori and gradually withdrawing. Step by step, they retreated, blowing conch shells to gather their scattered allies while repelling enemies to their front, rear, and flanks, and withdrew majestically to the Sai River. "What a splendid retreat!" And so, even Sanada, Kōsaka, and the other enemies saw them off. And then, for some reason, those two units abruptly turned heel and withdrew toward Kaizu Castle.

Later, within the Kōshū army’s ranks, there were those who criticized the withdrawal of the Sanada and Kōsaka units— (Why?) There were those who criticized this, but Shingen, in response, "No—seeing that our side had achieved seventy percent victory, withdrawing safely during the lull was rather a skillful move, as expected of them. It does not warrant criticism." issued this decisive verdict. In fact, by this hour, Shingen’s headquarters had already vacated Hachiman Shrine, crossed the Hirose they had forded at dawn, and departed Kawanakajima with all their elite retainers; thus, they had not withdrawn from the battlefield ahead of the main force.

What remained behind, piled in heaps, were the wounded and those who had perished in battle that day. The only figures still toiling about in the night dew were soldiers tasked with cleanup—transporting corpses and the wounded to their respective camps. On the banks of the Sai River, Amakasu Ōmi-no-kami—who had planted a large banner and still waited for allies to gather—continued blowing his conch shell mournfully for over an hour thereafter.

Drawn by the sound, the remaining soldiers gathering from here and there numbered over three thousand; they eventually crossed the river to the north and made camp at Kuzuou.

On this day, in the fierce battle that had raged for seven or eight hours since morning, the battle deaths of both armies— Kōshū forces killed in battle: four thousand six hundred thirty and more persons. Echigo forces killed in battle: three thousand four hundred seventy and more persons. There are also records stating such figures, while others put the combined total of Kōshū army officers and soldiers at over three thousand two hundred. There are also ancient records stating that the Uesugi forces lost three thousand one hundred seventeen. However, regardless of which numbers one accepts, it remains an indisputable fact that while the Kōshū army suffered injuries to both Takeda Shingen and his son Yoshinobu, along with the deaths or wounds of many renowned commanders such as Nobushige of the Takeda clan, Morozumi Bungo-no-kami, Yamamoto Dōki, and Ogasawara Wakasa, not a single general of the Uesugi side had perished in battle. The casualties of the Uesugi forces occurred the moment the enemy’s Saijoyama-turned forces joined as fresh reinforcements; the majority of these casualties were among the lower-ranking soldiers, either because they became easy prey for the Takeda forces amidst the chaotic rout or—another cause—because they recklessly rushed into the deep currents of the Sai River downstream from Tanba Island, where they were swept away by drowning or struck by arrows.

Lone Figure A single mark of the moon. Master and retainer—two people. All that reached their ears was the sound of insects. In this area, neither houses nor lamplight could be seen; thick with dew and overgrown with grass, it lay as though unaware of the day’s great battle. “Is there no house?” “We shall find one as we walk.” “Samanosuke. You must be cold.” “As I walk holding the horse’s bit, I naturally forget the cold.” “…But you, my lord—thoroughly drenched on horseback—your body must be chilled.”

"I want a fire... This chill feels unlike autumn." In the fields of Mimaki, the master and retainer who had crossed the river left traces of droplets along the path they walked as they searched for the village lights.

Kenshin abruptly reined in his horse. "Isn't that one of our allies? It seems someone is calling out from behind," he said as he turned around.

With that, he turned around.

While gripping the horse’s bit, Samanosuke also narrowed his eyes. Under the white moon, there was a figure approaching as if dancing. No sooner had he drawn near than the man gasped for breath. “My lord! Are you here, my lord?”

“Oh. “Wada Kiheiei?” “Ah—ah—”

The moment he confirmed his lord’s safety, Kiheiei nearly sank to his knees. He too had waded through that river to reach this spot, leaving him soaked like a rat—though the blood on his head and face remained unwashed. “How have my men fared?” When Kenshin questioned him, he tightened his resolve once more and answered.

“Wada Hyōbu held his ground at the rear, cut down many enemies, and finally met his end.” “Did Hyōbu fall in battle too?” “And Lord Yogorō also…” he began, but upon seeing Samanosuke’s face beside the horse’s bit, Kiheiei’s voice faltered.

For Uno Yogorō was the brother of Samanosuke who stood there. “Lord Wada. Did Yogorō also meet his end?”

Unable to ignore his brother’s expression, he had no choice but to answer. “Indeed, amidst the chaotic fray, he had performed remarkable feats, but having sustained grievous wounds across his entire body and appearing to suffer greatly, I bore him upon my shoulder until we reached the shallows of Mimaki River there. Yet when we had crossed halfway through its currents, he spoke these words into my ear: ‘…Even should I rejoin my lord in this state, I would only prove a hindrance. Having exhausted all means to serve you, I bid farewell…’”

“Oh. “And then?” “With a sudden cry—before I could react—he wrenched free from my hands, slipped from my shoulder, and cast himself into the raging current to drown.” “Even if I called out, even if I shouted—there was no trace of him left, no voice to be heard.” “…I see.”

Samanosuke kept his visor tilted at an angle as he answered the moon.

Kenshin silently urged his horse forward. By this dawn, the supreme commander who had been encircled by thirteen thousand troops would depart the battlefield with only two retainers at his side. What must have been running through their minds - lord and retainer? The battlefield could be called a great training hall where heaven and earth formed a single sanctuary. Upon Kenshin's moonlit countenance showed not the slightest trace of defeat. Rather, about his lips lingered both the unburdened ease of one who had completed his task and an air of total absorption in plans for battles yet to come.

Wolf.

“Ah, I can see a light.”

At last, as if he had spotted a dwelling, Samanosuke called up to the mounted figure while walking. “No, that cannot be a farmer’s fire.” Kenshin shook his head. Now that it was mentioned, the blaze was a bit too large to be an ordinary lamp or a farmer’s cooking fire. “Indeed, as you said, it seems they have built a large bonfire.” After advancing two or three chō along the road, Uno Samanosuke also began to grow suspicious. When Wada Kiheiei offered to go scout, Kenshin—

“There’s no need for that. There is no reason for Takeda forces to be scattered this far—I believe it must be a band of rōnin lying in wait along the fugitives’ path, setting traps in anticipation of today’s battle to claim their spoils.” “If they are rōnin, there would be no more than twenty or thirty of them. Moreover, they’re just a rabble of outcasts—their numbers are easily reckoned. Since Lord Kiheiei and I will clear the path ahead, please rest in the shade of a tree and wait for a while, my lord.”

As Samanosuke was about to dash off, Kenshin— “Stop! Stop!” With that, he wheeled his horse around. “Even if it means going farther, let us take a different detour. Kiheiei—find us a side path.” He spoke these words. This was Kenshin—the very man who had dared breach Takeda’s ironclad defenses of thousands and charge alone into their headquarters—now turning his horse at the sight of rōnin campfires blocking the road, searching for a safe bypass.

That night, they crossed the mountain path of Hoshina and took a brief sleep beneath the shade of a large tree.

The next day, they departed from Takaaino Village, crossed over Yamada, and descended toward Sarashina. That night too, they encountered rōnin, but with no path to avoid them, Kiheiei and Samanosuke scattered the bandits and pressed onward.

However, this band of rōnin, having appraised the worth of Kenshin’s saddle and attire, continued to pursue them with implacable persistence wherever they went. At dusk, they reached the river crossing known as Yasuda no Watashi. When he glanced back, a little over a hundred meters behind, a clamoring band of rōnin were making a commotion. The absurd thing was, they did not actually approach. They resembled a pack of wolves poised to lunge at the slightest sign of vulnerability. “There’s a good spot here,” “Let us lead the horse over there and cross.”

From this embankment toward the opposite shore, a thick rope had been stretched. Beneath it, horses and people boarded the raft that was tied there.

