Pathway to Japanese Literature

With the arrival of this New Year, Kenshin turned thirty-three. He could still be considered youthful. Yet both his clothing hues and every aspect of his attire were markedly subdued. His long-sleeved haori consisted of plain olive-brown tussah silk. Only his wide-legged hakama seemed crafted from some peculiar textile. Ever fond of wearing a hooded cloak, he stood amidst retainers resplendent in New Year's finery, silently surveying the gathering with a gentle smile—to all appearances resembling nothing so much as a young Rinzai monk who had strayed into their company.

“What do you think—isn’t it rather harmless? This is why I find my retainers so endearing.”

To the person seated beside him on his right, Kenshin addressed these words. Uesugi Norimasa, the Kantō Kanrei, “Indeed,”

He nodded and then turned toward the noble seated to his right. “The valor and endurance of the Echigo forces have long been renowned throughout neighboring provinces, but that they possess such innocence and include so many men of many talents—I have indeed only now come to learn this.”

He conveyed a smile.

The noble in question was the sole courtier from the capital present among them. Though temporarily addressed as Lord Kumano, he was in truth Konoe Sakihisa, heir of the regent family.—Even in this chaotic fourth year of Eiroku, for a court noble to calmly attend a New Year’s gathering dominated by rough warriors—sharing their wine and revelry—marked him as distinct from those palace aristocrats who concerned themselves solely with poetic trifles. Moreover, one could almost imagine that he harbored some grand ambition toward this group of warriors.

Moreover, this was within Ueshū Umayabashi Castle. From Kyoto’s perspective, it was still a corner of the Bandō Plain that likely conjured images of provincial wildness. For nobles of the time to journey this far into such a place would have required extraordinary resolve and purpose. Ah, the New Year has dawned! A world of splendor—today it blooms! What fortune to be born in such times! Well have we endured until now! Lands rise as one; lands clash. Like last night’s evening clouds—they fade away.

Like the rising sun at dawn—it burns ablaze. The Age of the Gods here in this moment. Now is the time, warriors! To live is to be human, all people! How matchless is life’s radiance! Eat even the roots of grass! The seventh day of the New Year was an auspicious custom—the banquet of bestowed sake. The Echigo forces’ young samurai—who had been chanting this lengthy poem in modern-style melody, mixing in their provincial accents—finally rose en masse. Clapping their hands in unison, they filled even the castle keep’s grand hall to bursting as they formed a circle, dancing round and round in flowing motions, reveling in the fullness of their lives this day.

Shingen’s Shadow

“For years now, welcoming the New Year on campaign seems to have become our auspicious custom,” Kenshin remarked. “Last year we observed it in Etchū’s military camp—I wonder where we’ll mark it next year.” As Kenshin spoke these reminiscences while requesting a cup from his neighbor, Uesugi Norimasa adopted an expression of profound contrition. “As the Kantō Kanrei charged with governing the eastern provinces,” he said, “my inadequacy forces me to seek your distant reinforcements amidst turmoil in every neighboring region—a humiliation I can barely endure.” Kenshin, discerning his inner turmoil,

“I did not speak with the intention of hearing such words from you. Please do not take it amiss,” he comforted him.

With his long-standing enemy, Shingen of Kai, a peace treaty had been concluded three years prior in Eiroku 1, (as good neighbors)

and had concluded a pact of amity (as good neighbors). Therefore, on the surface, while this foe’s menace seemed negligible to the Echigo forces, in reality his hostility had turned insidious—proving far more vexing for Kenshin to manage than during their open clashes. Shingen’s political cunning, though anchored in that mountain-locked province of Kai, had thoroughly permeated even the inner workings of neighboring domains. Particularly in diplomatic foresight and stratagems, one as young as Kenshin stood no chance against the tempered intellect of that scarlet-robed monk-commander forged through a hundred campaigns.

The previous year’s expedition to Etchū had been launched to crush the Jinbo clan of Toyama Castle, who persistently encroached on the border. Yet after quelling them, when binding up those remnants for interrogation, they found many soldiers with Shinano accents among the ranks, monk soldiers of allied sects under Shingen’s influence intermixed, and countless secret documents regularly exchanged—ultimately revealing this too to have been another manifestation of Shingen’s manipulated shadow.

But this shadow was proving troublesome to handle. If they swept one aspect away, another leapt out from a different quarter. In the world, it was often said— (Shingen had seven body doubles, making it impossible to discern who was truly Shingen.)

When people spoke of such things, they may well have been referring to the ever-shifting manifestations of his scheming nature. Now then, last year, Kenshin—who had led an expedition to Etchū and subdued the rebellion on the border—returned to his stronghold at Kasugayama and, without even time to remove his armor, once more received from the Kantō Kanrei Uesugi family in Ueshū Umayabashi— (Urgently requesting reinforcements to Kantō) Kenshin received this urgent request for reinforcements.

The enemy was Hojo Ujiyasu of Odawara. The Hojo clan’s influence had incessantly threatened neighboring minor domains like the Satomi and Satake, which now found themselves unable to endure the pressure. However, even when they appealed to Uesugi Norimasa, the Kantō Kanrei (Kantō Deputy), he no longer possessed the strength to suppress it. If left unchecked, the chaos would eventually spread throughout Ueshū, making even the Kantō Kanrei family’s independence appear imperiled—a desperate cry born of such circumstances. Consenting immediately, Kenshin departed Kasugayama like thunder and marched south to Ueshū. That was last August. Having established Umayabashi Castle there as their base and united the minor domains of Bōsō, his grand strategy to conquer Odawara was now halfway to completion when they welcomed the New Year of Eiroku 4 (1561) within these castle walls.

The expedition had already lasted four months, and the battle’s future remained uncertain. If this became a prolonged siege, it was crucial not to let morale wane. At times like today, there was meaning in drinking heartily and letting loose through loud singing and recitation. While gazing out like that, Kenshin looked satisfied. The guest Konoe Sakihisa also appeared to be enjoying himself. Only Uesugi Norimasa alone, (Is this truly acceptable?) seemed to be secretly troubled, his complexion never growing flushed with drink.

However, this banquet did not descend into disorder. They knew their limits. First, starting 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, prompted the meal attendants to serve, and each of them clutched large bowls and began eating rice in earnest.

Just then, a group of four or five colleagues returned from outside, their noses reddened from the cold. From the lower seats, they bowed distantly toward their lord and guest; then the group pushed through the crowd and immediately reached for chopsticks and bowls. Kenshin spotted him from afar, “Shimotsuke, isn’t it?”

he called out.

Thinking he was being reprimanded, Saitō Shimotsuke-no-Kami, one of them, hurriedly straightened his posture,

“I have just returned.” And repeated his bow. “The meal won’t be ready immediately． It seems you have not yet drunk． Come here.” With that，Kenshin gestured with his cup． Saitō Shimotsuke Saitō Shimotsuke timidly advanced before his lord and the distinguished guest． Konoe Sakihisa watched that figure without taking his eyes off． He wore a look of utter surprise． It seemed he thought，*Even in Echigo，there are samurai like this？*

To put it bluntly, Saitō Shimotsuke was nothing more than an unpresentable little man, and on top of that, his left eye was destroyed and he walked with a limp.

But for Kenshin, he seemed to regard him no differently than a beloved subordinate, and when Shimotsuke began to sit down with extreme reserve before the distinguished guest— “Come closer.” With his own hand, Kenshin gave Shimotsuke a cup, then said: “You’re a notorious drinker, aren’t you? Yet you squandered today’s rare opportunity—where have you been since morning, you good-for-nothing who never lives up to your boasts?” So saying, Kenshin laughed as he pretended to scold. Shimotsuke bowed reverently to the cup he had received, drained it, and then—

“In truth, I went to pay respects at my ancestors’ graves. I set out at dawn intending to return before the banquet, but the ancient site had become overgrown with grass and turned into fields—which made it quite difficult to find—so I ended up being late,” he answered.

“Ah.” “I see.”

Kenshin abruptly drew his eyebrows together solemnly. It was because he had remembered. The ancestors of this Saitō Shimotsuke were not from Echigo. They were born in Shōbusa Village, located several miles east of Umayabashi Castle. Shōbusa Village in the plains of Kōzuke was renowned as the place where, in the second year of Kenmu (1335), Nitta Yoshisada and his clan swore loyalty as heavenly warriors and raised their banners to strike down the imperial traitor Ashikaga Takauji in Kamakura—a tale known to all.

Especially since coming on campaign to Kōzuke, Kenshin had visited that land 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 the Kenmu era had risen in fury from obscurity, dared take up arms against traitors, and ultimately given their lives for the nation. He wandered through Shōbusa’s overgrown fields, offering heartfelt tears of blood to countless heroic spirits before returning. The second time, he even erected a temporary shrine near that land.

This man— By nature, Kenshin was of sensitive disposition. Prone to intensity and quick to emotion. Until around twenty years old, he would even occasionally weep like a woman. Around that time, he had been not only sensitive but also passionate in character; however, there came a marked shift after he devoted himself wholeheartedly to Zen and the tempering of his mind. That said, his passionate sensitivity was innate—Zen could not purge it from his blood—but he had channeled that intensity into his grand ambitions for the future. He wept for great justice but not petty causes. When angered—whether over matters of state or warrior honor—he would become utterly silent in ordinary times. At most matters, he smiled with his almond-shaped eyes. Though somewhat unbecoming for a man in his prime, he had come to exude such dignity.

In exchange, he pressed forward resolutely alone toward his ideals, and one could discern the traces of his colossal strides advancing steadily in silence.

The most remarkable of these was that he alone never neglected the rituals of fealty involved in journeying to Kyoto to pay homage at court. The distance between Kyoto and Echigo was farther than that to the Hōjō of Odawara, Shingen of Kai, or the Imagawa family of Suruga—farther than anywhere else. However, while Shingen, Yoshimoto, and Ujiyasu remained preoccupied with defending their own domains and their personal ambitions, Kenshin—still in his youth during the 22nd year of Tenbun (1553)—had already swiftly journeyed to Kyoto. Through Shogun Yoshiteru, he paid homage at the imperial court, received the heavenly cup, presented various offerings for imperial inspection, and thereby clarified to the world the significance of Kenshin’s taking up arms as a loyal vassal.

Following that, he also journeyed to Kyoto in the year before last—the second year of Eiroku (1559). For his frequent displays of loyalty, the imperial court was undoubtedly gratified, but Chancellor Konoe Sakihisa, among others, had privately worried for him: “With you being away in such a distant land, your domain must weigh heavily on your mind. Are your rear defenses secure?”

Konoe Sakihisa had once asked.

Then Kenshin— (This was a journey to Kyoto for no other purpose; territorial matters—I could leave them entirely unattended.)

he answered. For warlords now carving out domains across the provinces—their eyes bloodshot and hands bloodied—their foremost concern was territory. They whetted their blades over every inch of soil, leaving no room for other matters in these times. Amidst this, Konoe Sakihisa, who had heard Kenshin’s words— This man— —acknowledged the truth within him. He had appraised him as such. At a time when he lamented both the moral decay since the Ōnin era and the decline of national customs where even the proper ways between court and subject were neglected, Kenshin’s words struck deep into Sakihisa’s heart. Given such a warrior—no matter what secrets were shared or what great causes entrusted—from then on, through exchanging *Kumano Gōō no Seishi* (sacred oaths), the two pledged themselves profoundly in service to the imperial court.

The reason Konoe Sakihisa had chosen this New Year to travel all the way here—beyond the surface pretext—was that the two had long shared this unspoken commitment in their hearts.

“Hmm… Then… your honorable ancestors belonged to the Nitta clan of this land?” Sakihisa suddenly interjected into Kenshin and Shimotsuke’s conversation from the side. Ancestral Grace

Though directly addressed, Shimotsuke appeared hesitant about whether to answer, prompting Kenshin to— “You may answer.” he urged. Shimotsuke turned his one 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 of Lord Yoshisada’s uprising, he served under his kinsman Lord Wakiya, participated in the assault on Kamakura, and later met his end in battle at Bubaigawara.” “I heard that the grave where his head was buried lay at our ancestral home site, so I gathered five or six others from the same land and searched everywhere, but we could not find it.” “…Vast and desolate—everywhere had turned into fields and grasslands, and even the local farmers knew nothing of it.”

“Then, several generations have passed since your family moved to Echigo, I presume?” “It has been four generations.”

“Ah, in that case…” “Are there still many descendants of the Nitta clan in Echigo?”

This was a direct question posed to Kenshin. Uesugi Kenshin, without even deliberation, “Even here alone, starting with Shimotsuke, there are five or six. In Kasugayama Castle, there must still be dozens of households of the same lineage,” he answered immediately.

Sakihisa nodded deeply. “Just so. Just so,” he repeated.

he repeated, “I never imagined you to be such an honorable descendant. Forgive my earlier abruptness.” “Allow me to offer you a cup.” “You there, Shimotsuke.”

As if prompting one who wouldn’t come forward on his own, he extended his hand. Shimotsuke grew increasingly fearful and shrank back. Considering his status as nothing more than a samurai captain entrusted with a small troop of forty or fifty men, he seemed overwhelmed by the dilemma. “I humbly receive it.” At his lord’s permission, Shimotsuke raised his face with a sigh of relief and spoke thus. “Though I have achieved no merit myself, this cup bestowed beyond my station must surely be due to Your Excellency’s consideration of my ancestors’ deeds.” “For a single individual such as myself to keep it would be excessive.” “I shall receive the entire cup, distribute it to five or six others, and after returning to our province, wish to have the rest at Kasugayama Castle partake as well.” “…If I may humbly ask, please grant this humble one that entire cup.”

“Very well.” Sakihisa took out his own kaishi (decorative paper), wrapped the cup, and presented it anew to Shimotsuke.

Locked in place.

Preparations were complete.

The Kantō Kanrei army, combining forces from Kōzuke and Bōsō under Kenshin’s command, denounced the crimes of Hōjō Ujiyasu and— “Surrender or destruction?” —pressed the ultimatum upon Odawara Castle’s vicinity. That year, the battles continued from March through April. The flowers had scattered, and spring was waning.

The guest in the military camp, Konoe Sakihisa,

“I pray in silence that you may swiftly realize your grand ambitions across the realm—for all people.” “For all people.”

With that, Konoe Sakihisa parted there and returned to the capital.

Although it was during battle, Kenshin saw him off as far as the Ashigara Border,

“We shall meet again in the capital.”

he declared confidently. 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 strategists from Kōshū under Shingen had swiftly entered the castle and were assisting Ujiyasu. Those Kōshū strategists, “If our lord has declared that troops and supplies will continue to be sent from Kōshū without limit, then it is best to rely completely on this stronghold, prioritize defense, and refrain from exiting the castle gates to engage in battle.” had been insisting on this. Their strategy was to pin down the besiegers there—particularly to exhaust the expeditionary Echigo forces—and leave Kenshin with no strategies to employ.

May arrived.

Moreover, they still had not captured even a single section of the castle walls. It could be said that the castle defenders' plan succeeded as intended. Kenshin finally withdrew his forces once to refresh his allies' weariness and await a shift in the enemy's position.

It was during this period that he, together with Uesugi Norimasa, visited Kamakura Hachimangu Shrine. Norimasa, taking that opportunity,

“From now on consider yourself as one of my own clan and take the Uesugi surname,” he urged. Until then Kenshin had been—needless to say—a vassal of the *Kantō Kanrei* (Kantō Deputy), his family name was Nagao and his position was Shugodai (Deputy Governor) of Echigo.

An empty document, a single ash.