As they pulled on the thick rope and the raft reached midstream, forty or fifty figures emerged once more on the embankment behind them. They were the *rōnin* who had immediately given chase. “They seem to be barking about something.” As Kiheiei and Samanosuke laughed on the raft, two or three feeble arrows came flying over. They seemed to have matchlock guns as well, but appeared to lack bullets. Only faces baring white teeth were visible in great numbers.

The raft calmly reached the shore. Kenshin shifted onto the horse’s back while ordering, “Samanosuke. Cut that ferry rope.” As Samanosuke drew his sword and cut the thick rope, it slapped against the water’s surface before drifting away in a great arc. White teeth, bristly heads, and shadows of large hands—on the opposite embankment, they seemed to bark curses again while stamping their feet and thrashing about in frenzy. This was no longer a battlefield. It was the ordinary world.

Buckwheat Flowers

As Kenshin was retreating along the Echigo Road—whether at this Yasuda no Watashi crossing or another location—around dusk when he came upon a path, (In the distance ahead, two rivers appeared to be visible—but if this were the course of the Chikuma River, there could not be two.) (Had he mistaken the path?)

As he thought this，Wada Kiheiei laughed and— “Even you seem weary，my lord． That line there isn’t a river—it’s a field of buckwheat flowers in full bloom．” Or so it is said．

Such tales have been preserved in this region and seem to have become local legends passed down through generations, but this appears to be some manner of fallacy. By the tenth day of the ninth lunar month, it was already far too late for buckwheat flowers to be at their peak bloom.

The spread of this local legend was thought to have arisen from Wada Kiheiei’s mysterious death shortly after returning to Kasugayama following the battle.

It was likely due to food poisoning or something along the way.

When they arrived at Kasugayama Castle, Kiheiei vomited and suffered from diarrhea until he died. Kenshin, (Pitiable.) despite personally administering medicine into his mouth with his own hands, watched him breathe his last. It was said—though none could say by whom—that Wada Kiheiei had died vomiting blood, and that the cause lay in Kenshin’s blunder as a commander: mistaking a field of buckwheat flowers for a river. Such an error would have been a lifelong disgrace. Were this to spread through society, it would become a laughingstock throughout the realm. Thus, upon returning to the castle, he immediately killed Kiheiei. That must have been the case. —Such were the rumors. Perhaps it was a fabrication by the Takeda side. In any case, it was baseless slander. Yet it seems certain that Kenshin and his retinue faced unimaginable hardships on their retreat from Kawanakajima to Echigo. They likely struggled even to sleep or obtain food. Many local legends arose from this journey—most concerning matters akin to those buckwheat flowers.

Perhaps it was a fabrication by the Takeda side. In any case, it is baseless slander.

However, it could be reliably inferred that the path taken by Kenshin and his retinue from Kawanakajima into Echigo was fraught with hardships far beyond what one might imagine. Sleeping was of course difficult, and obtaining food also proved challenging. There are countless local legends associated with this ordeal, but most seem akin to the incident of the buckwheat flowers.

Like a Bird Leaving No Trace

To the southeast of Zenkoji Temple, facing the Susohanagawa River, Naoe Yamato-no-kami had gathered the large and small baggage trains and fully incorporated the scattered soldiers from other units as well.

Even the day after the great battle, and the day after that, they held their ground. Meanwhile, they had also established full contact with Amakasu Ōmi-no-kami, who had withdrawn as far as the Sai River and gathered the remaining troops. Then, having joined forces, they dispatched troops from the wilderness of Kawanakajima to every nearby village and gathered all their dead comrades, wounded soldiers, and even broken banners into their camp without exception. Of course, regarding their lord’s safety, based on the accounts of Chisaka Naizen, Imogawa Heidayū, and other elite retainers who had served as the rear guard upstream along the Sai River, they had concluded that he had returned safely to his domain. As for the elite retainers, even if they did not know for certain, they had agreed among themselves to follow in Kenshin’s wake—

“On the contrary, it would amount to teaching the enemy the path our lord has taken.” Naoe Yamato-no-kami strenuously opposed this. There was no trace of urgency. “This concerns not only the critical matter of securing our retreat path but also serves as preparation for future campaigns,” he declared.

In the aftermath of battle, as recent as yesterday or today.

On the side of the Kōshū army, who had been observing this state from afar,

“Naoe, Amakasu, and others remain at the nearby Susohanagawa River, rallying their defeated troops.” “If each of us were to lead our own forces and strike there like a swift wind, none would survive to return to Echigo.”

Thus, led by Obata Yamashiro-no-kami, all the eager generals appeared before Shingen and offered such counsel and urged action, but Shingen—

“Nay, nay. It would be best to desist.” “Despite suffering such heavy losses, they remain composed and have maintained their position near our front lines for three days—admirable foes, I must say. If we rashly strike and get bitten by a cornered rat, it would be I, Shingen, who becomes the laughingstock of the world—far more than any of you.” With those words, he refused to permit it. From the third to the fourth day, the Echigo forces withdrew northward in gradual retreat, with banners and drums arrayed in full splendor—as though nothing had changed since their arrival on this plain.

Victory cry. After the Uesugi forces had completely withdrawn, Hatsukano Den’emon—having inspected the area and galloped a full circuit on horseback—returned. “Not a single husk from their field rations remains scattered at the site,” he reported. Shingen heard this and declared: “Look there—had we attacked such disciplined foes, we would have lost at least as many of our own men as they numbered.”

he said to those around him. However, the generals exclaimed in unison, “Since Your Lordship has deigned to hold the Hachimanbara Plain until the very end, there can be no doubt of our victory in this battle.” “It is only fitting that Your Lordship duly perform the ceremony of victory cries.” they declared. To this, Shingen had no objections. He had lost a brother of his clan, several generals, and thousands of subordinates; he himself was injured, and even his eldest son Taro Yoshinobu had sustained multiple wounds—a dire state of affairs, yet

“They are disordered; we are united. They departed; we remained.” And on the basis of credible facts, his heart swelled with pride in their victory. “Purify the battlefield (stage).”

Takeda Shingen ordered the preparations for this.

Kōsaka Danjō Masanobu and all other officers who had withdrawn to Kaizu assembled as well. The ceremony required an extensive area. The entire army formed ranks and stood in solemn array. In the central purified ground, they enshrined the war deity, sprinkled saltwater, erected sakaki branches upon an unvarnished wooden altar, and lit sacred lamps. Then the gathered commanders of the curtained headquarters, assigned roles as follows, stood solemnly facing the altar.

1. Bearer of the Ancestral Banner: Kōsaka Danjō 2. Bearer of the Grandson’s Banner: Yamagata Saburōbei 3. Right Position, Nanten Bow: Koyamada Bitchū-no-kami

1. Left Position, Nanten Bow: Baba Minbu Shōyū

1. Camp Drum: Atebe Ōsuke-no-jō 1. Conch Horn: Nagasaka Chōkan 1. Bearer of the Ceremonial Weapon: Ōbu Hyōbu Shōyū

1. Mother-of-Pearl-Inlaid Spear: Obata Yamashiro-no-kami 1. Wooden Clappers: Amari Saemon-no-jō Commander Shingen was positioned slightly apart, with his clan and elite retainers behind him, seated on a camp stool. His right hand was bandaged. The white cloth stood out distinctly here. Moreover, he silently imparted something to the hearts of the Kōshū warriors. As a general reverently presented a tray bearing celebratory dishes before the camp stool, Shingen took one of the victory chestnuts and swiftly unfurled the great sun-and-moon fan with his left hand.

And as soon as he stood up, he faced the vast sky, “Ei! Ei! Ooh…” he chanted.

Following that resounding cry, all soldiers of the entire army—from the generals down—raised their voices to the fullest, “Hah! Hah! Ooh…” And with that, they raised their voices in a victory chant. They repeated this three times. “Peace under heaven, stability across the land, safety for all people, dispersal of vengeful foes.” The Nanten bows whizzed through the air, slicing the wind. Once more, with a roar so thunderous it seemed to shake heaven and earth, their cries of “Hah! Ooh…” transformed into battle shouts and cheers as they cast their bodies’ fervor and emotion skyward—until at last, unbeknownst even to themselves, tears streamed down their cheeks. They did not know why, but they found their cheeks wet with tears.