At that time, Kōshū’s elite troops were frequently moving northward—sometimes forming ranks, other times dispersing—in relentless fashion. The movement of a large army naturally provokes its neighboring regions. Like scattered clouds, the troops and horses heading toward Zenkoji from routes such as Yatsugatake and Suwa were all part of this movement; yet even Echigo’s strategists, who maintained vigilant watch over this front, “Hmm?” could only manage that much and, through their own carelessness, failed to discern its purpose.

By the time they realized it, the general public already knew as well. For it was akin to a bolt from the blue, shocking the world’s attention. "It’s here—war between Kōshū and Echigo!" With war clouds rising suddenly like cirrus, unable to grasp the reason, the farmers could only renew their terror of years past.

The location lay southeast of Lake Nojiri at the border between Echigo and Shinano provinces—though mountainous, it served as a vital transportation nexus where routes diverged whether heading north, west, or south. Perched on the steep terrain of Warigatake stood a castle where the Echigo forces entrenched themselves.

Warigatake Castle. The strategic stronghold here was equally an absolute necessity for Echigo and was regarded as of utmost value by the Takeda clan of Kai. If the Takeda forces were ever to capture this stronghold in a single day, the Echigo army would inevitably have all routes east and south sealed off; conversely, as long as Echigo held it firmly in their grip, even Shingen—the fierce tiger of Kōyama—would find any future expansion north of Lake Nojiri toward the Japan Sea coast all but impossible.

And so, the inherent natures of both Kai and Echigo always clashed in this region. Seizing and being seized, the forces striving to advance southward and those seeking to expand northward clashed like raging torrents in a mountain pass and engaged in repeated bloody battles over time.

But that destiny had been extinguished since the first year of the Eiroku era four years prior. A peace agreement had been established through the mediation of Shogun Ashikaga Yoshiteru. Both parties exchanged sworn documents, pledged upon sacred oaths, and ceased hostilities. ——It was the sudden outbreak of war that had erupted at Warigatake Castle. The general public, “Again?” It was not unreasonable for them to be frightened. That their senses had been numbed as if struck by a thunderclap was due to having placed excessive faith in the peace between both nations being eternal.

Sorrowful exertions, searing sweat.

“What? Warigatake?” When Uesugi Kenshin received the first report in the expeditionary lands, he too felt a shock akin to a bolt from the blue—just like any ordinary civilian. ——That would explain it.

It was something he could never have imagined. Even based on the treaty exchanged with Shingen. Also, from human conventional wisdom as well. Though still young and imbued with Zen essence—his flashes of brilliance and mastery of military strategy already marking him as a great commander in the public eye—he remained no unshakable idol who could face such developments without dismay.

He seethed. Unusually, his face showed a crimson hue blazing with rage, “You Long-Legs!” he cursed.

He was referring to Shingen. This was not a nickname Kenshin had coined. Everyone called him Lord Long-Legs of Kōshū. This epithet apparently stemmed from his diplomatic maneuvers, his rapid mobilizations, and his display of remarkably diligent quickness and swift actions despite being in that mountainous realm. However, when it came to being swift as the wind and quick as lightning, Kenshin was no less than Shingen. Kenshin’s swiftness lay not in his actions, but in his mental agility. It lay in his decisiveness when confronting situations—neither regretting nor hesitating.

“We withdraw at once.” “Immediately.” In June, crossing Sanga Pass, the troops he led—wearily, drenched in sweat—headed north.

“This is unbearable.” “Warigatake has finally fallen.” “Not a single ally remained—they met their end with the castle.” Kenshin heard these successive tragic reports while gasping for breath along the mountain path. “I see.”

He wiped away his sweat and gazed up at the cloud-capped peaks. The blazing sun scorched his tears of sorrow.

“...I see.”

Silently, they continued their march. Sensing his fury and grief, the generals flanking his steed—Naoe Yamato-no-Kami, Nagao Tōtōmi-no-Kami, Ayukawa Settsu, Murakami Yoshikiyo, Takanashi Masayori, Kakizaki Izumi-no-Kami—now raised no fierce shouts. Silently, and silently again… While firmly vowing something for the future, they crossed mountain after mountain like clouds. Moreover, a detailed report arrived. “The enemy, having captured Warigatake, burned down the castle complex, smashed both the stone walls and ramparts without leaving a trace, and have already withdrawn to Kōshū.” “Though our allies in the castle met their end, enemy casualties reached several times that number. Even renowned Kōshū commanders—Haru Minō-no-Kami, Katō Suruga-no-Kami, Urano Minbu—sustained injuries. Haru Minō-no-Kami in particular was said to have retreated with thirteen grievous wounds from this battle. Likewise, enemy retainers Niikami Matasaburō and Tsuji Rokurōbei fell in battle.” “It is also reported that Tada Awa-no-Kami has fallen in battle.”

The swift messenger desperately faced Kenshin and reported every detail of the battle situation. "I see." His reply remained characteristically brief. Yet with each repetition of these words, his tone grew calmer—more solemn—as if some inner turbidity were clarifying itself. When the full report spread through the ranks, palpable unrest rippled across the army. Veteran commanders sat motionless astride their steeds, choking back silent tears; others scrubbed at furious tears with clenched fists. "How unbearable!" Sensitive retainers wailed their grief aloud.

Even the baggage handlers and the lowest-ranking foot soldiers were all muttering:

“Are we just going back to Echigo like this?” That was the case. And again,

“We will not return empty-handed!” Their fervor blazed fiercely, sweat-drenched heads seething with rage.

Against Kenshin—silent and composed with nothing but repeated “I see”s—it was no wonder the entire army’s officers and soldiers let a clamor of dissatisfaction swirl around them. From this ridge they had crossed over the mountains—could they not see those cloud-capped peaks that might have been mistaken for smoke rising from Warigatake? A single crack of the whip pointing leftward would show Nojiri lay not far ahead. If they pressed onward to break through Kawanakajima, seize an enemy stronghold at Kaizu, sweep through its surroundings, and at least deliver retribution against part of Shingen’s domain before withdrawing—would that truly come too late?

“Why—just like this?!” Step by step, they stomped the ground and refused to stop. Their blood too was tied to Warigatake Castle. The father of someone here had been there. Others had brothers, uncles, nephews there. It coalesced into one under the Echigo forces’ banner—a righteous cause against Kōshū’s treachery—surgeoning single-mindedly— “Even from here—” Thus they burned to pursue. “Halt the horses!” Kenshin—for some reason—spoke thus to the generals before and behind him, then abruptly turned his horse’s head sideways.

“The bridge flows; the water does not.” “Halt!” “All forces, face west.” Subsequently, Kenshin’s orders were relayed from one general to another. Abruptly, the dust settled. The serpentine formation, as if anticipating something, faced westward, their faces aligned in solemn silence.

And both near and far, they uniformly fixed their gaze upon Commander Kenshin's figure. ... Kenshin clamped the reins in his horse's saddle pommel and pressed both palms together against his chest there. Toward the western sky— The veteran generals, the retainers, and even the baggage handlers at the far end of the line—all followed suit and offered silent prayer for a time.

When it ended, Kenshin stretched up from his horse,

“The bridge flows; the water does not—Let us go. For now, to my stronghold at Kasugayama.”

Having said that, he urged those around him and once more crossed the mountain pass northward, ever northward. The first phrase Kenshin shouted loudly was not fully understood by anyone. They could only guess it was some Zen phrase, but its meaning remained unclear. “…The bridge flows; the water does not. “That’s how I heard it, but…?” And so they began questioning themselves. Some who had grasped the idea spoke up. “Water should flow, yet he says it doesn’t. “Doesn’t that point to an eternal form?” “No sooner built than washed away—no sooner gone than rebuilt.” “Don’t cling to passing joys and sorrows.” “Isn’t that what our lord meant?”

In any case, thus the expeditionary Echigo forces entered Kasugayama Castle for the time being. Kenshin appeared to harbor firm intentions, yet his life after returning to the castle remained as usual morning and evening. Rather, the hearts and minds of all in Echigo—from the generals down—were growing increasingly enraged by Takeda’s treacherous conduct. Not only had he discarded the peace treaty’s terms, but he had exploited their absence during the expedition to strike at their weakness—this was Shingen Nyūdō, despicable beyond measure, unfit to stand among the ranks of the warrior class; a terrestrial bandit who showed no regard for the hardships of peasants and townsfolk. In Echigo, even the common folk who were not samurai were gnashing their teeth and saying.

Yet no sign could be seen that Kenshin would easily mobilize. July had passed, and August was near. Kasugayama Castle remained enveloped in the shrill chorus of cicadas, showing no indication of renewed campaign preparations. Of course, the castle town’s forges, armories, provisions stores, and other military sectors bustled with activity—but this held nothing extraordinary for the Uesugi clan. All martial affairs proceeded as routine matters. “Unbearable!” “What’s become of this?” The lower-ranking samurai—those least capable of discerning their superiors’ intentions—proved most eager to vent their pent-up frustrations. They would waylay any who returned from the castle,

“How about…the state of the honorable council?”

they asked. To be close aides capable of discerning that much, “Who knows,” they would only answer like that, and “Well, today as well, in the inner chambers, only the clan and elder retainers held a council meeting. However, it seems they remain divided between war and peace.” Yet those who spoke as if they had witnessed it firsthand actually understood nothing. But when they vaguely sensed an atmosphere of both war and peace among the castle generals,

“What is this ‘peace’? At this critical hour, where remains any room to consider peace?!” “You cowards!”

Their fury blazed up all the more intensely. It was resentment layered upon resentment. Moreover, this time, it was a rage they couldn’t even tell whom to direct. They could only cry out toward the heavens.

These retainers had unexpectedly stumbled upon a certain suspicion in their midst. To put it plainly, it was that Saitō Shimotsuke—the familiar one-eyed, lame figure who always stood out immediately—had been entirely absent of late.

Secret Peace Envoy “Where has Lord Shimotsuke gone?” Even when they asked Saitō Shimotsuke’s family members, they clammed up and insisted they knew nothing; even when they inquired with his close friends, “I truly do not know,” they could only share in the suspicion. When they observed the residence, there was no sign of him being ill in bed; the servants seemed to have been strictly ordered to keep silent. Under these circumstances, it was only natural that their desire to know grew stronger. “I’ve got it!” One of them conveyed it to the group.

It was already the cusp of autumn; it had been August for just two or three days now. Karasaki Zushonosuke, a hatamoto, came to the administrative room within the castle where the hot-blooded mid-ranking members of the same unit had gathered, “No wonder he is nowhere to be seen—he has secretly gone to Kai Province as an envoy for peace.” he declared in a loud voice. They were all men whose faces rarely showed shock at any turn of events, but at this, rather than being dumbfounded, it was as if a massive boulder had been dropped on them from above—they sharply drew in their breath once, then widened their eyes.

“What? Is that true?” they said. “Would I speak of such a grave matter in jest?”

With that， Zushonosuke declared emphatically， staking his honor as a samurai. According to his words， his uncle Kurokawa Ōsumi-no-Kami had also been missing since some time ago. He had kept insisting he was ill—but due to suspicious circumstances—they intimidated a daughter who was his cousin and finally extracted the truth.

“Then—are you saying Kurokawa Ōsumi-no-Kami also went to Kai Province alongside Saitō Shimotsuke?”

“Precisely. “In secret, Shimotsuke was appointed chief envoy, with Kurokawa Ōsumi-no-Kami accompanying as deputy—they departed Kasugayama more than ten days ago.”

“…We didn’t know.” “There’s no way you could have known. If word were to leak out, fearing that dissent and turmoil within the clan would be unavoidable, the elder retainers apparently conspired together and secretly dispatched envoys to Kai Province.”

Their faces were all utterly astonished, unable to utter another word. But theirs was not blood so thin as to cool down just like that. After a moment, that silence erupted with a dangerous countenance not seen in several months.

The Dozing Pillar

"Why must they send envoys from Echigo to Kai Province?" "Has the Uesugi house resolved to abandon the warrior's path?" "Disgraceful!" "Have you no shame?!"

“To dispatch envoys and still cling to peace overtures—ah! It makes one weary of bearing arms.” “This is the decay of all moral principle!” “In the end, this must be the senior retainers—who wish to preserve the status quo at all costs—blunting our lord’s resolve.” “Unforgivable.” “This absolutely cannot be overlooked.” “Whether it be Lord Naoe Yamato-no-Kami’s residence or Lord Kakizaki Izumi-no-Kami’s estate—we must storm whichever and demand they clarify their true intentions.” “All who agree, come!” “Let’s go!”

“Let’s go.” More than ten individuals who were present all rose and stormed out into the main corridor. However, there was a single individual who remained leaning back against a large pillar in the corner, eyes closed, making no move to rise. One of them noticed,

“Yatarō. Why aren’t you coming? Won’t you hurry up?” he urged. On the face that had been raised sleepily, white pockmarks dotted the skin. Onikojima Yatarō, as if even shaking his head sideways were too much trouble,

“I won’t go.” With that, he showed no sign of rising from his seated position.

This Time・This Autumn “What?” The group returned with flushed faces. Gathered around the pillar Yatarō leaned against, “When you say ‘I won’t go,’ does that mean there’s no need to go?”

To that, Yatarō— “Exactly,” he answered clearly,

“You’d do well to avoid stirring up needless trouble. There are times when children cannot fathom their parents’ hearts.”

he said without even adjusting his seated position. Both his attitude and lecturing tone greatly irritated the group. When speaking of the Uesugi clan's Onikojima Yatarō, he was one of Kasugayama's Ten Tigers, renowned throughout neighboring regions. The Ten Tigers referred to those chosen as the very finest among Kenshin's direct retainers—a group someone had selected ten men to name. That said, not one comrade gathered there believed themselves absolutely inferior to Yatarō. When opportunity arose, they would achieve military exploits second to none; even excluded from the Ten Tigers' ranks, each possessed confidence to seize any honor—Twin Dragons, Ten Dragons, or otherwise—through their own prowess.

“The white-pockmarked bastard.” Naturally, his peers showed anger at his insolence. Having once risen to their feet, they settled back down and began speaking all at once from both sides, “What do you mean by ‘needless commotion’?” “Useless?!” “To Kai Province—our sworn enemy for years—and to Shingen who has reached the height of treachery: at this very moment, sending envoys to beg for peace—does this not strike you as galling?” “Do you not consider this Echigo—our Uesugi army—to be utterly humiliated?” “Can we just sit idly by and watch this?” “This isn’t some mindless uproar.” “To those gutless, calculating, spineless elder retainers—we go to impart courage and provoke reflection.” “We go to urge them to make a decision.” “Why is that unnecessary?”

they pressed him. Yatarō once again—

“It’s unnecessary.”

Having declared this, he sat back down, “Still going on about it?” While some gripped their swords and knit their brows menacingly, Yatarō—without looking at any individual face—addressed the whole group with utmost calm. “Now listen and compose yourselves. While we juniors cannot fathom the high councils held these past days, matters determining our rise or fall would never be settled by elder retainers alone.” “These policies must have been deliberated—and conclusively decided—before our lord himself. If so, then dispatching envoys to Kai Province or suing for peace can only be His Lordship’s decree.” “Is this not Lord Kenshin’s very intent?” “Do you mean to protest our lord’s will?”