Public opinion was divided between praise and censure.

Even after withdrawing fully to Kasugayama, Kenshin and all members of the Uesugi household— “Our forces stand victorious.” “The enemy’s Shingen and his son lie wounded.” “The Kōshū clan’s generals fell side by side in death—yet not one commander’s head from our ranks did the enemy claim.” To the bitter end, they clung unshaken to their conviction of glorious triumph.

However, likewise, on the Takeda army’s side as well, “Great Victory for the Kōshū Army!” they continued to celebrate their triumph without pause, remained on Hachimanbara Plain, conducted a grand victory ceremony, and then withdrew to Kōfu.

Thus, regarding this great battle of Kawanakajima in the fourth year of Eiroku (1561), which side—Kai (Takeda) or Echigo (Uesugi)—had truly achieved victory became a subject of debate not only among military circles but throughout society at large, with some proclaiming Kenshin’s triumph and others insisting on Shingen’s victory; it seemed vehement arguments over merits and faults had already been exchanged even in those times. Ōta Sanraku Nyūdō—a military strategist ranked among the top five or seven renowned commanders of the Sengoku period—had his battle assessment preserved in the following words.

"In the initial spear clashes at Kawanakajima - that is, the combat from dawn through midmorning - it would not be an exaggeration to say Kenshin held eight chances out of ten for victory." When viewed through the lens of formation tactics alone, the Uesugi vanguard had deeply breached through to the Takeda forces' third and fourth ranks. Consider Shingen - he who had boasted no enemy ever reached his elite retainers - now finding his inner circle breached by Kenshin himself riding alone; one need hardly strain to imagine how the Takeda army had momentarily plunged into perilous disarray. Moreover, it must be stated as undeniable fact that they had been driven to the very brink of catastrophic defeat - with numerous formidable commanders lying dead side by side, Shingen and his son wounded, even his brother Nobushige slain in battle... Yet when we come to the latter phase of fighting from afternoon till dusk, the tide had utterly reversed, leaving no doubt that seven advantages out of ten now pointed to Shingen's victory. This reversal came abruptly when fresh troops from the Saijoyama detachment struck the Uesugi army's waning momentum from the flank; their total retreat became inevitable because Kenshin himself had abandoned headquarters to force a swift decisive battle - only for the Kōshū army to rally midway through this maneuver. When one contemplates Kenshin's desperate resolve, none can withhold a tear of sorrow for his lingering bitterness." "Yet taking this broad view of both sides, fairness demands we conclude this battle ended in stalemate - neither victory nor defeat."

In addition to Ōta Sanraku’s battle critique, it is also recorded that Tokugawa Ieyasu, during his later years in Sunpu, gathered veterans such as Yokota Jin’emon—a former Kōshū samurai—and Hirose Mino to discuss the reputation of Kawanakajima. According to Ieyasu: “Given that the battle at that time was a decisive juncture that could determine the rise or fall of both Kai and Echigo, it is only natural that both sides acted prudently rather than rashly. That said, Shingen did take caution a bit too far. In response to Kenshin having taken up a perilous position on Mount Saijoyama and deliberately adopting a desperate formation, Shingen appeared to have been outwitted by his own wisdom. Moreover, had he devised a plan to intercept Kenshin midway while he descended Mount Saijoyama and crossed the river from midnight to dawn on September 9th, the main force of the Echigo army would undoubtedly have met annihilation at the Chikuma River. To have pushed them out to Hachimanbara and then taken a stance to attack the opponent’s army from the rear only after they had set foot on the plain was an uncharacteristic blunder for Shingen. In short, he observed Kenshin’s army but somewhat failed to discern the mind of its commander.”

While there were various individual theories from military scholars, they were generally encompassed almost entirely by the critiques of Sanraku and Ieyasu.

However, what can be observed here from a modern perspective is that Shingen approached the battle with sheer physical solidity and veteran common sense, whereas Kenshin consistently transcended the enemy’s conventional wisdom, marshaling a lofty spirit unattainable through academic theory or tactical norms—thus fighting so effectively in this battle. If Kenshin had exercised caution like Shingen and adhered to conventional wisdom by marching out to Kawanakajima, judging from pre-battle circumstances and surrounding conditions, the Uesugi of Echigo could never have achieved honor. Whatever public opinion may say, for Kenshin himself, it must have been a gratifying battle—one fought with an absolute path and peerless tactics. In essence, both his defense and offensives ultimately stemmed from a single belief:

――In death there is life; in life, no life.

It was encapsulated in that single phrase.

Forgotten Thing “Den’u.” “Den’emon.”

Shingen abruptly called out. They were on the march back to Kōfu. From the column of elite retainers, Hatsukano Den’emon steered his horse sideways and moved to approach. “Did you summon me?” Shingen nodded. “Ah—now I remember. I left something behind on the battlefield.” “What has become of it? It suddenly weighs on my mind.” “Make haste! Turn back and retrieve this forgotten item.” “The forgotten item?...” “...What might you have left behind, my lord?”

“A pitiable creature.” “That is a young woman not yet twenty, in traveler’s attire.” “She was wandering lost amidst the arrows and bullets, so I ordered my soldiers to have her sheltered within the shrine priests’ residence at Hachimanbara.” “Return quickly and ensure her safety.” “No—go retrieve her.” “I humbly thank you.” “…Somehow you noticed her—this fortunate one accepts your gracious words.” “Even if you alone enter Kōfu late, there will be no issue.” “Take her with you and return in triumph at a leisurely pace.”

The main army left him behind and returned ahead to Kōfu. Den’emon, weeping with gratitude for his lord’s benevolence, returned once more to yesterday’s battlefield.

Overnight rain had washed clean the bloodstains across the ground; under days of mist—morning and evening fogs devoid of human presence—even the trampled grass leaves and flowers now all stood vivid, lifting their forms anew. At the edge of Hachimanbara’s forest, Hatsukano Den’emon tethered his horse. Who had swept it clean? The shrine precincts were so immaculate that even the marks of the broom were visible. Even the traces of that demonic rampage had been erased; all that remained visible now was the crimson ivy amid desolation and the bluish dimness of cedar groves.

Den’emon walked to the rear of the shrine priests’ residence. Beside the well where water had once been drawn, the priest’s wife was washing the infant’s clothes.

“Ah?” The priest’s wife, who had casually turned around, caught sight of Den’emon’s figure and—as if struck once more by the terror of the recent fierce battle—leapt up, her hands still wet, her face trembling violently.

And so, Den’emon, while minding his demeanor, inquired in an especially gentle tone. “You have a young woman named Tsuruna under your care here.” “I am Tsuruna’s relative.” “Den’emon of Kōfu has come to fetch her.” “Could you tell her that?” “Yes… Understood.”

The priest’s wife wiped her hands as she retreated backward and left his presence. And then she suddenly ran into the back from the kitchen entrance.

Inside the house, Tsuruna’s voice sounded. Tsuruna was still lying in bed, her bullet wound unhealed, but upon hearing that her father Den’emon had come, she crawled out onto the engawa and cried out. “Father!” On this day, Den’emon was not the man with the terrifying countenance he had once been. He briskly approached and, taking her into his arms, embraced the pitiful girl deeply.

“Daughter… Daughter…” was all he could say—and for a time, no other words came.

While gazing from the back at the father and daughter embracing there unnoticed by others, the priest’s wife, with a puzzled look, opened her robe and was giving her breast to the child.

The Road of Wu and Yue

The next day, father and daughter rode together on the back of a single horse, and Hatsukano Den’emon set out for Kōfu along what was known as "Shingen’s Bōdō." His body was still clad in armor, but he—now permitted by his lord—had fully become Tsuruna’s father.