“No—those who obscured His Lordship’s will, idly prayed for peace, and voiced weakness were surely some among the elder retainers.” “For that reason—” “Don’t be stupid!” With that, Yatarō silenced the chorus of voices, “Samurai who offer their lives in service to His Lordship.” “Without even grasping where His Lordship’s spirit lies or what His Lordship’s usual temperament is—you all manage to serve so dutifully.” “Do not offer up your lives.—The art of war is not merely for sounding the charge drums and rushing at the enemy.” “The saying ‘Parents’ hearts are unknowable to their children’ lies in that very subtlety.” “Clumsy panting and clamoring will only trouble His Lordship’s will and hinder the very subtle opportunities at hand.” “……Having just returned from the recent Kantō expedition—and making such faces as though you’d rather not return to the battlefield anytime soon—each of you being quite idle would indeed be considered loyal service, I suppose.”

he said with a laugh, and then— “Look here. To that Kai Province, he sent—of all people—a man called Saitō Shimotsuke. Though there are many in the domain, dispatching that Shimotsuke could never have been decided by the elder retainers’ judgment. It was His Lordship’s own selection. Though presumptuous to say—what lies three inches beneath His Lordship’s breast—surely you can discern that. Is it not clear enough to grasp?”

he concluded. No one dared raise a voice against it anymore. No—not merely in that moment, but even the voices of grief and indignation that had clamored so fiercely within and without Kasugayama Castle, along with the cries of humiliation, all suddenly fell silent from that time onward. And there appeared no sign of redeployment orders, let alone military preparations. The comings and goings between Kasugayama Castle and its various branch castles were sluggish, and the autumn festivals in the villages were livelier than usual—with even blacksmiths and armorers, who in wartime would never be idling about, joining the dance circles and dancing this autumn.

Shingen

No matter where one looked in all directions, the basin was surrounded by mountains, yet the castle was a flatland castle. The scale of it defied description. And it was also called Kōkan and referred to as Tsutsujigasaki no Yakata. It was the main base of Kōfu where Takeda Shingen resided.

At this time, Shingen was forty-two. He had a thick neck and a stocky build with firm, lumpy flesh. His cheeks were full, and beneath his dark skin radiated a complexion like a boy’s. Looking at the back of his hand, or examining the razor marks on his cheeks and sideburns, one could discern his hirsute nature. Even judging from such a visage, one could immediately sense that he was an indomitable man of vigor and possessed an iron will, but he seemed determined not to reveal his cold rationality. The fact that he etched wrinkles at the corners of his eyes to present a gentle appearance was precisely that. Yet no matter how earnestly he strove to embody the maxim—*treat others with a spring breeze’s warmth while maintaining autumn frost’s severity upon oneself*—the eyelids framing those large black pupils appeared as though they had never known the wetness of tears.

“Ōi.” “Has the envoy arrived?” While resting his elbow deeply on the armrest, Shingen leaned his face close enough to bring his mouth to Ōi’s ear and whispered, turning toward Atobe Ōi beside him. Ōi replied in an equally hushed voice: “No—whenever Echigo’s envoy passes through the messenger’s chamber, a bell will ring from the page’s room yonder to notify us.” “The bell remains silent.” “Thus they have yet to be admitted to the next chamber.”

“I would like to see the envoy as well.” “You may see him.” With that, Ōi stood up, adjusted the already two-inch gap of the large sliding door to open it a bit wider, and returned. Here within the castle was a hall called Bishamondō. It was a hall-style building, yet it contained Shingen’s residence, study, council chamber, messenger’s chamber, and all other necessary rooms. Shingen had called Saitō Shimotsuke—the Echigo retainer who had recently arrived in this province as a special envoy—here today, intending to observe his true character beforehand before meeting him. While they treated envoys from other countries with utmost ceremonial courtesy, they also frequently engaged in such discourtesies—particularly when one party approached their role with a sense of superiority.

Even in this instance, from Shingen’s perspective, he had fully expected that Kenshin would either march forth in fury from Kōzuke Province toward the Usui Pass or take retaliatory measures against the thinly defended Shinano front. Yet none of that came to pass. Calmly and deliberately, 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, are they?

Yet as he observed, there was no sign of such intent arising readily. From the numerous spies planted in Echigo as well, only reports confirming no sign of movement came in. Ah, so—Shingen thought— (Ever since the year before last—the expedition to Etchū, followed by the forced journey to Kyoto, and then the over half-year-long campaign into Sagami Province—even Kenshin of all people seemed to show fatigue from this constant rushing about.) Inwardly, he felt somewhat reassured and sneered at Kenshin's clumsy military tactics.

A retainer of Echigo named Saitō Shimotsuke entered this Kōfu with deputy Kurokawa Ōsumi and his party. And then, presenting Kenshin’s letter, “The grave matter I have been earnestly entrusted with by my lord Kenshin, being of utmost importance, compels me to humbly request to discuss it directly with Your Lordship. I shall await Your Lordship’s convenience for an audience.” And so, he had been waiting at the envoy residence outside the castle provided to him until today for the summons. Kenshin’s letter was equivalent to credentials for the envoy and did not touch upon its purpose. It merely made solemn reference to the peace treaty concluded four years prior, then—with utmost courtesy—posed the question: despite there having been no hostile intent since that time, for what reason was Warigatake Castle attacked during his absence on campaign? It was not in the least vehement. Nor was it confrontational.

It appealed to your conscience. It was merely to that extent. Shingen was not one to flush at such phrases steeped in reason and emotion. For several years prior to the two provinces formalizing their peace treaty, they had already clashed in three fierce battles along the Shinano-Echigo border. Thus he fully understood the elite caliber of the Echigo forces and Kenshin’s unfathomable stratagems—yet despite this, somewhere within Shingen lingered an irrepressible contempt for him. After all, Kenshin was nine years his junior, and in terms of territory, financial power, military preparedness—from every angle—

"What is Kenshin?"

he could not suppress his feelings of underestimation.

When he heard that the envoy had arrived, even without looking at the letter, he intuited: (They’ve come to broker peace.) If he intended to fight, there would be no need to send an envoy. We also caught them off guard. Exploiting our weakness and sallying forth was inevitable— Under that conviction, he opened Kenshin’s letter. (Just as I thought!) he thought. From Shingen’s perspective, everything had unfolded exactly as anticipated. In any case, he had to hear the envoy’s message and provide a response—but since his retainers had informed him that this special envoy was somewhat peculiar,

(What kind of man is he?)

Shingen, curiosity getting the better of him, had come to the room adjacent to the messenger’s chamber before granting a formal audience and peeked inside together with Atobe Ōi.

Linking Beacon Fires When envoys from other countries arrived, from that day onward reception officers and guides were assigned to them constantly. Of course they were observers—polite yet vigilant overseers.

After several days of lodging—now that Shingen was to meet him today—Saitō Shimotsuke alone had been permitted entry and was shown to the messenger’s chamber within Bishamondō. The day’s guides and reception officers were Hatsukano Den’emon and Magaribuchi Shōzaemon. “We have just informed our lord,” they said. “Please wait here awhile.” Having made him wait, these two Kōshū retainers deliberately struck up casual conversation with Shimotsuke. As for Shimotsuke’s appearance—even in his native province it had never been considered particularly distinguished. How much more so then did the Kōshū dignitaries wear expressions of astonishment upon first seeing him! Such an utterly unsightly little man—they thought. Moreover, he was a cripple—one-eyed and lame. Never before had any realm sent such an envoy to them.

“We have heard that your Echigo is but a minor realm where seven parts in ten are sea, yet the reality must be far grander.”

When Magaribuchi, the reception officer, posed his question, Saitō Shimotsuke showed no trace of discomfort. “Indeed, as Your Excellency says, it is mostly sea—a very small country indeed.” “I have heard that Kōshū is peerlessly vast and powerful, but how large exactly would that be?” “The province’s expanse is said to span eight days’ journey from north to south.” “As proof of its status as a great country, along its highways pass a thousand packhorses each day, it is said.” “From this, you can surmise, I suppose.”

“Ha ha ha ha! “How unexpected!”

“What are you laughing at?” “But while you boast of a thousand packhorses traversing your roads daily, in Echigo, a thousand ships come and go each day.” “A single ship can carry a load equivalent to what a thousand horses would bear.” “In that case, Kōshū appears to be quite the unexpectedly small country, wouldn’t you say?”

Magaribuchi blushed and fell silent. Hatsukano Den’emon stepped in as if to salvage the situation,

“Lord Shimotsuke.” “I have an abrupt question to ask—does Echigo deliberately select puny men like you as envoys to other countries?” “If I may be so bold—how many shaku do you measure?”

Shimotsuke, without showing the slightest perturbation, immediately responded thus. “In our Echigo, when dispatching envoys to other countries, it is customary to send a large man if the destination is a great nation and a small man if it is a minor one.” “For instance, as when a small man such as this humble one was dispatched to your country.” As Den’emon fell silent, unable to muster a retort, Shimotsuke pressed on, “You inquired about my stature, but though I may appear thus, this humble one falls short of five shaku by merely one sun.” “From what I observe, both of Your Lordships appear to measure at least five shaku and five sun in height.” “How many shaku taller are you than this humble one in the first place?” “Even if you two combined—with all due disrespect—could you match this humble one’s lifetime of service? A sword under three shaku may yet surpass a clothes-drying pole.” “To my lord, it must seem a waste to dress such an unworthy thing in splendid garments and put him to use.”

He seemed unable to endure it any longer. Inside the sliding door, Shingen burst into laughter. True to form, he wasn't one to grovel. Laughing uproariously,

“Ōi.” “Open the sliding door.”

he commanded,

“A messenger from Lord Uesugi?” “Saitō Shimotsuke, you call yourself?” “You certainly have a way with words.” “Long ago, Chunyu Kun received orders from the King of Qi and was dispatched as an envoy to the State of Chu. Along the way, he roasted and ate the goose intended as a gift for the King of Chu, then presented an empty cage to meet him. Through sophistry, he instead delighted the king, and it is said that he made the King of Qi marvel at his fortune in having such an upright minister.” “That man there is akin to that Chunyu Kun.” “In the Uesugi house, how much stipend do you receive?”

Promptly, Shingen too relaxed and addressed him. Shimotsuke stepped far back and, while bowing, “I receive a stipend of six hundred kan.” He answered respectfully. Takeda Shingen heard this, “He gives you quite generously, doesn’t he? “Lord Uesugi seems generous to those below him.”

he muttered. Then, he bluntly inquired about how Shimotsuke had lost his eye and where he had become lame, but Shimotsuke’s answers were witty and resourceful, displaying his insight and sharpness without causing offense. “Though a small-statured man, quite a shrewd one.” “There are those who have been dispatched as envoys to our house.” “Lord Uesugi’s ancestor, Gongorō Kagemasa of Kamakura, had an eye taken by Toriumi Yasaburō’s arrow, yet his military fame remained undiminished.” “He was likely a man much like yourself.” “Ha ha ha.” “Ōi! Ōi!”

“Yes.” “Give the envoy sake.” “Let us reward him lavishly and send him off.”

“Please wait.”

Shimotsuke interrupted— “Before partaking of your sake, there is something I must receive.”

“Something?” “Warigatake Castle.” “...Hmm.” Shingen’s eyes blazed fiercely for the first time. The small wrinkles at the corners of his eyes were now leaping upward like a honed blade. Shimotsuke pressed on, “Though we presume this was not Your Lordship’s command—rather, a reckless act by Kōshū soldiers stationed afar—we cannot help but deeply lament that deed, for it brings shame upon both our Uesugi house and the Takeda house, with whom we share bonds of close amity.” “No—the assault on Warigatake was by Shingen’s command.” “It was absolutely not the outpost’s unilateral decision.”

“Heh.” “How could you deign to issue such a command?” “In the first year of Eiroku, having exchanged sacred oaths and established a covenant that henceforth we would not cross blades—such is the relationship between our noble houses—” “Prior to that, Warigatake Castle was territory of the Takeda house.” “That does not constitute a reason.”

“Messenger!”

“Yes, sir!”

“Will you drink the sake, or will you not?” “I’ll partake.” “I’ll partake—after receiving your formal reply.” “My reply is given.” “The bow may be stored in its bag, but once taken out, it can be drawn at any time.” “Will you take the sake, or will you take the bow?” “What were you ordered by Lord Kenshin to convey here?” “Of course, since my lord has dispatched this humble one here…” “Naturally.” “In any case, drink.” “If you wish to preserve the terms of the sworn oath from the first year of Eiroku unchanged between both houses—”

“This is disgraceful.” “With only such an answer as this, how can I return as an envoy?” “Now, now—you’ve hardly disgraced your lord’s command.” “Am I not bestowing praise upon you?” “Do not mock me.” “I have no desire to receive praise from the likes of the Kōshū commander.” “For today, I shall consider having obtained an audience with your esteemed presence. Tomorrow, the day after, even ten days or half a month—I will await your will and return to inquire anew.” “I make this request once again.”

“What is this request?” “A clear token of your apology.” “Hahaha.” “It would be futile.” “It may indeed be futile,” “The sake has been brought out. Will you drink?” “This time, I will partake.” Shimotsuke took the large sake cup. His guzzling once more made the enemy country’s ruler and retainers widen their eyes. But such things were mere trifling astonishments.

That night, the urgent report that reached Tsutsujigasaki plunged the entire castle into such profound shock they doubted their ears. It had been relayed through signal fires from the Shin'etsu border within a mere hour. The term “relay signal fires” referred to smoke tubes stationed at intervals of one or two *ri* that passed billowing smoke toward Kōfu’s main castle—

——Enemy forces incoming! It was part of a system that promptly issued warnings of imminent emergencies. Along with this alert, Saitō Shimotsuke and the rest of the envoy group were spurring their horses beyond the capital’s outskirts, whipping them recklessly as they fled.

Thunderous advance

Entering Shinano—

Merely hearing this would set their blood roaring, their flesh quivering, and leave them unable to suppress their warrior’s tremors—such was the customary state of the Echigo Uesugi forces.

A rival nation that left nothing to be desired for its foe. An enemy nation of layered resentments. Tightening their helmet cords and armor laces, “This time, without fail…” they all vowed, “Not without seeing Tokueiken Shingen’s head—”

They all thought. That was the unified spirit permeating all ranks—from commanders down through lower-ranking samurai to the foot soldiers. Since the Tenbun and Kōji eras, in the near-annual battles between the two provinces—where parents were slain, children lost, or brothers perished—each individual grievance may have been small, yet as a matter of state principle, (While Takeda’s obstruction persists, this country cannot grow—nay, this country has no life.) Kenshin’s creed had been engraved into the very marrow of his entire household. It had become a fiery mass of conviction.

How much more so this campaign. It was what they had long awaited.

Having spent these forty to fifty days in restless preparation, when at last on the fourteenth day of the eighth month, the military command to thunder forth from Kasugayama—"To Shinano! To Shinano!"—spread through the ranks like a rallying cry,

“Whoa…” A spontaneous tidal wave of voices surged up from Echigo’s castle town. In the blink of an eye, each soldier donned their armor, led their horses, loaded military supplies, and gathered in formation. Against this army setting forth to the blare of conch shell horns and thunder of drums, the people of the domain—old and young, men and women—stood watching them off, unable to hold back their voices and tears for what seemed an eternity. Among them were wives of those marching in the thirteen-thousand-strong army, old 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, cook in villages, and surge from Echigo into Shinano—spectacle though it was a spectacle—proved an arduous ordeal. Moreover, that path of grueling hardship was one they had all sworn—they would not return alive. The march deployed four-tiered formations with advance scouts and main scouts preceding the vanguard; positioned the central force at the core; followed by arquebus units, archer units, spear units, and samurai units; while the supply train—loaded with provisions and military supplies—sweating profusely, followed along from the very rear.

“We shall divide into two forces.”