To him, this felt like the supreme act of his lord’s benevolence—greater than being granted a castle or entrusted with a province.

“Tsuruna.” “Yes.”

“Do you remember your mother’s face?” “I haven’t forgotten.” “What about your aunt’s face?” “I remember it well.” “And your brothers?” “Faintly…” “Did you never resent your heartless parents?” “Not once.” “I only looked forward to one thing—that if the war could be won quickly, I might return to your side.” “Now you’ve finally come back to your father’s arms.”

“Must I go to Echigo again someday?” “Enough, enough. The next place you go will be your husband’s home, you know.”

The journey became an unhurried one.

Autumn had deepened. Tsuruna felt as though she were in a dream.

Then, as Kōfu was drawing near, a group of travelers appeared approaching from the distance.

“Ah…?”

Tsuruna clung to her father’s back. The horse had only one back. She alone could neither flee nor hide. “Tsuruna. What frightens you?” As Den’emon turned around, checked the reins, and inquired, Tsuruna—like a startled bush warbler—gently lifted her gaze.

“The large group approaching from afar—they’re all warriors of Echigo.” “Among them is Lord Kurokawa Ōsumi.” “Lord Ōsumi was my master.” “The one who until yesterday raised me as their own child.” “What should I do?” “I see.”

With that, Den’emon also fixed his gaze into the distance,

"The two on horseback appeared to be Ōsumi and Saitō Shimotsuke." "The rest were Echigo warriors who had previously come to Kōfu as envoys and had been captured during the battle." "Hmm—why had they come here?" While he stood there suspiciously, the group of about ten people had drawn near before his eyes.

“Well, well. “Well, if it isn’t Lord Hatsukano!” They approached first, calling out energetically in this manner. It was none other than Saitō Shimotsuke-no-kami, the one-eyed envoy. And with them were the deputy envoy Kurokawa Ōsumi and his subordinate attendants. “Oh. “Lord Shimotsuke?”

From both sides, they brought their horses together and began talking nostalgically, as if they were old friends. “Having already been captured by us, your party should thereafter have been in Kōfu’s prison. How have you come to appear here?”

“Well then, behold—as you can see, we’ve received Lord Shingen’s permit and passed through every gate and checkpoint with ease.” “By no means have we come here through something like a jailbreak.” “Naturally, this would require Lord Shingen’s permission, but even so—to have you all released unconditionally immediately upon your return—it doesn’t sit right with me.” “By what logic were you permitted to return?” “Ha ha ha ha!” In his usual manner, Saitō Shimotsuke-no-kami roared with laughter,

“This battle, too, has for now come to an end. After all, keeping useless mouths like us locked up in Kōfu’s prison indefinitely would serve no purpose. But were you to behead us, know that Echigo also holds dozens of Kōfu’s spies and Lord Shingen’s associates captive—we could execute them in retaliation at any time. Truly, our lord’s foresight knows no oversight—yesterday, he had our bonds removed, granted us a letter, and declared: ‘Since we release you and send you back to your province, you must in turn safely free the Kōshū retainers imprisoned at Kasugayama.’ In short, he proposed an exchange of lives between enemies and allies. We had no particular desire for such lives ourselves. But since they went to the trouble of sparing us, we thought it unwise to refuse and cast aside their offer. Now that the battle has dragged on to its conclusion, we find ourselves on our way back to Echigo.”

“Ah, now I fully grasp the situation. First and foremost, I offer my congratulations on your safe return.” “You too have fought at Kawanakajima and, what’s more, after all this time retrieved your daughter—there could be no greater cause for celebration.”

“As you have surmised,” “On behalf of my daughter, I offer special thanks to Lord Kurokawa Ōsumi.” Exchanging bows, those returning to Kōfu and the party bound for Echigo crossed paths along east-west roads. When Tsuruna glanced back after some time had passed, Kurokawa Ōsumi too was looking her way. Though personal bonds and gratitude ran deep, along these Warring States military highways such farewells and greetings passed without awkwardness—even on non-battle days—in wordless understanding,

"He is Echigo." "He is a warrior of Kōshū." They had clearly demarcated their homelands and, without looking back, resolved to live and die in their respective lands.

Memorial for the Autumn Grasses

Bellflowers had faded; silver grass grew long.

Saitō Shimotsuke-no-kami’s party passed diagonally through Kawanakajima and directed their horses toward the Hokuriku Highway.

Beyond the Chikuma River, the white walls of Kaizu Castle could be seen. Even now, a portion of the Kōshū army seemed to still fill that place, yet everything—the castle’s form, the lay of the mountains and rivers—was bathed and steeped in peaceful light, as if silently asking where the battle had been fought.

“—Kōshū forces dead in battle: four thousand six hundred and some.” “Uesugi forces dead in battle: three thousand four hundred and seventy and some.” Ah… Such a great sacrifice.

Kurokawa Ōsumi was enveloped in boundless emotion. Though not entirely accurate, reports of both armies’ battle conditions and losses had already spread along the roads. By the time they arrived here, the party had learned of these matters in considerable detail.

“Let us rest a while.”

Shimotsuke dismounted from his horse. And he sank down into the autumn grass. The fork of the Chikuma River’s waters gurgled nearby as it flowed. In the great battle of days past, where had our allies struggled? Acquaintances from home, relatives—whose older brothers, whose younger brothers—the many faces that came to mind: where had they fought, and where had they met their end?

As he pondered these thoughts, he lost all awareness of the setting sun. And with a sudden tightness—

"I must not let these three thousand lives who laid their bones here die in vain." Saitō Shimotsuke-no-kami could not help but vow this in his heart. Then, as if unable to endure stillness any longer, he abruptly circled to his horse’s flank and shouted to his retinue.

“Hey!” “Let’s go!” “The sun was beginning to set... Let’s proceed onward.”

The people were scattered across the field. When they looked around at the scene, some were piling stones to build towers, while others gathered fragments of armor and helmet bowls, picking flowers to pay their respects. But when they suddenly turned toward us, they discarded both stones and flowers, and each in their own way came rushing to gather around Saitō Shimotsuke-no-kami’s horse.

Silent Night It was said that every family’s second son had met a truly admirable end.

It is said that the master of that house too performed matchless deeds and achieved a truly splendid death in battle.

The surviving family members must also have felt their honor affirmed. The extent of their daily discipline was evident. They must have wished to emulate such valor in the next battle.

After the Battle of Kawanakajima too had come to an end.

In the castle town of Kasugayama, whenever people gathered for a time, it was abuzz with such rumors. And day after day, everyone—each and every one—went about, setting aside their own homes to attend funeral processions for the war dead and visit bereaved families’ homes to offer condolences. From the small province of Echigo alone, over three thousand fell in battle all at once.

Such postwar phenomena were not limited to Kasugayama’s castle town. Whether one went to the villages or the mountain hamlets, the scent of incense smoke lingered. Every day, the temple bells rang.

Uesugi Kenshin chose an auspicious day and conducted a grand memorial service at Rinsenji Temple in the castle town. Of course, on this day, the Twenty-Four Generals of Kasugayama and all retainers attended without exception, and even the bereaved families of low-ranking ashigaru—every elder and child from honorable households—gathered at the Buddhist service, where Kenshin himself personally addressed them.

In the evening, Kenshin returned to the castle.

Towards the late autumn garden, he sat in silence as always. The candles came.

Even down to where these candles were placed, not a single tatami grid line differed from their daily routine. Such was the disciplined and meticulously trained nature of his attendants. He had no wife. His supper was as simple as that of a Zen monk. When finished, he would immediately return to his room. He never used his living quarters as a place for feasting or revelry. Whenever he returned here and sat down, he would always revert to his true self. Silent meditation, reading, or—on rare occasions—pulling an inkstone closer to engage in some writing.

“……Who’s there?” He looked behind.

For the sliding door of the side room had opened quietly. A figure had entered inside and, facing backward, was closing the sliding door to its original state. Kenshin immediately recalled. ――Yoshikiyo. .