When they came near Tomikura Pass, Commander Kenshin said this and looked around at the staff officers before and after him. Nagao Tōtōmi-no-Kami—Nakajō Echizen-no-Kami—Kakizaki Izumi-no-Kami—Amakazu Ōmi-no-Kami—Usami Suruga-no-Kami—Wada Kihee—Ishikawa Bingo—Murakami Saemon-no-Jō Yoshikiyo—Mōri Kazusa-no-Suke—Oni-Kojima Yatarō—Abe Kamon—Naoe Yamato-no-Kami—Ayukawa Settsu-no-Kami—Takanashi Masayori—Shibata Owari-no-Kami, along with his brother Inaba-no-Kami Harinaga—the so-called wise commanders and fierce generals had gathered in force.

“With whom? With whom? Who will—” “With whom?” “Who will—” Kenshin named each one by one, divided his commanders, and split the army into two. And,

“One army shall cross Nojiri and proceed to Zenkoji Temple.” “One army I shall personally lead across Tomikura Pass to emerge at the banks of the Chikuma.” He announced. Furthermore, “Whichever route we take, know that our convergence point shall be near the currents of Sai and Chikuma, in the vicinity of Kawanakajima.” “By the evening of the sixteenth day, Kenshin shall have encamped there.” “Those taking the other path must not be late by that hour.” He sternly commanded.

Thus, having become two armies and split up, the time was already the afternoon of the fifteenth day. To reach the vicinity of the Sai and Chikuma Rivers by tomorrow’s evening, they would have to continue their march without rest or sleep.

Yet not a single soldier muttered “Impossible.” The hardship of the march lay in its outset. Once they endured the suffering of those first two or three days, it felt as though iron bodies—a self separate from their own—had taken shape. For the Echigo forces, who always fought beyond their borders as a matter of course when battle came, even such a forced march was by no means considered extraordinary. The main force led by Kenshin passed through Takai District on the following day while the sun still hung high, restraining the enemy’s Kaizu Castle as they wound their way from Kōka Pass toward the Tōjō area.

This was now fully enemy territory—Shingen’s domain—and within Kaizu Castle were holed up the elite troops of Kōsaka Danjō Masanobu, renowned as a fierce commander of the Kai army. “Will they give chase?” As Kenshin gauged their movements, bean-sized shadows of warriors—two or three of them—appeared on the castle’s watchtower, shielding their eyes as they seemed to gaze this way.

The reason Kenshin had split his army midway and deliberately taken a circuitous route himself was for deterrence and intimidation—for until he could secure an advantageous position at his chosen base, there was risk both of being harassed by flanking maneuvers from this castle and of being unable to establish sufficient deployment. Among the small figures who had climbed the turret atop the castle walls and were watching this, Castle Commander Kōsaka Danjō must surely have been present. "—They've come." Yet even as he watched, he too remained composed. He had already relayed the news to the Kōfu front via connecting beacon fires. He seemed to be adhering to the principle that they should not move lightly.

Hmm... How far do they intend to advance? How far do they intend to advance? Rather than growing suspicious, the castle defenders continued shielding their eyes and gazing intently at the Echigo army's path. For the banners led by Kenshin had crossed the two great rivers of Sai and Chikuma to take position at Saijoyama, approximately one ri southeast of the castle. Looking out, the other army that had streamed darkly from the Zenkoji direction also converged at the same location. As if solidifying their foothold there, even the final supply train was unloading goods from horseback and oxcarts. When the sunset's crimson began fading across Saijoyama, each unit assumed its position—banners ceaselessly summoning the wind while warhorses neighed without pause.

“A strange position they’ve taken.” “...This violates all principles of formation.” “To think they’d penetrate so deep into such treacherous ground.” This defied interpretation within Kōsaka Danjō’s military science. Unable to divine the enemy’s intentions, he steeled himself to fortify the castle and await Shingen’s arrival with single-minded resolve.

First Wild Geese

On the sixteenth day of the eighth month, the night over the vast Zenkojidaira Plain—cradled by the Sai and Chikuma Rivers—swept away the lingering heat of day, leaving a cool breeze under a starlit sky. Even after night fell, it remained vast and dimly bright. Kenshin’s headquarters were positioned at Jinbaira on the mountainside. The soldiers cooked rice and fed their horses. “Sleep well tonight.” He said this to the officers on both sides and was also telling it to his own body. However, the thoughtful staff officers looked deeply uneasy. The tension on their faces—as if to say, “If we let our guard down, we cannot sleep”—did not ease readily.

Wasn't Kaizu's enemy castle right before their eyes? Moreover, the position at Saijoyama was far too deep within enemy territory. If Kōsaka Danjō were to rally Shingen-aligned Shinano forces and simultaneously throw open its gates to attack—the matter would be by no means easy. All the more so if they were to strike at this vulnerable moment, bearing the fatigue of a long march. Everyone thought so. It was common sense that this would be considered. From that common sense people deduced,

"This time alone," they murmured among themselves, "there's something unfathomable in our lord's strategy." Never before had he shown such recklessness. "This bodes ill." Yet to Kenshin, neither the perilous ground nor Kaizu Castle looming nearby seemed to warrant concern. After sharing his soldiers' meager rations and draining a bowl of broth by the bonfire, he addressed Nakajō Etchū-no-Kami: "You will receive the scouts' reports. Let the men sleep their fill tonight. As for those keeping watch—the cold bites deep—have them doze by the fires. Keep the flames high and their bodies warm."

Having given these orders, he too immediately used the tent curtain—soaked through with night mist—as a wall and shields as a floor, then lay flat. He rested in a manner thoroughly accustomed to this simple lifestyle. And while pillowing his head on grass and dozing in the dew, he would occasionally compose poems and hum songs.

During the expedition to Noto, Frost veiled the camp—autumn air clear. A few lines of wild geese passed—moon at third watch.

While these verses are works from much later years, among those thought to be from his youth, there exists the following poem: The warrior's armor sleeve spread as his pillow— Near where he lay, The cry of first wild geese.

Heavy camp curtain Naoe Yamato-no-Kami, the logistics officer, had set up camp in the Tsuchiguchi area at the foot of the mountain. Yet deeming it no time for complacency, though he had his subordinates sleep, he himself did not lie down to rest. Instead he remained seated on his camp stool, dozing off while facing the bonfire.

—Then. A gunshot resounded.

Close.

With a snap, Yamato-no-Kami raised his eyes—still listening to the reverberations—as the bonfire’s flames seethed in his gaze.

“Where was it?” “Which direction?”

When he went outside the camp curtain, one of the sentries— “It seems to be coming from the direction of Tadagoe.” replied— It lay exactly between here and Kaizu Castle. He thought it was most likely a probing attack between our scouts and the enemy’s reconnaissance units, but just to be safe, he sent a soldier to inquire with our vanguard deployed near Ōmura— “Is there any change?” He had sent a soldier to make inquiries and was awaiting their response.

Then, perhaps having come down with similar apprehensions, the two commanders stationed at Saijoyama—Kakizaki Izumi-no-Kami and Shibata Owari-no-Kami— “Lord Naoe. And?” they approached from a distance.

When Yamato-no-Kami nodded, the two spoke in hushed, worried voices,

“You can’t sleep either, can you?” they said. And yet,

“All our commanders likely share the same unease tonight—none finds peace of mind.” “How could our lord mean to wage war from this mountain—jutting deep into enemy lands, straddling the twin rivers of Chikuma and Sai, like some lone fortress—when we cannot grasp the strategy in his heart?” “...Is this not exactly what military texts call ‘death ground’?” “How fares our lord?” “He appears to sleep soundly.”

“Why don’t we all together inquire about his lordship’s true intentions? To fear his will and remain in anxious turmoil is hardly advisable.” When they went together to visit Kaji Aki-no-Kami, he too agreed. Nagao Tōtōmi-no-Kami had also been one who persistently argued that the terrain was unfavorable ever since arriving there. One after another, before they knew it, their numbers grew to seven or eight. Although it was late at night, they requested mediation from a retainer to the attendants,

“We humbly request a brief audience,” and had it conveyed to Kenshin.

The interior of the camp curtain grew brighter. They must have added firewood to the bonfire. Kenshin immediately got up, “What is the matter? Have you all gathered here?” He looked around at them all, his gaze reproachful as if questioning why they hadn’t slept yet. Nagao Tōtōmi-no-Kami broke the silence and voiced the group’s anxieties. In addition, as their own opinion, “If Lord Shingen of Kōshū arrives here leading a large force in the near future, this position will become increasingly disadvantageous. We humbly request that you relocate the camp to another favorable location while there is still time—though we are certain your lordship has secret strategies in mind…”

he timidly presented their hope.

Kenshin laughed and, “So that’s what this is about,” he said. And then,

“Tonight, since all officers and soldiers are exhausted, I thought to let everyone rest at ease and hold council tomorrow—but given your profound unease, I must immediately declare Kenshin’s mind…” “This gathering remains incomplete.” “Summon Murakami Yoshikiyo, Takanashi Masayori, Nakajō Echizen-no-Kami, and the others absent here at once.” “…that they may hear Kenshin’s intentions.” Having issued these commands, he allowed a brief pause—during which he had them replenish the bonfire’s fuel.

Death Ground Formation Tightly, the figures of the generals pressed together. Linking the knees of their armor into a large circle.

When Kenshin saw that all had assembled, he then quietly— “Each of you has deemed this mountain a death ground and are concerned about my deployment, but indeed, this is not a safe place.” “It could indeed be called a death ground.” he began, first opening his mouth. “—But consider.”

Then, from here, he raised his voice, “If one does not enter the death ground oneself, how can one control the enemy’s death?” “Especially since our opponent is Shingen, renowned for his wisdom and seasoned cunning.” “On this expedition, I secretly swore to the war god of Kasugayama when we departed: I would soon meet Tiger Shingen face-to-face—whether I strike him down or am struck down—to resolve our contest decisively in one clash.” In every campaign, it was the custom of the Uesugi house that upon their departure, they would enshrine the war god within Kasugayama Castle and conduct the rite of martial truth before setting out.

The generals were once again redrawing in their minds the figure of Kenshin from that time. “As each of you knows, Shingen’s way of war is to fold his army with unyielding solidity, lurk deep within, move his banners with swiftness, and shift tactics with speed.” “And he does not move easily again—a general who focuses on deep strategy and long-term plans, never deploying troops lightly.” “Since the Tenbun era, though we have clashed blades with him countless times, our inability to crush his core lies precisely in his peerless military genius and extraordinary stratagems.” “To confront such an enemy head-on and force a decisive battle through ordinary military strategies would be utterly impossible.” “Instead, we would only be outwitted by him.” “You may think Kenshin’s actions reckless due to his youth—but cease your doubts. Kenshin is by no means acting rashly or impatiently for glory.” “That I have dared to lead our forces into what others deem a death ground where nine die and one survives—how do you suppose Shingen interprets this?” “I have shown him a Zen stratagem.” “The Zen principles he deciphers and those I hold true, the transformations and movements arising from them—these matters are beyond words. At that time, you must look to my command.”

With that, he closed his mouth, meditated, and after a brief moment, “The outbreak of this war lies in his injustice and our righteousness—yet even as Kenshin awaited today, were not you all and the entire army seething with resentment that this Kenshin did not readily take action?” “Having come to this point, surely none of you truly believe we should base ourselves in a position that relies on safety.” “You are merely anticipating certain victory.” “To expect certain victory, it is only natural to expect desperate resolve.” “When viewed this way, could this position—which at first glance seems disadvantageous and reckless—not also appear as a mountain of wondrous opportunity and adaptability? …Ha ha ha ha.” “First, sleep tonight. Then try taking a grand view once more under the dawn.” “The breadth of the Saigawa River, the length of the Chikuma River—though this is enemy territory, I have always loved the view here.” “I too shall rise early.” “Everyone, once you’ve understood, return to your quarters in order and sleep. …What of Kaizu Castle? They won’t move tonight—much less tomorrow.” “They won’t come out.”

Having said that, Kenshin once again let out a laugh.

The cries of wild geese incessantly threaded through the clouds.

Breakout from the Enemy Capital

That night—the night of the fifteenth, midnight—when the entire province, reeling from the shock of the beacon fire alarms like a bolt from the blue, was thrown into utter chaos, with Kōfu, the central stronghold, turned upside down.

Two riders, three riders, then seven or eight riders. Turning corner after corner with terrifying momentum, a group of samurai raced toward the gate of Ryūdō Road. Under normal circumstances, such a sight would immediately draw people’s attention—but this was amidst the chaos that had erupted since nightfall. Could that be another contingent mobilizing? Or perhaps they were couriers rushing to urge allies across the provinces to join the fray—no one thought to question it. No—the atmosphere left no time for suspicion.

“Out of the way!” “Open the gate!” “Step aside from the gate!” It was a shout as if charging into enemy lines to cut through them. It was what is known as a battle cry. In the dead of night, kicking up a cloud of white sand, about ten riders charged as one toward the gate at the highway entrance. This was the town’s checkpoint. It was not a gate to be opened lightly. But, the leading rider,

“In an emergency, we pass without authorization.” Suddenly dismounting from his horse, he unlatched the crossbar there without permission and swiftly pushed it open, “Go forth!” And then, immediately leaping back into the saddle, he dashed through like a bullet. Of course, the guards on duty, “Wait!” they interjected,

“Who goes there?” they did not neglect to reprimand them. However, the horsemen rushing through the checkpoint one after another—

“It’s the lord’s command! An urgent matter from the lord!” they bellowed as they went, “We are retainers of Hatsukano Den’emon!” and declaring their affiliations in loud voices, and— “As for the details—upon our return—there’s no need to provide them now.” As they went on shouting such things, given the emergency of this very night, even the guards on duty found themselves unable to act rashly, “So—what, are retainers of Lord Hatsukano heading out on urgent business under our lord’s command?”

They watched the faintly white trail of dust kicked up by horses fade into the ensuing darkness. However, once again, the same kind of hoofbeats could be heard approaching from the town’s direction—the clatter of armor clustered tightly together also struck their ears. Suddenly visible was a force of about a hundred soldiers bearing glinting naginata blades, unsheathed swords, white spear tips, bows, and matchlocks. “Gatekeepers! Gatekeepers!” “Just now, the enemy state’s envoys—Saitō Shimotsuke, Kurokawa Ōsumi, and their companions—have fled from the castle town’s guesthouse. You wouldn’t let them through, would you?” “If they come here, bind and capture them.” “You there—don your armor and secure this position!”

As the leading commander arrived there, he suddenly tightened the reins of the steed—now frantically struggling in distress—and barked into the guardhouse while calming it.

Yamanaka Zen “Lord Shimotsuke,” he said. “That went well.” Kurokawa Ōsumi had moved slightly ahead and now slowed his horse’s pace while looking back at Saitō Shimotsuke and the rest of their retinue following behind.

By the time they reached this point, the road was pitch black. Only two things could be discerned by the sound of water: ahead loomed mountains piled like walls, and nearby flowed what seemed to be the end of a rushing mountain stream.

“Still… still unclear.” This was Shimotsuke’s reply. They could not see each other’s faces. Yet even as the stars sparkled overhead, the darkness hung so thick that their light could not pierce through.

“Is anyone lagging behind?”

The same voice asked with concern. Deputy envoy Kurokawa Ōsumi, “Each of you, state your names.” “State your names.” he said to the retinue. From the moment they had departed Echigo, their party had consisted of ten members—beginning with chief envoy Saitō Shimotsuke, followed by the deputy envoy down to the lowliest servants. “We are all here. All ten are present—not a single one missing.” “All ten are present—not a single one missing.” When someone answered, Shimotsuke,

“I see.” He nodded as if relieved and remained silent for a time, but soon dismounted from his steed. “From here on out—Amagoi, Kurakake, Horai-ga-take—it’s nothing but mountains after mountains.” “To avoid that terrain, there is a straight shortcut along the foothills of Yatsugatake—a road Shingen himself developed for his frequent border deployments. We call it ‘Shingen’s straight road.’” “Of course, there are barriers and forts everywhere—you can’t pass through.”

Shimotsuke explained the geography of the enemy country as if it were his home's garden. And,

“Ultimately, there’s no way but to cross mountain after mountain and descend as far as we can where there are no paths. Each of you, discard your horses and proceed on foot. Cross this mountain stream and enter those distant mountains,” he said. A solemn mood fell over the group. Wordlessly, they abandoned their horses. Shimotsuke ordered the servants among the retinue to gather the ten mounts together and secure them tightly within a nearby grove.

“Anyway, it’s not our problem what happens to the enemy’s horses—we should just leave them behind.”

The people eager to press onward urged their case, but Saitō Shimotsuke shook his head, “Even a farm’s pack horse knows its own stable and returns alone from the fields. Moreover, if released, these trained horses will immediately rush back to their original path. Then they’ll lead the pursuers right to us.” he said. However, despite his wisdom and meticulous preparations, from that point onward, there was nothing more he could do. Due to the oversight of those guarding the castle’s outer gate—having learned that Saitō Shimotsuke’s group had already broken through there—Hatakeno Den’emon’s forces, Magobuchi Shōzaemon’s troops among them, soon swarmed into these mountains and pressed toward the peaks.

Not only that—they swiftly dispatched messengers along Shingen’s straight road to coordinate with the forts ahead, and by dawn, they had completely sealed off Saitō Shimotsuke’s group atop Amariyama. From the swiftness of their actions and the skill of their coordination alone, one could see that Shingen’s governance had been thoroughly well-managed even in ordinary times. Saitō Shimotsuke, who was well aware of this, instantly realized the folly of attempting to flee any further and—

“It’s no use anymore.”

With that, he plopped down heavily in a grove within the mountains of Amariyama and turned to the rest of the retinue,

“It’s futile.” “There’s no escaping.” “Rather than that, with clear minds before resolve falters, let us gaze awhile upon the autumn dawn scenery.” he said. “…………” Until then, they had kept eyes bloodshot with desperation—straining at every sound, seeking escape routes—but at Shimotsuke’s words, each pressed lips together in silent anguish,

“We wait for the enemy and die by the sword?!” Having seemingly made their final resolve, following Shimotsuke’s example, they all thudded down to sit amidst the fallen leaves. Autumn in Kōyama had already deepened; the lacquer trees stood crimson, and frost coated the yellow leaves. As dawn’s light seeped down to the valley floor, slender rainbows arced through morning mist while birds shrilled ceaselessly in piercing tones. This life “…………”

“…………” They were all compliant. They waited for the pursuers, their faces resolved to die by the sword.

They listened to the birdsong, gazed upon the autumn-clad mountains, and seemed to ponder something far away.

The autumn of their homeland in Echigo. Each household there.

To serve as envoys in enemy territory required resolve from the start. At this juncture, there was no point in struggling—

However. Eventually, when they sensed the clamorous approach of enemies drawing near from the valley—from behind and before—they finally raised their knees and gripped their long swords. “They’re here—” “Do it without any regrets.” “Needless to say.”

At once, they all gleamed their eyes, already exchanging a mournful air through their brows and lips, and stiffened their entire bodies like hedgehogs. “What? Die by the sword?” “Foolish! With just this many, no matter how we fight, we can’t take Kōfu.” “Enough, enough.” Saitō Shimotsuke squinted and rubbed his left eye—the bad one—with the pad of his finger. Due to the hardships of the past ten-odd days and having not slept last night either, he had sleep crusted in his eyes.

The eyes of the group gathered on his face, “Then… Then, do you mean to commit seppuku honorably?”

Kurokawa Ōsumi and his men surrounded him, pressing in until they nearly touched him. "No. You misunderstand." He wiped the sleep from his eyes, demeanor composed.

“Not committing seppuku, not dying by the sword… Then what is your resolve?” “Let’s get captured.” “If we stay like this, they’ll capture us anyway. Let’s go where they drag us.” “And then?” “We live for as long as we can survive.” “That—that is how I see true loyalty.” ――They all wore looks of surprise. None had imagined hearing such cowardly words from one of Shimotsuke’s standing. Deputy Envoy Kurokawa Ōsumi, ever a man of martial valor, spat out his words like venom.

“What loyalty?” “To become prisoners of the enemy and live in disgrace—” “Lord Shimotsuke—these words are unbecoming of you!” “Have you taken leave of your senses?”

“No, no. From the start—if we could escape, we’d escape clean. If that proved impossible, we’d submit to our bonds without resistance. I’d resolved on two paths. It can’t be helped—that’s only natural. That’s loyalty.” “Wh-why?” “Had this been a battlefield capture, the matter would differ. But the role entrusted to Saitō Shimotsuke this time wasn’t to fight. It was His Lordship’s command that we come as envoys—moreover, to strive for peace and pursue reconciliation to the utmost…… What good would it do if such envoys died by the sword?”

“That’s sophistry.” “It’s nothing but sophistry to justify wanting to live!”

“I want to live—I want to survive.” “That’s true.” “You’ve pierced through Shimotsuke’s true intent—but this humble one’s reason for wanting life stems not from some petty self’s deluded desires.” “When I consider my lord—that still-young master’s future path, what may become of Echigo Province’s fate, the hundred trials and bitter struggles yet ahead—this humble one grieves at life’s brevity. ――Were Kai Province alone our foe, it would merit no fear.” “By our lord’s measure, there’s not a chance he’d fall prey to Shingen Harunobu’s conquest. ……But do you not know that within Uesugi Kenshin’s breast lies a far greater ambition?”

“…………”

“Kurokawa. “Your ancestors and mine both trace back to Yoshisuke Wakiya of the Nitta clan—in this blood of ours, what has flowed since Lord Yoshisada’s time still courses unbroken…” “In the Uesugi clan—beginning with our lord—we uphold that spirit as bushido’s true principle and great martial vow. Even through oaths sworn before the gods each campaign’s outset—surely you grasp this clearly?” “But even that would disgrace Echigo samurai’s name.”

“Survive without accomplishing anything—when you die, they’ll laugh.” “You needn’t trouble yourselves with the praise or blame of such fleeting moments.” —Our duty as envoys had been fulfilled. There was no shame in being captured or surviving. “...All of you—follow this humble one’s example.”

Already. The forest was surrounded by iron-armored Kōshū soldiers. The glitter of spears, long swords, and armor peered through every gap between the trees there.

Oxen's straw sandals.

The crimson-robed Great Archbishop faced the altar burning ritual offerings. Below, Shingen’s armored body appeared rounded at both shoulders and hips. The assembled monks and Shingen’s generals were arrayed within the temple hall, engulfed in thick ritual smoke that filled every corner. —And occasionally, the ringing of the enemy-subduing bell and chanting voices of sutras could be heard as far as the foot of Mount Resseki’s Unpōji Temple. It was a considerable length of time.—The sun of the seventeenth day, now past noon, was already beginning to fade beyond the Fuefuki River.

It was customary for military commanders to purify their minds and bodies in some form before embarking on campaigns, but while Uesugi Kenshin worshipped deities according to Shinto rites, Takeda Shingen would invariably set out after offering prayers at this Ressekisan Unpōji Temple whenever he mobilized his forces. Throughout the night, Shingen had promptly departed Tsutsujigasaki in Kōfu and waited there, praying for victory while his allies continued to gather for Zen meditation sessions. Once his summons flew forth as a rallying cry across his domain, just how vast an army would gather?

Even when viewed from here at Ressekisan, their numbers were beyond reckoning with just a glance. The temple precincts, the mountain grounds, and the gardens of the branch temples—all went without saying. Even the distant foothill paths, villages, and fields were thick with flags, banners, and the neighing of horses. That autumn afternoon—swaying as if moving yet not moving, brimming with martial spirit—the warriors, nay even the horses awaiting the single command to march forth appeared restless.

Amidst this, Saitō Shimotsuke and his party of ten envoys were led in, strung together like prayer beads. As a natural reaction of defiance, “That’s him?” “That’s him!” “Kill them!” “It was always meant to be a blood sacrifice on this mountain.” “So you came crawling here shamelessly—didn’t even bite your tongues?” “Cowards!” Blocking the path and standing before them, the Kōshū soldiers and servants hurled abuse. This envoy had wagged their tongues to convince their own leaders of peace talks—during which time Echigo forces surged forward to seize strategic positions—and even the lowest foot soldiers had caught wind through rumors, stoking their fury all the more.

Shimotsuke, with his bad eye, wore a carefree expression—his impaired vision allowing him to perceive only half the hostility around him. The Kōshū soldiers, who found his demeanor utterly detestable, “One-eye!” “Cripple!” hurled ox-hide sandals at him. Yet upon entering the mountain temple grounds, where strategist generals and their hatamoto retainers stood assembled under solemn discipline, no further vulgar shouts reached them. Instead, a palpable dread pressed upon the ten men’s hearts like an iron vise.

A solid mass of flame

Shingen had placed a camp stool directly before the main hall and leaned against it. The crimson robe over his armor and his wrathful face both appeared as a solid mass of flame. Below the steps, the ten men had been seated. With the nine positioned behind, Saitō Shimotsuke alone had been forced forward to sit apart. With eyes like burning torches, Shingen glared down. It was an excruciatingly long moment. ―Shimotsuke too seemed to be silently staring back at Shingen's face.

“Envoy—no, knave.” “You one-eyed cripple there.” “Why do you not answer?” Saitō Shimotsuke replied in a tone meant to placate Shingen’s emotions, “Has my lord already forgotten this humble one’s name?” “This humble one is Saitō Shimotsuke, a retainer of Kenshin.” Next, Shingen—with his trademark thunderous roar—appeared ready to bellow abruptly. His complexion betrayed this intent, and the thick muscles of his shoulders bulged like tumors. But at forty-two, unlike his younger self Takeda Harunobu, discretion now arrived swiftly even as passion surged. Suddenly, he smirked. Then shifting his tone entirely, he inquired:

“Ah yes—the Echigo envoy Saitō Shimotsuke, was it?” “Now let me ask anew: until yesterday itself, you claimed these were my lord Kenshin’s words, wanting to reaffirm our years-long peace pact once more.” “With all your bowing and scraping—your honeyed talk of arranging peace talks at any cost—you lulled this Shingen into complacency. Yet that was a scheme you lot received from Kenshin before departing, was it not? …Well?” “Did you come here as envoys knowing full well your homeland would launch such a sudden strike against Shingen’s lands? Or did you come unaware?” “Speak truthfully.” “Truthfully...”

A fearless laugh. Shingen’s questions seemed not only to carry what was expressed on the surface of his words but also to veil an intention to draw out something from Saitō Shimotsuke’s answers. At this very moment, atop the strategic plan he urgently needed to formulate, “the extent of the enemy country’s resolve” was undoubtedly one of the most troubling issues.

He might have been trying to read that implication from Shimotsuke’s expression. That such spur-of-the-moment schemes were the mark of a remarkably sharp commander was something Shimotsuke had long heard about. Shimotsuke—whether he had realized that or was considering how to respond—suddenly,

“Ahahaha.” “Wahahaha.” He laughed with a voice so loud it seemed about to blow away his dirty front teeth. And once he had finished laughing, he slowly began to answer. “This humble one has always heard that the Lord of Kōshū, the Great Lay Priest Kizan, possesses fearsome insight—yet your current inquiry is a question akin to coaxing a child’s sweets away through trickery, which does not fail to belittle your lordship’s character.” He acted as though no one else were present. It was a reckless remark that ignored not only Shingen himself but even the surrounding generals—utterly disregarding them all. Of course, the emotions of the iron-armored, resplendent generals arrayed around them could not remain unmoved. Relentlessly, hostile gazes and restless movements pressed down upon Shimotsuke in silent condemnation.

Yet Shimotsuke remained utterly unfazed. The trait of having one bad eye seemed to make keeping composure in such situations remarkably effortless. He kept blinking his single eye rapidly, but when permitted to speak, still had more to say.

“Other provinces I cannot speak for, but in our Echigo, both military strategies and methods of internal governance are all determined solely by Lord Kenshin’s personal discretion. Those consulted are limited to only a few senior vassals and those within the inner circle.” “How could someone like this lowly Saitō Shimotsuke possibly know such things? …As for your inquiry about whether I came here knowing or unknowing—even without asking, it’s clear I’m an envoy who knew nothing.” “…Because,” “If the envoy themselves had known that there was a stratagem in Lord Kenshin’s true intentions separate from the stated purpose of their mission, they could not have ventured into enemy territory and maintained such a composed facade of falsehood before the enemy lord.” “Some trace of human honesty would inevitably reveal itself somewhere.” “That your lordship is not one to overlook such things is well understood by Lord Kenshin and all of Echigo. Take, for instance, this past spring—when Lord Kenshin was absent, you spied upon Echigo’s exhaustion from years of campaigning, suddenly broke the treaty, and seized Warigatake at the border. Even for a cat, it’s something only a particularly cunning one could pull off.”

Had they allowed Shimotsuke to burst into laughter once more after this, Shingen’s attendants or perhaps the generals below might have immediately trampled on his head or spat on him.

However, Shingen restrained it with a wry smile—true to form. As if shielding against unforeseen consequences even before Shimotsuke’s words had fully ended, his massive frame creaked upward from the camp stool. “Entrust this loudmouth to Unpō Temple’s monks—have him thrown into a storage pit until Lord Shingen returns victorious,” he commanded. “Imprison all others.” “—We’ll settle matters after Lord Shingen’s homecoming.” That Shingen had no leisure to dispose of such rabble now—this demeanor became instantly clear to the generals.

Shingen’s act of rising from his camp stool—that single motion was already a command to the entire army, “Now—” This motion had ordered the army to march forth.

The conch players standing at both eastern and western corners of the corridor pressed the mouthpieces of their shells to their lips and blew notes—thin, high, long, and short. The method of blowing conch shells differs by country, it is said. In any case, the warriors setting off to battle discerned the tones with their entire beings; suddenly their fervent blood boiled, and their eyes already beheld the battlefield.

Moreover, the people throughout the country who remained behind also learned of the army’s departure through those sounds; picturing in their minds acquaintances and kin among the soldiers following the army, they prayed in their hearts during that fleeting moment.

Military road A long, winding road extended endlessly northward. The road’s earth was fresh. It had been clear this was developed in recent years. This could be said to be Shingen’s ambition made manifest upon the earth. This was the military route for the Kai Army’s advance into Shinano Province. By taking this straight road, one could reach the border a full day and a half faster. Thus farmers and travelers had taken to calling it— Lord Shingen’s military road—so they called it. Because he had numerous military roads—radiating westward, eastward, and southward from Kōfu—the neighboring provinces, such as the Hōjō, Tokugawa, Oda, and Saitō clans, found themselves ceaselessly occupied day and night with diplomacy, warfare, and disputes against him. It felt like contending with an eight-armed titan. Thus in the surrounding countries, rather than calling him Shingen,

(Lord Long-Legs of Kai) they referred to him by such epithets. Thus could one infer how his military roads proved their worth in emergencies—their lightning-like swiftness making them a formidable challenge for hostile nations.

The day when a large army of over twenty thousand strong marched along it must have been a grand spectacle. On the morning of August 19th, a torrent of elite soldiers and horses was hastening with all speed at the foot of the Yatsugatake mountains, heading toward Daimon Pass. “Dōki! Dōki!” Takeda Nobushige turned around on his horse and called out. Nobushige was Shingen’s brother. Under the banner of the 21st division of the main force, along with Takeda Yoshinobu—Shingen’s heir—and other clan members, they were advancing.