In the evening, when the attendants brought candles, they had inquired privately, saying, “Murakami Yoshikiyo humbly requests an audience with you this evening.” Kenshin had replied that he might come at any time, but had since forgotten entirely. “Might I be intruding upon you?” Yoshikiyo prostrated himself at a distance and peered cautiously toward the candles. He had often heard that when Kenshin sat alone in silent meditation within his chamber, he would generally be absorbed in Zen practice; thus this evening too, he had approached with trepidation and hesitation.

But beside Kenshin, unusually, lay a book of waka poetry—perhaps the Kokinshū or some such anthology—left open and face down.

“No need for concern. Enter.”

Kenshin summoned his attendants and offered a cushion. Murakami Yoshikiyo had long been part of the Uesugi household’s war council—yet he was no vassal, but a guest. He was what men termed a guest general.

The Heart of Poetry “You were in the midst of your studies,” he said apologetically. “No, no—merely passing time by idly picking up a book for diversion.” “It appears to be a book of poetry.” “It is the Kokinshū gifted by Lord Konoe Sakihisa. “I do not intend to compose poetry myself, but even amidst the tumult of war, I wish to retain a poetic heart.” “When you speak of a poetic heart,” “Hmm, how should I put this... “...If I were to call it the Japanese spirit, I feel it somewhat resembles that.” “To put it more modestly: strength versus gentleness, killing versus love, the ephemeral versus the eternal, movement versus stillness.”

“I think I’m beginning to grasp it a little.” “Year after year of warfare, day after day of battle—the natural mind becomes single-minded. Yet when I consider the endless future of this Sengoku era, it resembles traversing a long road or ascending a high mountain. In such trials, the rhythm of one’s breath becomes crucial—the exhaled breath, the inhaled breath, sustained without disturbance. This truth I ponder deeply—that vital essence—” “Yesterday you charged alone into Shingen’s main camp, yet tonight you dwell on such thoughts?”

“For example, if koto strings are left strung, their sound will slacken. A bow should have its string removed except when shooting.” “If you remove them, you forget to string them again; if you string them, you end up forgetting to remove them. It is exceedingly difficult for us to shift that state of mind.” “Therefore, for mortals like us—who see soldiers and horses at dawn and engage with books by lamplight—the more we are steeped in bloodshed, the more we yearn for a poetic heart. To put it plainly: combining within one person both literary and martial arts. Exceedingly simple. But difficult.—Even I can say that much... but when it comes to putting it into practice... ……Ha ha ha.”

When he laughed heartily, even the light of the short lamp seemed to brighten. At that moment, he took one of the wheat snacks an attendant had offered there, sipped his tea, displayed relaxed hospitality toward his guest, and then inquired himself: “Now then—on this special occasion—what brings you here this evening?” “I will hear it.” “Lord Yoshikiyo—your complexion seems a bit off. What have you done?”

A cornered bird.

Yoshikiyo hung his head. He was weeping.

"…………" The candle cast its pallid light over the silence between host and guest while spring water flowing through the garden’s stillness pierced through the lamplight with crystalline clarity. At intervals leaves struck the great hall’s eaves like mimicry of passing showers. "I have resolved myself." "My petition—though most presumptuous—begs your gracious assent." He prostrated himself as he spoke.

And he still seemed to be weeping.

Kenshin seemed to have no recollection of what this pertained to. He had been listening with his head slightly tilted, but now asked Yoshikiyo once more, "What exactly is this request of yours?"

Yoshikiyo wiped away his streaming tears, finally straightened his posture, and after formally expressing gratitude for the benevolence he had received until that day, spoke thus: "I humbly beseech you to rescind the plea I made to your noble house nine years ago.—That is to say, from this day forth, I implore you to cease your chivalrous protection of the Murakami clan." "This humble one shall likewise immediately take leave and retire deep into Mount Kōya's mountains to withdraw from worldly affairs."

With extraordinary courage, Yoshikiyo said in one breath.

This man, who by nature was kind-hearted and reserved—to say such things, he must have sworn within his heart an extraordinary resolve and courage, and one could honestly grasp that sentiment.

“Hoh.”

Kenshin opened his large eyes even wider. “...Then what do you mean by this? Are you declaring you’ve abandoned all hope of returning to your ancestral lands in Shinano Province and reuniting with your former subjects?” “Yes... Though I’ve received Your Excellency’s generous aid—nay, the collective support of all Echigo—for nine long years until this day—” When he reached this point, Yoshikiyo’s composure shattered anew. With a heavy thud, his hands fell to the tatami as he buried his face in them.

His hair was trembling. White frost could now be seen in his hair. Now, though he had become a guest retainer of another house and humbled himself even before Kenshin, in this man’s blood flowed true nobility. A scion of the Seiwa Genji—a renowned clan of Shinano. "What a pitiable situation," Kenshin thought each time he saw that aging figure. And he even felt responsible, as though half the blame lay with himself.

Until over ten years ago, the Murakami clan had ruled all of northern Shinano, centered around Sakaki's provincial seat and Katsurao Castle, prospering in a position that all looked up to and revered as descendants of their ancestor Minamoto no Yoriyoshi—a clan of the Commander of the Pacification Headquarters. However, from around the mid-Tenbun era onward, they were encroached upon year after year by the Takeda clan of Kai; with the Battle of Uedahara as their final stand, their main castle fell, their clan scattered, and his wife met her end by throwing herself into the Chikuma River—an unimaginably tragic downfall that could never have occurred in peaceful times.

The eighth month of Tenbun 22.

Yoshikiyo had fled from the defeated army with barely more than his own person and come to Echigo.

(Please save me.) Yoshikiyo clung to Kenshin.

At that time, Kenshin was still in his early twenties. How could he coldly turn away from the sight of this fallen scion of a noble house kneeling and pleading for justice? The words he gave Yoshikiyo at that time were:

_Very well._ _Rest assured._ It was a single, clear word of assent. From a small, remote northern province with few soldiers and horses and little thriving industry, Kenshin had arisen to confront the mighty Takeda family of Kai in nearly annual clashes of war—indeed, it was the arrival of this single cornered bird into Echigo that marked the very beginning. It was the trigger. The rivalry between Kenshin and Shingen had its roots here—or so it was widely believed by the world at large, the people of Echigo, and even the Kōshū faction themselves.

Thus, the war born of a single spark of righteousness stretched across nine long years up to this day.

Moreover, the enemy province was formidable. They were the fierce generals and brave soldiers of Kōzan, renowned for their elite troops and steeds; he was Takeda Shingen, a commander counted among the few in all the realm. Yoshikiyo’s wish had yet to be fulfilled. In Yoshikiyo’s former domain, Takeda’s invasion still reigned with unchecked violence—in recent years, even Yoshikiyo himself had begun to abandon his dream of returning to his ancestral lands, resigning himself to the thought that this state might persist eternally, that his hopes were but futile delusions.

And then, today—

There had been something that pierced and tormented Yoshikiyo’s heart.

It had been the grand memorial service at Rinsenji Temple.

Yoshikiyo's Anguish

Yoshikiyo had attended that day’s grand memorial service.

Before his very eyes, he saw the many bereaved families of those killed in battle at Kawanakajima. He saw elderly parents, young children now orphaned, pale-faced wives cradling infants, nephews, uncles, nieces, and countless other relatives at today’s memorial service. Even as the temple’s venerable monks—Tenshitsu, Sōken, and others—offered grand Lotus Sutra rites of the Sōtō sect to pray for the heroic spirits’ repose, Yoshikiyo could not bring himself to lift his gaze toward the altar. Moreover, he averted his eyes and could not look directly at the many bereaved families filling the temple halls’ upper and lower corridors.

(All of this, when it came down to it, had arisen because I fled to Echigo.)