“Did you call for me?” The one who answered was Yamamoto Kansuke, one of the strategists who had taken monastic vows and adopted the name Dōki. His shaven head bore a jet-black helmet, from whose cheek guards his white eyebrows seemed artificially planted. He was over sixty years old. “How fares the weather?… You read skies well—will this hold four or five days yet?” “Do you inquire of clear or rainy skies?” Kansuke looked up and meticulously furrowed his brow,

“The swiftness of these clouds,” “Once night falls, there may be occasional showers, though not heavy rain.” “While daytime warmth persists, this clear weather may hold for several days yet.” “We’ll count ourselves fortunate if fair weather lasts until we meet the enemy.” “Exhausting our troops and horses through forced marches would prove disadvantageous.”

“While we have yet to confirm the enemy’s exact position,” Kansuke replied, “should we advance there again this time as well, I fear it may lead to another protracted stalemate.” His voice carried the weight of experience. “I can only pray we avoid a prolonged standoff—one that might sap the soldiers’ spirit.” Nobushige frowned beneath his helmet’s shadow. “Hmm? Explain yourself.” The pause stretched like bowstrings being drawn. “Scouts from Shinano report Kenshin has already forded both the Sai and Chikuma Rivers,” he countered, leather gloves creaking against his reins. “Once we reach that front, battle becomes inevitable—would you deny this?”

“Why would someone of Kenshin’s stature persist in such reckless advances without purpose or meaning?” “Undoubtedly, he is preparing at his base and anticipating unforeseen contingencies.”

“If that happens, a standoff would be unavoidable… but—” “However, sending a mere envoy like Saitō Shimotsuke to lull us into complacency and exploit that opening to advance into Shinano—judging from this intent, it’s clear he has no real confidence.” “If he truly had unwavering faith in victory, he would not resort to employing such a messenger and dabbling in petty schemes.” Then, his elder brother Shingen, who had been arranging pieces, turned his gaze from beneath his helmet’s visor toward Lord Nobushige’s profile, but—

“Nobushige, Nobushige.” “Do not voice idle speculations carelessly.” “Saitō Shimotsuke is a fine warrior.” “He could be said to be one who does not dishonor his lord’s command.” “Kenshin’s skill in employing him was, though he is an enemy, so admirably executed this time as to be mildly detestable.” In any case, Shingen’s deployment had fallen a step behind. The true battle would begin once they had recovered that lost step. As Dōki had said, the enemy likely had both preparations and contingencies. One must not make rash judgments. Even a single word from you could exert a subtle influence among the officers and soldiers. “Under no circumstances should we allow even a semblance of underestimating the enemy to take root within our ranks.”

he admonished. Lord Nobushige obediently, “Yes.” he said, and made an awkward face at Taro Yoshinobu beside him.

Then, Taro Yoshinobu turned to his father and demanded: “When you departed for battle, why didn’t you cut down Saitō Shimotsuke and those other insolent envoys as blood sacrifices? Yesterday, I was certain you would do so.”

Then, Shingen’s eyes—bearing a fatherly sternness—turned back toward Taro Yoshinobu, “It would be best to avoid what the enemy has planned.” “They have already cast aside their lives.” “Moreover, they are precisely the sort who would deliberately provoke my wrath to make their deaths all the more valuable.” “Killing them would be playing right into their hands.” “Why is that?” “If word were to spread tragically that the entire envoy party had been slaughtered as blood sacrifices within my camp, the Echigo forces would surely grow enraged upon hearing it, only intensifying their ferocity.”

“But there’s no way that fact would reach the enemy within just one or two months.”

“Nonsense. The arrival notice stated there were twelve envoys in the party. But if you count those captured and brought to camp yesterday, there are only ten men. Two will inevitably slip through the net to report every detail back to Kenshin—and let’s not forget Echigo has already captured dozens of our Kōshū spies… Killing them now would gain us nothing. Rallying morale through enemy blood sacrifices is a fool’s strategy—unbecoming of any commander worth his salt. Lord Tokimune executed Yuan envoys during the Mongol invasions, and long ago they slaughtered insolent messengers from Goryeo and Baekje to sever ties—such acts made sense against foreign foes, but…”

At that moment, a vast cloud of horse dust approached from the front.

By their banners, they immediately discerned whose army approached. They were not enemies. These were allied reinforcements encountered along the march. The newly arrived contingent consisted of three hundred horsemen under Koshiba Yoshitoshi and Kurita Eijuken, who governed villages near Zenkoji Temple. Hailing this as their "welcoming party," Takeda loyalists continued streaming in at every stopping point—two hundred horsemen here, five hundred there. As they advanced, the army's banners multiplied with each *ri* covered, its strength swelling visibly across the expanding terrain.

A Stone in the Deployment

Bivouac—countless nights. The Kōshū army crossed Ōtōge Pass and emerged from Chikagata into Nagakubo. By the time they came within sight of the Chikuma River’s waters, messenger cavalry from our Kaizu Castle began arriving as regularly as comb teeth, reporting on enemy movements. "...Hmm... Hmm." "Hmm... Hmm." With only that utterance, Shingen gradually grew reticent; whether conversing with staff in his command tent or hearing messengers' reports, he responded solely through nods. By the time they had followed Chikuma River’s left bank to reach Shiozaki in Sarashina District, their forces had visibly swelled since departing Kōfu—the officers' and soldiers' faces chiseled by wilderness winds now prickled with gooseflesh throughout.

“...It’s cold.” “That’s the wind blowing in from Echigo.”

Someone muttered.

Shimojo Hyōbu of Shimōina and his soldiers hastened there to join them. Judging by the arrival order recorded in the deployment register, it appeared that their usual allies—down to every last samurai from villages and hamlets—had mustered almost without exception. Yet, the overall morale still appeared somehow bleak. The cause of this, as attributed by one of the commanders, Kōyamada Yasaburō Nobushige, "Since coming here, our lord’s meticulous deliberation has been unprecedented." "Why hasn’t he issued a lightning-quick command this time of all times?"

lay in the fact that everyone was perplexed—or so he attributed it. Nobushige’s doubts were not his alone. While the departure from Kōfu had been a race against time, ever since arriving at this vast basin, Shingen now appeared to act as if deliberately dawdling—following the Saigawa River, gauging the Chikuma’s rapids, testing footholds in the mountains, stationing troops to rest on hills—making it seem as though his entire encampment would not settle easily into any definitive position.

By the 24th day, Shingen had finally decided on his main camp at— “Here.”

And with that, he seemed to have made up his mind.

It was a hill in Shinri Village, part of Sarashina District. Chausuyama—a highland the locals called by that name. The Takeda clan’s military banners—navy blue fields measuring eighteen feet—Swift as the wind. Deliberate as the forest. Raid like fire. Immovable as the mountains.—and one bearing two lines of golden characters, along with a thirteen-foot crimson banner, Homage to Suwa Nangū Hōshō Upper and Lower Great Bright Deities—were erected there. Shingen sat beneath these banners that snapped ceaselessly in the autumn wind, having had a camp stool set up as he maintained an exceedingly calm gaze. His eyes held no cloudiness, as though he had taken full rest.

“This made no sense…” His lips kept letting slip the same murmur. Beyond the expansive terrain embraced by two rivers—the Saigawa and Chikumagawa—Uesugi Kenshin’s stronghold on Saijosan Mountain stood visible. Serenely. Calmly. There was truly not even a whiff of martial tension. Yet topographically speaking, that Saijosan encampment remained an insoluble riddle no matter how Shingen analyzed it through decades of military experience—it appeared nothing less than a stance of total self-immolation. Were their positions reversed and Shingen camped there instead, he knew he could never maintain such composure.

“Death ground… To willingly make one’s camp on death ground?” Wise men drown in their own wisdom—so it is said. Shingen tried to caution himself. Yet I cannot help but feel that without applying strategic insight oneself, his stratagems remain impenetrable.

“Ah.—Not here either.” “Our position here is also ill-chosen.” He twisted his body from the camp stool. Looking around—not just behind him but at the entire camp packed with figures—his heir Takeda Yoshinobu; his younger brother Takeda Nobushige; his next younger brother Takeda Nobukado; Nagasaka Chikan; Anayama Izu; Ōbu Hyōbu; Yamagata Saburōbyōe; Naitō Shuri; Hara Hayato; Yamamoto Kansuke Dōki—he found himself momentarily at a loss over whom to fix his eyes upon. Looking at the banners atop the mountain and below.

The banners of Amari Saemon-no-Jō—Kōyamada Bitchū—Baba Nobuharu—Obata Yamashiro-no-Kami—Sanada Danjō Ichitoku-sai—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 horses’ whinnies and soldiers’ clamor seeming to gather autumn’s voice from heaven and earth here. “Break camp. Leave here and descend to Amemiya Crossing—take positions at Amemiya Crossing on the northern bank facing the Chikuma River, each to your assigned posts.”

It appeared to have been resolved quite abruptly. He had neither consulted the veteran generals and strategists at his side nor observed the customary protocol of relaying orders through intermediaries; he himself issued this sudden command.

At the same time, Shingen paced within the camp's curtains. Even while walking, he appeared locked in struggle with his own strategic mind. The scene resembled a Go master pausing before a crucial stone placement. Periodically he would press his lips together and fixate on the ground beneath him. Under the direct autumn sun, countless ant colonies continued their busy traffic through excavated tunnels.

Koshiji’s Daughter

The name Kawanakajima was ancient. Of course, it predated the Eiroku era. Enclosed by the crisscrossing torrents of the Saigawa and Chikumagawa Rivers, a triangular expanse of sandbanks had formed within Zenkōji Plain. The *Kojiki* records this area being called both "Kawanakajima" and "Hachimanbara," but local people adopted a broader usage—referring to all riverbeds and plains spanning Sarashina, Hanishina, Mizuuchi, and Takai as the Four Counties of Kawanakajima.

“...No matter which way I turn—the same fields of autumn grass, the same rivers.” Where had she come from?

There, a traveling woman stood forlornly, as though she had lost her way, looking west and east,

“Which way should I go?” she seemed to wonder. She wore a lacquered sedge hat. Though she didn’t appear to be a peddler, she carried a bundle on her back with her hem hitched up short, wore straw sandals, and held a staff—presenting a rather gallant figure. She appeared not yet twenty years old. Her smooth white skin immediately evoked the image of a maiden from snow country. Indeed, from her attire to her features, she possessed the distinctive beauty characteristic of Echigo women.

Suddenly, the sound of a sickle could be heard from somewhere. It was the crisp, rhythmic swishing of grass being cut—a pleasant sound. Her round eyes suddenly darted toward that sound.

In the distant autumn grasses, the backs of several unbridled horses could be seen. Those who had finished bundling the cut grass and loading it onto the horses’ backs led them away.—But behind them, another team of reapers advanced toward the riverbank, sickles at the ready.

“Excuse me—how might I reach the Kōshū Road?”

Suddenly addressed by a woman’s voice asking this, the grass-cutters started up in surprise, rising from their crouched positions. These all appeared to be farmers from nearby villages, but having been conscripted, they were so-called military laborers cutting horse fodder, clearing roads, assisting with transport, and such. “Huh? Kōshū Road? … But where in blazes did you come from?” When questioned in turn, the girl’s eyes suddenly began to wander, and she looked around at the flows of the Saigawa and Chikumagawa—rivers indistinguishable from one another—but,

“From over there,” she said, pointing toward a distant hill where Zenkōji Temple’s main hall stood. “So didja come from the north along the Hokkokukaidō Highway?” “Y-yes…” She nodded, though her expression remained deeply ambiguous. The laborers admonished her sharply. “Whether you knew or not, this whole area’s been a battlefield these past two–three days. That’s why you won’t see a soul working the fields or traveling these parts, not even in broad daylight. If anything moves out there ’cross the wastes, it’s naught but birds’ shadows—”

“And yet for a woman alone to be wandering such a place—how could there be such a thing? Hurry up and get outta here! From here—let’s see—well, just follow this riverbank southward. Keep heading south till you spot post town roofs. Once there, ask ’em proper where in Kōshū you’re bound and how to get there. And mind you hurry—be gone before nightfall.”

Having finished relaying all this in a chorus of voices, the many sickle-wielding hands bent back down to the grass roots, turning again to the task of cutting the allotted horse fodder, and the men themselves began hurrying.

Then—it was unclear where from, but likely from the opposite bank. Bam, bam, bam, boom—five or six gunshots rang out in rapid succession.

The military laborers all shouted in unison and threw themselves face-down into the grass. After a pause, about ten more bullets came flying. The last two or three shots were terrifyingly accurate, and one man who had burrowed into the grass was struck in the leg.

“Don’t stand up!” “Don’t make a sound!” …… They continued to endure tremendous hardship, yet still everyone lay motionless. The gunfire did not resume after that. And then a white evening mist began to settle over them... It was then.

They cautiously raised their heads together, “Flee!”

With that, they fled, carrying only one of their wounded comrades. However, about ten ken ahead of where they had risen, there was already another who had been struck by a bullet and fallen. What misfortune—it was that Echigo girl in the conical sedge hat who had just approached these reapers to ask for directions.

*The Forest of Hearts Lost in the Tempest*

The sedan hat with its red cord abruptly severed lay where it had fallen the day before, having passed through the night amidst the dew-laden grasses.

Yet, the expanse of grassland stretching southeastward—about ten chō from that riverbank—had completely transformed its appearance overnight.

Takeda Shingen’s entire army, which had been gradually descending from Chausuyama since midday yesterday, crossed Fuse Goake and Shinoi Village, moved overnight to position itself before Amemiya Crossing here, and by this morning deployed its twelve divisions into five rows with the central corps at its heart— (As if to declare to Kenshin on Saijosan)— planting countless banners across their formations without words and vividly flaunting even their ensigns before the enemy’s eyes. (They come so near!)

At Saijosan that morning too, when they spotted it through gaps in the morning clouds where sunlight streamed through, they must have widened their eyes and shielded them with their hands. Suddenly confronted with this imposing declaration from the Kō Army, Saijosan itself remained shrouded in morning mist for now, its night-long encampment so utterly still that not even a hint of awakening could be glimpsed. Moreover, the distance between there and here was truly close.

In this area, the river was wide, but once one crossed the waters of the Chikuma, the opposite bank could have been considered the very foothills of Saijosan.

And— As the sun climbed higher, so too was the distance between the two armies being reduced. The morning mist that enveloped the Kō Army’s banners and the white fog that blurred Saijosan’s golden leaves, greens, and crimson foliage gradually lifted—until the atmosphere cleared enough that from their respective positions, they could now glimpse each other’s sentries moving and the shadows of tethered horses.

On this day as well, within the camp enclosure, Shingen remained seated on his camp stool, meditating all day before the enemy’s Saijosan. “……?”

The doubt he had been harboring since yesterday still lingered unresolved on his countenance. Namely, it was the heart of the enemy commander Kenshin on Saijosan—his will, his unpredictability, and his conviction. “What supernatural stratagem does he possess that allows him to display such recklessness, such rashness, such audacity before me?” And so, Shingen remained perplexed. Like a bird ensnared in a fowler’s net, his mental strain could not help but writhe. Though he maintained an air of composure on his camp stool, in truth, since yesterday, the detachments dispatched from his headquarters under his orders had circumnavigated the enemy’s northeastern flank to emerge near Yashiro, attempted to sever supply routes to the Hokkokukaidō highway, and even demonstrated force sufficient to bisect the space between Uesugi’s sole supporting stronghold—the allied forces at Asahi Castle in Koshiba near Naganomura—and their main force. Yet despite this aggressive deployment—*Do they truly lack the will to fight?*—Saijosan’s expressionless facade remained unchanged from yesterday to today, as impassive as ever.

When one rose to engage in a life-or-death duel with bare blades, only to find the opponent making no defensive stance but instead walking straight into one's sword guard—such could be said of Uesugi Kenshin's attitude. Had he been a fool or incompetent commander, Shingen would have felt no such mental strain. On the battlefield, Kenshin understood Shingen better than those within Shingen's own war council. At the same time, Shingen comprehended Kenshin's true nature in greater detail than even those closest to Kenshin.

Swift as the wind Gentle as the forest The characters on the massive eighteen-foot army banner that he himself had raised as his emblem fluttered above Shingen’s head, seeming to ceaselessly hint at something. Yet his heart was by no means as tranquil as a deep forest.

Parasol.

Another morning arrived. It was already August 28th.

The units led by Yamagata Saburōbyōe and Hara Hayato, who had gone on a major reconnaissance mission along the Susohanagawa River toward Nagano and Zenkōji areas, returned, “No movement was observed around Asahi Castle either.” they brought back this report.

Upon hearing this, Shingen pressed them: “Are you certain that Koshiba Kunaishō of Asahi Castle shows no signs of leaving the fortress?”

pressed further. Hara Hayato and Yamagata both, “There is none—” they clearly reiterated, “The notion that the troops at Saijosan and Asahi Castle would lure our forces and launch a pincer attack is utterly unthinkable.” “Not only are there no such concerns, but since our allies have taken positions severing the connection between both sides, even the enemy’s provisions to Saijosan are seen to face extreme difficulty.” they declared clearly.

A bubble of dread surfaced on Shingen’s face—if only for an instant. When it vanished, he had resolved the doubt he had harbored over the past several days. Kenshin’s state of mind had, to some extent, been mirrored in Shingen’s own. “Den’u, Den’u.” “Hatsukano Den’emon!”

It was not long after that when Shingen’s voice sounded toward the curtain where his hatamoto retainers were gathered. “I am here!” Den’emon dashed through the wind-fluttered curtain hem and immediately knelt before Shingen’s camp stool. “Den’u, go as my envoy and return.”

It was delivered casually— “Come closer.” As those commanding eyes beckoned, Den’u—startled—shuffled forward on his knees toward the camp stool. “To Saijosan.”

As for what he had ordered next—the whisper was too faint to be heard. However, at that moment, all of Shingen’s generals and scribes had been kept at a distance. Before long, Hatsukano Den’emon was meticulously preparing his formal envoy’s attire to go to the enemy’s Saijosan and meet Kenshin.

He changed his surcoat and even renewed his loincloth. Being a battlefield envoy, he took particular care to avoid bloodstained garments or traces of gore. Needless to say, full consideration had also been given to the “clean appearance” in death—preparedness for the unlikely event of demise within the enemy headquarters. He took four or five subordinates with him. Among them, could there be a son on his first campaign, brought along by someone from their side? There was also a young samurai who appeared no older than thirteen or fourteen. The young boy, carrying a long-handled parasol, waited until Den’emon had left the camp and reached the banks of the Chikuma River. Then, with a swift motion, he opened the parasol and held it aloft over his master’s head.

This parasol was by no means a meaningless part of his travel attire. When military envoys crossed rivers, holding parasols aboard the boat was stipulated by international law. No bullets or arrows were ever fired at boats crossing with open parasols. A flat-bottomed riverboat resembling an enlarged rice barge now carried the young boy holding the parasol aloft, his master, and a few subordinates as they poled their way across from the northern bank of the Chikuma River. As they cut through the swift current—thrusting their poles with precision to advance the boat—red dragonflies danced playfully above the soldiers. They landed on the tips of the poles, then took off again—

Ascended Saijosan “Oh… From the enemy?” “A military envoy is visible—it’s a military envoy.”

Standing at one end of Saijosan, the scouting party that had kept constant watch over the opposite bank now shielded their eyes with curiosity. Oni-Kojima Yatarō commanded seventy soldiers stationed in this area. With a rustle, he emerged from somewhere and raised a hand to shade his pockmarked face. "Hmm—that's Hatsukano Den’emon of Kōshū, a samurai who knows his words. What brings him here?" he muttered. From the base unit that must have spotted this sooner than their position, a group could already be seen racing toward the riverbank—some thirty or forty warriors strong.

Toward the prow of the boat that had scraped its way ashore onto this bank, “Where do you intend to proceed?” they demanded, splitting into two flanking lines to thrust forward a wall of spears. This could more aptly be called a ceremonial reception for a military envoy. The spears’ beauty lay in their declaration of non-aggression. Vibrant parasol hues descended into that white gleam of steel. Most commendable was the envoy’s unshakable composure. “I am Hatsukano Den’emon, retainer of Kōshū,” he declared. “By Lord Shingen’s command, I seek direct audience with Lord Kenshin during this lull in battle.” “I entreat your mediation.”

“Wait a moment.” Keeping the encirclement formation intact, one soldier ran to the unit. Soon the commander arrived. And, “We still await my lord’s response to your request, but here by the roadside—please come to my encampment and rest awhile.” With that, he guided him to his post and provided a camp stool. Before long, Shinbida Owari-no-Kami, Oni-Kojima Yatarō, and others descended from the mountain—more for security than welcome. “His Lordship has deigned to grant you audience.” “Now please proceed.” “I shall lead the way.”

“I am deeply obliged.”

After bowing once, Hatsukano Den’emon followed behind the two. Of course, he had left both his subordinates and the parasol at the mountain base.—And the mountain path he now climbed alone, step by step, was almost entirely amidst the Uesugi forces’ banners, swords, horses, guns, and bows. Along the way, Oni-Kojima Yatarō drew near to Den’emon’s side. “Do you remember this one’s face?” he asked. Den’emon, with a faint smile, “I find your face quite unforgettable. After all, those pale pockmarks make for a fine distinguishing mark—yes, that must have been seven or eight years ago now.”

he said. “No, seven or eight years doesn’t sound right. Since this was before the armies of Kōshū and Echigo had even met here. It must be ten years now.” “Ten years.” “How time flies.”

They seemed like old friends reminiscing after a long separation.

However, their old acquaintance was not such a warm one; when recalled, it was rather a chilling affair.

At that time, Oni-Kojima Yatarō, who had accompanied Kenshin on his journey to the capital, suddenly disappeared on the way to Kyoto. It is said that Kenshin, who harbored grand ambitions for the future, permitted his disappearance with his consent. However, whether there had been a tacit understanding between lord and vassal or not, Yatarō spent at least two or three years after that touring the military preparations and castle constructions of various provinces. He had been on what would later be called a warrior’s pilgrimage. And then, at some point, he was in Kōfu. Of course, entering Kōfu as someone bearing such a mission was difficult. He had been kneading fire clay for the castle town’s gunsmiths. With hands as muddy as a plasterer’s, he built fire clay for casting gun barrels and assisted with the bellows.

Generals of the Takeda clan who frequented Kōkan would sometimes pass by this house on horseback or in civilian attire. Among them were the eyes of Hatsukano Den’emon. On one occasion, when firearms were ordered from his residence, he specifically requested that the man with white pockmarks deliver them. Yatarō delivered them. But he merely handed them over to someone in the residence and immediately left Kai Province over the mountains from that very spot. For he too had anticipated that if he were to enter beyond the gate, he would immediately be bound.

However, even that much could be called compassion—if one were to call Den’emon’s actions compassionate. If he had truly intended to capture him, he could have surrounded the gunsmith’s house directly and prevented his escape; moreover, had he dispatched mounted pursuers afterward, Yatarō might never have managed to flee beyond the province’s borders. Yet none of this came to pass—he returned safely to Echigo.

—That was how today had come since then. It was today’s chance encounter. Thus, within their smiles were wrapped an unspoken nostalgic sentiment and an ironic fondness.

Head-Discarding Tatewaki

War is, ultimately, a sophisticated manifestation of human power clashing with power. Throughout all ages, past and present, it remains unchanged that from the very basis of action to its ultimate outcome, everything lies in human power. Strategy, military tactics, economic prowess, and innate ability—these are all brought into play. One harnesses the natural features of mountains, rivers, and plains; allies with the light of moonlit nights and blazing sun; devises advantages from the darkness of midnight and predawn gloom; mobilizes every phenomenon from the passage of clouds and direction of winds to the temperatures and weather of heat, cold, humidity, and aridity—and yet the central force that gives all this dynamism, breathes life into it, and makes it “our camp” is none other than human beings—human power alone.

Therefore, the Sengoku period tempers people.

Moreover, each individual—without needing to seek others—had to hone themselves; otherwise, they could not survive the Sengoku era. They were trampled mercilessly and fell by the wayside. It was an era that marched ever forward, paying no heed even to the lives of those who were mourned, without even the leisure to look back. As for the lives of those who were not even mourned, they mattered not at all.

Particularly now, in the 4th year of Eiroku [1561], people were far more sturdy-boned than in later eras like Tenshō or Keichō. They were bold-hearted; they laid bare life in its raw form. The Echigo forces and the Kōfu forces were neither outdone by the other in this regard. The so-called "Uesugi camp" and "Takeda camp"—those very formations referred to as opposing—were conglomerations of such human power. Gathering there the cultivation of a composed mind and the tempering of the body, they stood facing each other under impartial natural elements that showed no favor to friend or foe,

“Now!” Thus did they stake their respective purposes and beliefs there, seeking to test them there. Therefore, depending on the inherent quality of each individual composing that gathering—that “camp”—the overall character of the camp was determined, and whether it would prove robust or fragile. Now, when comparing the Takeda camp at Amemiya Crossing across the Chikuma River and the Uesugi camp atop Saijosan Mountain from such a perspective, neither seemed particularly robust nor fragile. Both camps—from the veteran generals and strategic commanders down to the foot soldiers beneath their banners—could truly be called a gathering of exceptional talent.

If one were to infer from the saying "A wise lord attracts wise retainers," then perhaps that greatness lay in the commanders Shingen and Kenshin themselves. The renowned retainers of Echigo—those widely recognized—were said to be Usami, Kakizaki, Naoe, and Amakazari, while those famous as Kōshū's Four Retainers included Baba, Naitō, Obata, and Kōsaka. Moreover, in the Battle of Haranomachi from years past, there were many valiant warriors among their subordinates—men like Hoshina Danjō, who charged alone into the Uesugi forces with ferocity, speared twenty-three enemies, and came to be praised as "Spear Danjō," or Sanada Danjō, who achieved military feats no less remarkable and was called "Demon Danjō" in equal renown.

Spear Danjō and Demon Danjō were both valiant warriors of the Kōshū faction, but among the Uesugi forces too existed countless individuals whose martial prowess equaled theirs. Yamamoto Tatewaki, whom Kenshin particularly favored above others, had even been called an asura. In every battle, even when retreat gongs sounded and allies began withdrawing, he would never return from enemy territory unless he remained until the very end. When he did return, his form would invariably be dyed crimson from helmet crest down to sandal thongs. Moreover, no matter how many enemy commander heads he took, he never fastened them at his waist to bring back. By this practice, his military deeds went unrecorded in the merit ledger,

“Wouldn’t all your hard-earned military merits go to waste?” When people said this, he would answer, “No exploit goes to waste.” If one carried heads as baggage for the sake of merit and concerned oneself with their count, it would hinder subsequent deeds. Such was his creed. Thus—in Echigo, they nicknamed him Head-Discarding Tatewaki, but because of this, his name never appeared in the military merit ledger, and for many years, he remained a minor commander in charge of about fifty foot soldiers.

Lord Kenshin had subtly taken notice of him for such reasons, but there was also another distinct circumstance. It had become widely known, without anyone in particular saying so, that Yamamoto Tatewaki's biological elder brother was Yamamoto Kansuke Dōki—the master strategist of Kai Province.

Upon closer investigation, it became clear that while their fathers were different, he was undoubtedly Kansuke’s half-brother who had been raised alongside him since childhood. However, even though his elder brother was within the Kōshū army, in the several battles between Kōshū and Echigo that followed, Tatewaki’s deeds showed not the slightest difference from his conduct in other battlefields. They were even more intense. “Even so—for brothers to serve in opposing camps,” Kenshin reflected, “as human beings, it must be bitter. There must be days when he worries for his allies.”

Kenshin, who had long voiced such sentiments, in the first year of Eiroku—the year the temporary peace between Kōshū and Echigo took hold—finally dispatched this cherished retainer he could not bear to relinquish to Tokugawa Kurando Motoyasu of Mikawa. He attached a cordial written message and included the messenger Imokawa Heidayu, (Though he is a beloved vassal whom I find difficult to transfer to another house, due to certain unavoidable circumstances—and as he himself considers this separation grievous—if I must part with one so hard to release, I humbly entreat you to extend your lasting care to him.)

and, having imbued even the envoy’s formal message with his intentions, he earnestly entreated Tokugawa Kurando Motoyasu to ensure the man’s future well-being.

Yatarō: Daily Precepts

Oni-Kojima Yatarō's original family name was Kojima, and his given name was merely Yatarō Ichitada; thus, only the "Oni" was bestowed afterward.

He was born in Kamigō, Echigo Province, and was said to be the son of a cattle 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, placing him in Usami Suruganokami’s unit. “Take care of him.” Kenshin had entrusted him to Usami’s care. “Is Yata a child of an oni?” From that time onward, adults often teased him. This was likely due to his immense strength, red hair, and face pitted with smallpox scars—but Kamigō in Echigo Province had a legend that Shuten-dōji of Ōeyama had once landed there from the sea, and he came to be associated with that tale.

However, as he came into his own, the name ceased to seem strange. He became a fearsome heavy drinker. As it was a snowy country, the people of Echigo generally drank well, but his capacity could be called bottomless. He had records such as six shō in one night and one tō in a day. Moreover, there was even an air of him boasting about it. To cultivate martial prowess and cultivate manhood—within the Echigo clan, there existed an ironclad rule regarding food and drink. As one of the articles set forth in the domain’s code of conduct.

1. One must not drink heavily; even if one does not become intoxicated, it appears perilous to others. Moreover, it becomes an affliction to the internal organs.

1. Gluttony is the height of baseness. It is merely the pleasure of the ego. One should regard moderate enjoyment with retainers and friends as the highest principle, and despise solitary indulgence.

1. In all matters regarding food and drink, one must exercise strict moderation. Should one fall ill, it brings disgrace upon the battlefield. Should one lose their life, they betray both loyalty and filial piety. It invites the mockery of generations past and present, brings shame upon their house, and proves worse than achieving no merit in battle.

This was merely one section of the Uesugi family precepts directed at retainers in general, but Kenshin—appending his name as supreme commander of the headquarters—had presented a text titled *Bushi-an Household Daily Moral Cultivation Scroll* as a set of "Bushido precepts" to the domain’s disciples and children. It began with: "Lifelong duty is today’s matter."

At the outset, it stated: 1. Rise at dawn and perform ablutions. The courtesies of ancestral gods and Buddha worship were, of course, to be observed. 1. Patrol the estate once around; for a man, tying his hair quickly was of foremost importance. Meals were not to exceed two prepared dishes. 1. The stable had to be inspected daily, even if there appeared to be no need. 1. Consider all those in my household as my children. Treat compassion and benevolence as you would polish your blade—diligently and without neglect. 1. At night, even if it were my beloved child, they were not to sleep by my side. Servants' bedding was to be kept warm; my child was to be left in the cold.

――These precepts spanned from the minutiae of daily clothing, food, and shelter to matters of public duty, friendships, correspondence, and leisure; but particularly regarding the moral cultivation of warriors as samurai, Kenshin’s principles instructed as follows. 1. Besides one’s household duties, if there is leisure, one should devote one’s mind to scholarly pursuits. 1. Though poetry is the vocation of court nobles, it is good for a warrior to have some appreciation for it. Having some is better than none.