Tormented by these thoughts, he questioned himself, blamed himself, and found himself in such a state of restless torment that he could neither sit still nor remain standing. Once he had harbored such self-reproach, even the bell ringing at his ear seemed like the voices of over three thousand war dead crying out to accuse him, and Yoshikiyo felt as though life itself had lost all meaning.

In truth, he had already resolved while at Rinsenji Temple. I will shave my head and enter the Buddhist priesthood. And I will escape from the realm of strife and shifting fortunes. At the same time, I will abandon the dream of returning to my former glory, wash away all attachments, express gratitude for the long-standing favor of the Uesugi house, and lightly retreat beyond the worldly dust of Kōya.

By doing so, there would be no more of this tremendous sacrifice. As atonement for all that had passed, I would devote my remaining life solely to praying for the repose of the deceased. I would enter the Buddhist priesthood and atone for that.

“…I have resolved thus. “Until today，you have deigned to regard this wandering exile as one of your own kin，and the great benevolence of sheltering Yoshikiyo under your protection through these years with vast military expenditures and the precious blood of your retainers—even in death，I shall never forget it.” “But should Yoshikiyo force you to sacrifice yet more lives and bring grief to those remaining in your household，he would not know how to atone.” “Moreover，even if I were able to return to my ancestral lands，I could not take joy in it alone.” “Words cannot express everything，but with your compassionate understanding，I humbly beg you to forgive my selfishness.”

In exhaustive detail, Yoshikiyo poured out the depths of his heart.

Kenshin had listened with his pale eyes closed for a short while, but when Yoshikiyo had finished stating his grievances at length, it was only then that he sharply opened his eyelids. “Silence.” “…Lord Yoshikiyo.” “Be silent.”

The voice was low.

Yet it was a tone that pressed down gently from above, unyielding as bedrock. Mahayana and Hinayana “Hah—… Yes!”

Yoshikiyo involuntarily shuddered.

In daily life, Lord Kenshin was often said to resemble a woman. Never in all nine years had Yoshikiyo faced such a terrifying gaze from him across the tatami. Kenshin never raged. He did not roar. Yet however quiet his voice might be, it still held anger within. Indeed, he was furious. "What nonsense do you speak? "What foolishness do you utter? "If you listen in silence, you seem to regard war as mere human caprice—a pastime for the bored."

“N-no, such a thing is unthinkable! This unworthy Murakami Yoshikiyo has tasted the hardships of war more thoroughly than any other. It is precisely because I have experienced the horrors of war to my very marrow.” “Quiet!”

“Ha…” “At your venerable age, do not wag your tongue in such foolish prattle. War is not so simple a thing that a single Murakami Yoshikiyo—having merely been driven from his province—could claim to have fathomed it entirely, nor is it a matter of such trifling significance. From your tone, it seems you have merely passed through war. It appears you still do not know what true war is.” “Th-that… Is that so?”

“What a disordered complexion you have. Now that you have been told this, you must have come to harbor doubts about what true war is.” “How laughable.” “Did you truly believe that this Kenshin’s nine-year blood feud with Shingen was waged solely out of some shred of righteous duty you begged of me?” “…Why?” “Why?” Kenshin laughed soundlessly, his shoulders shaking. He continued in even more solemn tones. “Consider this.” “Since the Ōnin era, the world’s darkness has been gradually recognized by warlords entrenched across the land—Tokugawa and Oda rising in the east, Mōri and Ōuchi in the west, Shingen in Kai, myself here in Echigo, Hōjō in Sagami, and the Imagawa clan collapsing overnight at Suruga-Tōtōmi’s border. Now Japan’s currents have turned rapid, signaling a sudden and sweeping reformation.” “In the currents of such an era, whether a single Murakami Yoshikiyo—no matter how renowned a clan of Shinano he may hail from—perishes or rises, lives or dies, it is of no consequence whatsoever.” “To the currents of this Japan, it is but a single straw drifting upon the vast sea.”

He had particularly emphasized the endings of his words.

Yoshikiyo had turned deathly pale. Even the thin earlobes he strained to listen with held no trace of blood’s hue. “Now, if you ask why this Kenshin has fought Shingen for so many years—it is because I have always had my own principles.” “At twenty-three summers of age, I first achieved the pacification of our domain. My modest merits reached the celestial ear, and I was granted the honor of court rank.” “Though lowly and distant—never having attended the imperial court—I had previously received bountiful heavenly favor.” “Such inconceivable grace compelled me—the following year—to overcome all obstacles, journey to the capital, prostrate myself at the imperial threshold, behold His Majesty’s visage from a hand’s breadth away, and receive the celestial cup. […] Truly then did Kenshin know the joy of being born to wield bow and arrow.” I will fight—fight as long as this earthly life endures. The nobility of battle, its profound significance—all these I engraved upon my soul, vowing to devote my existence to protecting the imperial house. “With deepest resolve did I swear there would be no regrets—and thus departed the capital.”

“……”

“Since that time，my bow has never been drawn for any other purpose．In Eiroku 2’s early summer during my second journey to the capital，and even before that occasion，His Majesty in his divine grace saw fit to bestow upon this unworthy me an imperial decree far exceeding my station：‘Should disturbances arise in neighboring lands，you must subjugate them；should tyrannical states disrupt the imperial realm and torment the people，you must march forth to pacify them．’ As a vassal’s duty，would there be any who dare not respond to this imperial will？Even in this remote corner of Northern Echigo，not for a single day have I forgotten that gracious decree．How much more so on days when I mobilize troops—”

Night had apparently turned to rain. The sound of raindrops overflowing from the gutter struck fiercely against the eaves.

Kenshin, who wore a monk-like traveler's cloak and warbler-brown hood, and who kept no wife in his chambers, had eyes that appeared remarkably youthful when he poured out his heartfelt convictions on such matters with fiery passion. He was apt to well up in tears alongside Yoshikiyo. Yet while Yoshikiyo's eyes remained mired in the petty concerns of Hinayana's limited compassion, his own resembled the expansive sea of Mahayana—eyes brimming with tears that nonetheless compelled those who gazed into them to envision a boundless future suffused with gentle warmth.

Last night, wind and rain struck before the window.

“Until now, I had never truly understood your innermost thoughts.” “When compared to the pettiness of my aspirations and my own inadequacies, Yoshikiyo can do nothing but feel utterly ashamed.” “…I have brought unnecessary trifles of a petty man to your ears and disturbed this precious quiet night.” “I beg your forgiveness.”

He apologized from the heart. Having now been enlightened, he clearly understood for the first time what Kenshin's wars had aimed to achieve and what significance they held. Once realizing this truth, Yoshikiyo himself grew ashamed that he had believed for years the battles against Kōshū had been fought solely for one Murakami Yoshikiyo's sake - so mortified he wished to vanish from existence. Kenshin moderated his tone: "No no, 'tis I who spoke too vehemently tonight without meaning to." "To speak plainly - in this recent great battle of Kawanakajima, I lost over three thousand beloved retainers and vassals nurtured through the years. Even Kenshin privately nurses an anguished heart that defies healing." "Nay - in bearing this pain within my heart, more than you or any other, it is I, Kenshin, who most fiercely scourges myself with this heavy burden of responsibility and grief." "How much more so on nights like this after battle, when cold rains fall ever more desolately..."

Staring fixedly at the lamp’s flame, he tried to say more but—considering Yoshikiyo’s anguished heart—as if deciding that speaking too much would render his words flavorless. “…You must have realized.” “My own heart as well.” “I understand completely.” “I can well imagine your feelings.” “Therefore, even if hereafter the battlefields become piled with corpses and this entire province of Echigo fills with wives without husbands and children without fathers—know that none of it is your doing.” “Do not let your spirit wither small as if it were solely for your own sake.” “Rather than that, consider day and night how grandly we may offer both your single life and Kenshin’s single life while we still draw breath—direct your thoughts toward the capital.”

That night’s conversation was only that.

However, even after returning to his own residence, Murakami Yoshikiyo spent the entire night reflecting on Kenshin’s words and contemplating the depths of his innermost thoughts. And somehow, he was drawn into a pleasant, peaceful sleep like he had not known in ten years.

Until this day, war had been thought of solely as something wretched, violent, agonizing, and sacrificial. But now he had abruptly encountered its grander significance—that this very war was the reformation of the entire land of Japan, a task unachievable without conflict: the shedding of old evils, the construction of what was to come. The blood spilled in it, the white bones buried within it—all these too he realized would ultimately converge into nothing but loyal service to that cause.

Since then, Yoshikiyo would sleep emitting tranquil snores, awaken with cheerfulness, and on days of battle take his place even more boldly at the forefront; it is said that after turning fifty years of age, he grew ever more courageous in his valor.

Great Justice and Great Self-Interest

Following the Battle of Kawanakajima, there was yet another instance that revealed Kenshin’s magnanimity. This occurred after a group of envoys—including Saitō Shimotsuke and Kurokawa Ōsumi—who had been captured in Kōshū safely returned to Echigo due to Shingen’s leniency.

In response to his leniency, Kenshin naturally took prompt and magnanimous action. He gathered dozens of Kōshū spies imprisoned across the province at Kasugayama Castle town, “If you infiltrated Echigo under your lord’s command only to be captured and return having seen nothing but prison cells,” he declared, “it would disgrace your master and shame you before kin and comrades.” “Though Echigo has no impregnable fortresses to speak of, you may tour whatever sites you wish to inspect.”

he had the magistrate relay the message, then officials led them away, divided them into several groups, permitted them to tour various locations for about three days, furnished them with travel funds, and repatriated them beyond the borders.

“Even if Lord Shingen showed leniency to our envoys, those were men who had legitimately traveled to Kai Province as emissaries. Those we released were all troublesome enemy spies. This recent decision of yours seems excessively magnanimous.”

It wasn’t exactly criticism, but out of excessive concern, there were some such voices within the household; however, the Kōshū spies released from Echigo Province—

“It’s no good anymore.” “We can never infiltrate Kasugayama’s castle town again.” “After being made to walk around various places in broad daylight for three days, even the women and children of the castle town have clearly memorized our faces—no matter how we disguise ourselves next time, we’ll be exposed immediately.”

While saying such things to one another and also fearing Kenshin’s magnanimity, they scrambled back to Kōshū in disarray, or so it was said. Even from this, it became evident that Kenshin’s wars were not mere personal grudges or selfish invasions. He regarded even enemy soldiers as citizens of Japan. He was a military strategist who understood the pathos of existence. He had perceived with clear insight that whether they be called enemy or ally, all blood shed within this land of Japan ultimately converged into nothing but a single greater life of the nation. It was this perspective that had led him to rebuke Murakami Yoshikiyo for his faintness of heart, and it was because such a mindset was firmly rooted within him that he had shown clemency to enemy spies.

Yet he remained a military strategist. He swore that he must absolutely win. Therefore, even if he took such measures against enemy spies, he would never commit the folly of allowing them to harm his allies. Rather, the measures he took seemed to have ultimately strengthened Echigo’s defenses instead.

Moreover, every command he issued, every word he spoke—indeed, all his daily actions until the day he departed this world at forty-nine years of age—were solely for the sake of winning battles. If he did not win, he would cease to exist; if he did not exist, the realization of his ideals could not be achieved. From loving oneself to daily prudence and even care for his health—among military commanders, there were likely few as devoted in all these as he. That being said, this self was no ordinary self. It differed entirely from a self driven by personal gain and desire. Kenshin himself was no longer merely Kenshin as an individual; he had become one with the very land that had given him life. He was what might be called a man of public authority—one who embodied the very model of a public servant.

That he had reached this understanding of Great Justice and Great Self-Interest from his youth was undoubtedly due to his two journeys to the capital solidifying his convictions. At twenty-four, having journeyed from Echigo’s remote borders far to the capital—where he stood in proximity to the imperial visage and witnessed firsthand the desolate state of the imperial palace, the decay of court rituals, the shogunate’s impotence, and the moral decline of the people—all that he saw and heard striking his youthful heart, his grand ambition indeed gushed forth like a spring. At that moment, the course of Uesugi Kenshin’s life had already been determined.

The Splendor of Mountains and Seas Though the battlefields changed year by year, the war continued ceaselessly even after Kawanakajima.

In Eiroku 5 (1561), when Shingen invaded Ueno, Kenshin also marched out to Numata in Kozuke Province. In the sixth year, he deployed to Kantō to rescue Sanō Castle, and in the following seventh year, he once again took position at Kawanakajima.

This was because Shingen had now directed his forces toward Hida. In July of the eighth year as well, to check Shingen, the Echigo army entered Shinano. "For Lord Long-Legs of Kōshū (Shingen), it seems his legs stretch ever longer in his old age." Kenshin once jested to this effect, so unpredictable were Shingen’s multifaceted maneuvers year after year. Before long, this Lord Long-Legs too finally had his lengthy legs bitten by the enemy and let out the only scream of his life.

From Eiroku 11 (1568) to Genki 1 (1570), over these long years, life without salt began in Kai Province. The entire province came under a salt embargo. This counterblow through the enemy’s desperate stratagem came because Lord Long-Legs Shingen deployed his forces to Suruga. The Imagawa and Hōjō clans joined forces, “Not a single grain of salt shall enter Shingen’s domain.” and strictly enforced a transport blockade across Kai and Shinano provinces along with parts of Kōzuke, declaring that anyone who secretly sold even a handful of salt to the enemy would face decapitation.

For half a year or a year, they managed with salt reserves. Small-scale black market transactions also took place in the mountains and along rivers. However, when three full years had passed, even Shingen was at a loss. For thirty years, he who had never once expressed weakness in battle— “What am I to do?” Day after day, he bore a troubled expression. Historically, the Kōshin Jōmō regions had relied on the domains of the Hōjō and Imagawa clans not only for salt but for all marine products, so this hardship struck them with devastating thoroughness. The skin of the domain’s people took on a visibly bluish tinge, and the number of sick individuals suddenly multiplied. Above all, being unable to eat miso and pickled vegetables fatally threatened the peasants’ livelihoods. Consequently, agricultural production declined and morale failed to recover; even the mighty Kōfu now headed toward self-destruction.

“Isn’t now the time? To crush Kōfu in one stroke.”

The rumors suddenly surged. Even on the Echigo front, there were military commanders who persistently urged Kenshin. However, during that period, Kenshin deliberately refrained from moving his military forces into Kōshū. Not only that, but even to the envoy from the Imagawa clan who came seeking an alliance in this salt embargo policy, "As for our house, we have long since devised our own strategies as our house sees fit; there is no need for your esteemed opinions." With that, he drove them away. However, that year, Tokugawa Ieyasu of Mikawa formed an anti-Kai alliance and left no opening in his dealings with Shingen.

Perhaps out of desperation, Shingen continued sending troops to various provinces. He likely sought solely to obtain salt. He also pushed into Uesugi territory in Kōzuke. Unwilling to let this stand, Uesugi Kenshin immediately crossed the Three Provinces Mountain Range and repelled them; when he retreated to Kōfu, Kenshin himself returned to Echigo.

Shortly after returning, Kenshin called Kurata Gorōzaemon, the provisions officer, “During this recent campaign, I have heard reports of the lives of the people in the Kōshin region—their salt shortage exceeds all rumors, and the peasants’ suffering seems beyond words. Swiftly arrange for salt from our northern seas to be transported over land and water to the Kōshin region.” he commanded. Kurata Gorōzaemon could not believe his ears, “To the enemy country?” Kurata pressed for confirmation while voicing his doubts. “That’s right,” Kenshin nodded emphatically, then added a caution:

“Naturally, we cannot open the castle’s salt storehouses. Issue an order to the castle town merchants to generously sell salt to the salt merchants of the Kōshin region—that’s all you need to encourage them to do. However, there is a risk they may exploit this scarcity to reap exorbitant profits. Strictly command that all prices be limited to Echigo pricing, and ensure they do not exceed standard rates.”

You and I

It is said that salt crossed the border, flowing in endlessly.

The peasants of Kōshū regained their vitality. The towns erupted in commotion. The merchants went about distributing salt with feverish intensity. Those who saw the salt took a handful of the white substance and held it, “How grateful!” they wept as they said. They venerated the salt.

Salt was offered at the village shrine's altar. The sacred lamp blazed brightly. When these conditions were reported in full detail, even Shingen at Tsutsujigasaki Yakata found himself unable to keep his eyes from growing hot. Yet he, "...I see."

Yet with only that, he still did not utter a single word—whether of approval or disapproval, emotion or criticism—on the matter.

......? Rather than that, he had initially shown an expression resembling pain. Next, he appeared skeptical. Just as during the great battle in the fourth year of Eiroku (1561), when Kenshin had adopted his desperate tactics and observed that inexplicable encampment at Mt. Saijoyama, Shingen now found himself enveloped in a fog of the mind. At that moment, a letter arrived.

It was from Kenshin of Kasugayama. Nevertheless, Shingen, harboring considerable doubts, opened the letter.

The letter was concise. In essence, it stated: Through countless seasons and years, you and I have summoned each other with arms and answered with arms. The tools of our conflict are bows and arrows; the heart of our battle lies in the divergence of our purposes. My ideals are not your ideals; your desires are not my desires. Thus for years we have stood opposed, borrowing the fields of the realm to lay out our battle formations. Nevertheless, in the battles of military strategists, why resort to using rice and salt? Rice and salt are not solely for you to taste; they are the livelihood of the peasants. The peasants are the great treasure of the nation, having no relation to military campaigns. The despicable schemes of the Suruga and Sagami lords—who could fail to loathe their base intentions?

In recent days, through the merchants of our domain, there exists no other intention in supplying salt to your country. I beseech you to accept this with peace of mind. Furthermore, make the troops under your command even more elite. We shall meet again on the battlefield.

“……” Shingen read it again and again. The furrow in his brow had cleared. Yet there was no doubt he held profound admiration for Kenshin. Illuminated by those noble intentions, even Shingen’s heart was beautified. He could only sense something like a pure, unsullied breath. The very notion of victory and defeat had been transcended. He carefully folded the letter, pressed it to his forehead, and placed it into the box beside him—yet even now, Shingen did not let slip a single word of emotion. It seemed there were no words left to say.

Salt Veneration

Over the past two or three years, Echigo and Kai had continued to maintain their borders as fated enemy states while directing their activities toward entirely separate fronts.

From Genki 3 to the following year, Tenshō 1, Shingen targeted Tōkai, took up position at Mikatagahara, crushed Tokugawa Ieyasu’s army, and advanced as far as his main castle at Hamamatsu. In the same year, Kenshin departed in August to subjugate Etchū, spent New Year's Day of Tenshō 1 in camp, completed the conquest of the Toyama vicinity by March, and returned to Kasugayama Castle in April—when, soon after,

“Harunobu Nyūdō Shingen of Kai has reportedly passed away within this March.” He received this sudden report like water poured on sleeping ears. Kenshin had been in the midst of his midday meal, they say. Upon hearing the urgent dispatch from a close retainer, “What? “The monk of Kai has passed away?” “...Ah... So the day will never come when I meet my longtime worthy rival again.”

He dropped his chopsticks onto his lap, closed eyes from which tears streamed silently, then murmured these words to admonish his retainers' morale: "A country without enemies perishes—so they say. Perhaps for this very reason, Echigo's bow and arrows may grow slack. Yet now this world holds no more purpose—no goal to ceaselessly hone myself against being defeated by, nor overcoming, a genius rival like Shingen. What a loss. Truly desolate."

Among the military commanders of the house, upon hearing this news of death,

“It’s the perfect moment.” “The veteran generals of Kōfu’s main clan must surely be sinking into the depths of ruin—like those who have lost their lantern in a pitch-dark night.” “If we now march in full force, overthrowing his entire territory in a single morning would be effortless.”

And there were those among them who gathered to propose strategies to Kenshin.

Kenshin laughed. “Stop this, stop this! “It would only invite the scorn of the realm. If Kai Province were the sort to collapse overnight after his death, then even the loss of Shingen—its very pillar—would not be worth mourning. However, for three years, Kōfu will be more impregnable than ever before. No one can know what will happen three years from now.”

Afterward, Kenshin dispatched a senior retainer all the way to Kaizu Castle to have Shingen’s death solemnly mourned. By the time the condolence envoy returned, the true circumstances of Shingen’s death had become fully known. True to form even in death, he had left behind every possible strategy for his war council and clan members, ensuring that the banners of Mount Kō showed no sudden decline.

Shingen's illness arose during his forces' military campaign that had besieged Hamamatsu Castle and was advancing into Mikawa. His death was sudden and came at a critical juncture, giving rise to various alternative theories and skepticism from various provinces. However, the truth appears to be that after lifting the siege of Noda Castle and hastily making his way back to Kōfu, his condition deteriorated gravely along the journey, and by the time he returned to the Tsutsujigasaki Mansion, he was already a corpse.

On the verge of death, he summoned his grandson Nobukatsu, Katsuyori, and the clan’s generals to his bedside: “After my death, do not take up arms or move troops recklessly—especially toward Kenshin of the neighboring province. Place your reliance in him with trust; he is not one to betray you.”

Having left these final instructions, he called for a writing brush, In the end, flesh and bones return to others; Ungilded by rouge, elegance arises of itself.

With that, it is said that as soon as he finished writing his final Zen verse with trembling hand, he drew his last breath. From the onset of his illness until his death, he had written his kaō on eight hundred sheets of formal paper and left instructions to ensure that even after his death, the world would believe Shingen still lived—this single act alone reveals how exhaustively he had prepared for every contingency. A hero's heart is known only to heroes. Kenshin’s prediction had not been mistaken. Just as he had said, even two or three years after Shingen’s death, the Kai Genji Takeda house still commanded respect among neighboring provinces and showed no signs of collapse.

However, once they sallied forth to Nagashino and suffered a crushing defeat at the hands of the combined Oda and Tokugawa forces, the decline swiftly deepened across Mount Kō’s banners, and even their once-formidable elite troops and steeds were gradually losing their former visage.

Amidst these circumstances, life's unforeseen turns came upon Kenshin as well. In the fifth year after Shingen's death, Kenshin too abruptly departed this world. That both great leaders left this world with such suddenness was itself remarkable, inevitably evoking a sense of fatalistic destiny. Though Kenshin had always maintained robust health in daily life, he harbored a particular fondness for drink. The horseback sake cup he cherished would draw tears from his family and retainers for generations to come. Even now at Uesugi Shrine, the everyday sake cups preserved there remain astonishingly large vessels. He showed no particular preference for accompaniments—sometimes making do with just a single pickled plum—and given records stating he consumed gallons of alcohol at a sitting, his prodigious drinking capacity scarcely taxes the imagination.

Established since ancient times, Spreading forth to all quarters, prosperously reigns the thousand-year white snow. This was his earlier work. It is said that when he journeyed to the capital in his youth, he composed this poem while hosting an evening of snow-viewing with Shogun Yoshiteru. Against the beauty of snow’s monochromatic expanse, he was already giving voice to the spirit of restoration he had harbored in his heart at that time. It also reveals a vision of the state’s essence purer than snow.

Yoshiteru was a mere nineteen years old at this time and already the Shogun. Whether his ideal was truly understood remains unclear. Yet Kenshin did not waver in his loyalty even after Yoshiteru met an untimely demise and Yoshiaki assumed the mantle of Shogun. He covertly devoted immense efforts to prop up the teetering Muromachi shogunate.

Because of this, he came into conflict with Nobunaga. Nobunaga was a destroyer of an entirely opposite nature from him. The inevitable conflict was fiercely fought in both diplomacy and military affairs.