1. The lord’s words and the retainer’s duties are like wind and plants; those who guard this with iron and stone are called truly loyal retainers. 1. Do not contend with all people over even a single word or phrase; that which I know being spoken by others holds interest. To listen when others speak of what one does not know—this is the path to understanding.

An ancient proverb states: Cedars stand straight, pines bend—how fascinating! Each to their own hearts.

1. One must not dwell on "loneliness". One may find companionship in those from unseen eras. Should loneliness arise, open the records of your household duties. Within them lie countless urgent matters and pressing obligations. The articles were numerous, but even a partial glimpse of such examples revealed something beyond imagination—how Kenshin had daily devoted meticulous care to cultivating his warriors, and how the entire household, bound by these ironclad rules, silently honed their skills in preparation for days of crisis.

However, even with such ironclad rules and organization, theirs was not a relationship of lord and retainers who took pride in mere lifeless forms devoid of vitality. Even in the ironclad rules described above, human blood pulsed, and the domain as an organization was bound through human connections—soul to soul. Thus, even someone with habits like Oni-Kojima Yatarō’s was permitted to dwell within that environment for a time—and until he became a full-fledged member—

“Troublemaker” Even though he had not yet become such a byword for troublemaking that it extended from friends to superiors, “Someday, when the time comes, I’ll make myself useful.”

it seemed they were mutually supporting his shortcomings. However, in Oni-Kojima Yatarō’s case, even those around him were growing somewhat weary of patience. Even when they gave him a wife, no matter what they tried, his heavy drinking would not stop.

Not only that, he often strayed from the samurai code precepts Kenshin had explicitly set. There was a terrible incident.

Winter.

That was a night of heavy snow typical of Echigo.

At the corner where Kasugayama Castle’s moat met the main gate road stood a gathering place for the guard samurai who kept watch over the nearby Second and Third Gates. The guard residence and townspeople called it such. Through the gaps between snowdrifts there, a light seeped out. “Hey! Open up! Open up!”

And there was someone pounding violently on the door there. Inside, more than ten off-duty guards were sitting in a circle, drinking. It seemed to be one of those evenings when they often held gatherings where each brought a sho of sake.

“Don’t open it.” “That’s Oni-Kojima’s voice.” “If he comes barging in here, we won’t last.” “He’ll drink us all dry!” “This blizzard howls something fierce.” “Pretend you don’t hear.” “He’ll give up soon enough.” Inside, they made sport of his pleas—stoking the hearth fire without response—but Yatarō outside showed no sign of retreating. “Hey!” “I’m freezing!” “Open up!” “You there! Won’t you open?!” “Playing deaf won’t work!” “Yatarō’s nose knows.” “Caught that whiff when you passed earlier?” “How’d you skip past this snowy path?” “...Quit being mean.” “Hey!” “Hey!”

Inside the house, stifled laughter could be heard. Yatarō pounded even more violently, "You fools!" "After I went through all this trouble to bring fine snacks for your drinking—you’d really waste this? After all this effort—this!" Whether convinced by his earnest tone, lured by the promised fish, or simply worn down, those inside finally relented and opened up, welcoming Yatarō into their circle. Yatarō drank voraciously. Having arrived empty-handed, he consumed five men’s worth of liquor before collapsing by the hearth, soon erupting in thunderous snores.

“What an outrageous fellow.” One of them surveyed the dreary gathering that had become so because of him and grumbled. “He’s making a habit of this.” Exchanging glances and nodding in agreement, they shook Yatarō awake by force. They chastised him, declaring it unforgivable for a samurai to speak falsehoods. “Produce the snacks. Hey—where are the provisions you promised?”

When they all pressed him together, “Snacks?”

And Yatarō said nonchalantly, “There aren’t any here.”

“So it was a lie.” “Apologize.” “Get on your hands and knees and beg forgiveness for your falsehoods.” “Or else cut your belly open!”

“They’re just not here. No need to go demanding seppuku over it.” “Then bring them here. Now.” “I could bring them. But you bastards are the ones who’re out of line!” “Outrageous how?!”

“There isn’t even enough liquor here to get me properly drunk.” “What I bring for provisions ain’t some cheap nibbles.” “Go fetch more drink.” “Then I’ll bring it for you.”

“There’s still plenty of alcohol without needing to procure more.” “It’s because you didn’t provide the snacks that we were holding back.”

“What? You still have any left?” “Hand over the snacks, or bow down and apologize to us all!” “What kind of… nonsense!” “I’ll go get it right now.”

He stood up, swayed unsteadily, and staggered out into the snow. And shortly after, “Here! I’ve brought it! What say you to this offering? A celestial delicacy—have you ever tasted such a thing in all your days?” With that declaration, he lifted whatever dangled from his hand and presented it to them from the room’s threshold.

“Wh…what…?” When those present saw it, every last one of them sobered up completely.

Duck of Earthly Desires What Yatarō showed them was the 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—now that one thought of it, there had been a gunshot-like sound in the snowy wind just moments earlier. He might have taken the gun that was hanging in the great hall here and finished it off with a single shot. “He’s done something unthinkable…” Every face, every single face turned deathly pale, and they were in no state to feel any appetite for it. For there was a prohibition sign by the moat that clearly stated— The catching of ducks is strictly prohibited.

—it was clearly written, and they had long heard from their lord Kenshin— “The waterfowl in the moat are one part of this fortress’s defenses.” they had heard this. Of course, those who violated this were subject to the death penalty—a law established since the time of the previous lord. Yatarō, passing through toward the kitchen, looked down at the silent group, “Someone, put on the pot. Pluck its feathers as it is, and I’ll cook it up.” he said. Faithfully, he went outside the kitchen, plucked its feathers, separated the meat from the bones, and soon returned with it served on a large platter.

But there was no one left there anymore. “……What’s happened to everyone?” He muttered this, but without any particular suspicion, put on the pot by himself, ate by himself, and then simply went to sleep.

Instead, when dawn broke, officials came, ceremoniously surrounded him, and took him away into the castle. Brought before Kenshin,

“Why did you violate the prohibition?” When pressed with this interrogation, his answer proved utterly mundane. “You see, daily coming and going from the castle, seeing such multitudes flying about—I found myself overcome by craving to taste one. To purge this worldly desire, I resolved to take but a single bird.” Kenshin gave a wry smile. Still, such an answer alone could never warrant exemption. This being Yatarō, he had likely spun sophistries his whole life. Though recognizing the deception, Kenshin’s true heart likely held no desire to execute a valued retainer over mere fowl—thus, without explicit rationale, Yatarō received pardon through mere censure.

Yatarō’s disappearance occurred not long after that, during Kenshin’s journey to the capital. It was only after he returned to his domain in the third year that his previous crime was formally pardoned publicly. Not only that, but he himself had completely transformed during his warrior training, coming to possess both wisdom and courage. As a result, he was gradually promoted to official positions and accumulated merits until now, as a general on one flank, among the people of the world—whenever someone mentioned “Hatsukano Den’emon of Kai—”, without fail—

"In Echigo, there is Oni-Kojima Yatarō." had reached the point where one would immediately think.

Lancing Chariot

Hatsukano Den’emon, serving today as a Takeda envoy to this Saijosan encampment, had unexpectedly encountered his old acquaintance Oni-Kojima Yatarō. As they climbed toward the mountaintop where Kenshin’s headquarters stood, they walked conversing with such familiarity that one might forget they were enemies. Yet Yatarō’s devotion to this man stemmed not solely from the personal debt incurred when Den’emon had saved him during his covert days in Kōfu.

During his time in Kōfu, he had heard much about 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, among the stories that circulated, there was such a rumor. At Tsutsujigasaki Yakata, when Den’emon withdrew from their lord’s presence, the priest’s sword had been left in the antechamber of the inner palace. Whether Den’emon had stepped on it accidentally or not, the priest became enraged. The priest flew into an extreme rage.

“How dare you trample upon my very soul with your foot?” The priest declared in samurai fashion. Priests were inherently prone to resentment. Having no military exploits to their name, they begrudged those warriors who did. Through domestic political power they sought compensation. Such sentiments colored their daily existence. Hence they would never let such an opportunity pass unheeded. They absolutely refused to yield. “My apologies. As you can see, Den’emon here prostrates himself in contrition.”

He prostrated himself and continued to apologize profusely. Despite this, the priest declared, “A mere apology won’t suffice,” pressing until finally Den’emon asked what he should do. “You trampled my sword underfoot,” the priest said. “I too must at least deliver a single punch to your head in retaliation, or my anger won’t subside.” Den’emon, still prostrating himself, inched forward.

“Then, proceed.” And extended his head.

The priest struck with all his strength. The matter was no more than this, but when the townspeople of Kōfu heard of it, “Truly, a great man.” And they all understood Den’emon’s true intentions and sympathized. For everyone knew that Den’emon was a warrior who always bore the emblem of the shogi piece “Lancing Chariot” on both his helmet crest and banners when he took to the battlefield. He was a man who had publicly pledged his resolve never to retreat—symbolized by the “Lancing Chariot” emblem on his helmet crest and banners. Everyone quickly realized that such a man would never have allowed his head to be struck by the priest’s fist out of mere thoughtless fear of clerical influence, and they retold the story with even greater admiration.

This incident would later be attributed to Kimura Shigenari of Osaka Castle, becoming one of the anecdotes through which people came to understand his character. However, it seems this story about Den’emon had already been circulating among the common folk long before that time.

――Be that as it may.

Here in the Saijosan encampment, the envoy Hatsukano Den’emon, guided by Oni-Kojima Yatarō, made his way to Kenshin’s quarters. Kenshin, having been informed, was already seated on a camp stool waiting.

The Man with the Piercing Gaze The envoy greeter was Wada Kiheiei of the inner circle. He stood outside the camp curtains, awaiting the arrival of the enemy envoy. “Ah… so quiet.” Guided by Oni-Kojima Yatarō and others, Den’emon—the envoy who had come this far—involuntarily stopped in his tracks and gazed upward at the treetops and birdcalls around him.

And secretly thought to himself, (Good I changed out of bloodstained attire.) He thought that had he come with warlike bearing and in a huff, he would have been ridiculed all the more.

So profound was the surrounding stillness. Even though shadows of armor and glints of swords and spears could be seen, they were by no means intimidating the lone envoy. There was no trace of intimidating bluster either.

Moreover, the area around the curtain enclosure—spanning about one hundred *tsubo*—was immaculately swept, with even the broom’s strokes crisply defined. It resembled nothing less than a hermit’s secluded mountain dwelling. On the neatly swept earth, pine needles had scattered. Kenshin had encamped here around the 16th day, and today was the 28th. During that time, rain fell and winds blew. Therefore, within the enclosure, one could see roofs of temporary shelters sufficient to withstand rain and dew—they were thatched with cedar bark, cypress bark, and the like.

“Esteemed envoy,” “Then we shall withdraw here.” “Now please follow the envoy greeter’s guidance.” “What lies directly ahead is Lord Kenshin’s quarters.” Yatarō and his men, having transferred their duties, descended toward the foothills. As protocol dictated, custody of Den’emon passed to Wada Kiheiei, who guided him through multiple winding paths among the tent grounds. “Halt.” Urged forward, the envoy Den’emon at last understood that Kenshin waited beyond the thin cloth barrier before him.

On the provided mat, he sat down quietly. The mat served as camp flooring, and when taking a seat, one assumed the warrior’s cross-legged posture. This was what was known as sitting cross-legged. “…………”

The curtain directly before his eyes was soundlessly removed. At the same time, Den’emon bowed his head. And as he heard Kenshin’s voice, he raised his face.

“Are you Hatsukano Den’emon of the Takeda house?” “Though we have faced each other in formation since our last encounter without exchanging a single battle—what urgent matter brings you now to this Kenshin?” “Let me hear at once what message Great Lay Priest Kizan has entrusted you to deliver.” These were Kenshin’s words. Den’emon bowed his head again in surprise. There was no need to hasten his reply. Repeating this inwardly while steadying his breath beneath his diaphragm, he fixed his gaze intently and burned into his very pupils the essence of the man he now beheld for the first time—Kenshin of Bushi-an.

The Visiting Party Kenshin had set up a camp stool on the grass and was leaning his immaculately neat figure against it. He wore nothing more than a chrysanthemum-and-paulownia-patterned sleeveless jacket over black-thread-laced armor, with a long sword in a leather sheath laid beside him. Yet in the autumn sun filtering through the trees, each time the golden rivets of his armor and the metal fittings of his long sword shifted with his movements, they glittered so intensely that it pierced the eyes of those who beheld them.

That said, Kenshin’s gaze was not one that sought to overwhelm. On his plump cheeks, the hem of an olive-brown Zen priest’s hood hung down. That softness and those eyes were not discordant. What particularly caught Den’emon’s eye was a seventeen-string Chinese zither and a small drum placed in one corner. The Myōchin-crafted helmet of nanban steel with silver-fitted fukigaeshi was enshrined like a permanent treasure atop the armor chest beside him.

A zither and a helmet. And this person.

Den’emon compared them. But that was already secondary—with humility, he conveyed his formal address as envoy to Kenshin exactly as instructed. “Therefore, in my lord Shingen’s words: ‘This recent provocation of yours is truly most regrettable.’ ‘We can well imagine your indignation stems from the Warigatake matter, but extenuating circumstances existed regarding that affair. Had proper channels been pursued, peace talks could have been arranged as you desired. Yet instead came this sudden mobilization—under these circumstances, we must conclude the honorable provisions of Eiroku 1 have already been nullified by your actions.’ ‘Having understood this, the Kai army too has come to this place to pay their respects.’”

“Hmm... And?” Kenshin formed a dimpled smile. Den’emon began speaking with slightly more force in his tone. “Therefore, as Lord Shingen declares: The houses of Kai and Echigo have summoned storms of arrows across these mountains and rivers, vying in martial strategy—three or four great battles, and minor skirmishes beyond counting. This has drawn the realm’s mockery and the peasantry’s suffering. This time, we must gladly bring about a decisive clash to settle victory once and for all—this is the message I have been explicitly commanded to convey to Lord Kenshin.”

“Hoh, is that so? Splendid, splendid. Tell Lord Shingen that Kenshin agrees as well when you return.” “In that case—if I may inquire without reserve—Lord Shingen himself has remarked in awe at your martial valor and singular audacity in establishing such a deeply entrenched position straddling the Sai and Chikuma Rivers, declaring it a warrior’s fortune to be born into arms and face a worthy foe. But now, Your Lordship: does your intent lie in besieging Kaizu Castle hereafter, or do you instead mean to engage Lord Shingen in a decisive clash on open ground? This humble one has been commanded to seek your clear answer.”

“This is a most meticulous matter of late.” “Whether it be Warigatake’s treaty or this battlefield here—from invitations to seating—the lead role belongs to Great Lay Priest Kizan of Kai.” “You are the host; we are the guests.” “Therefore, whether the feast be simple fare for visitors or lavish delicacies from land and sea prepared by your side, you may commence as you see fit.” Kenshin and his companions—all northerners hardened through bitter winters—stood ready, requiring no diluted courtesies in their battle preparations. “Hahaha… Adequate, adequate. My response stands as declared.” “Den’emon—today’s mission must have weighed heavily upon you.”

With that, Kenshin promptly ended the talks himself and gave some orders to an elderly general waiting nearby; then, with the rear curtain lifted, he concealed himself within the temporary quarters. Wada Kiheiei, tasked with guest reception, having received the elderly general’s orders, guided the remaining envoy beyond the curtained enclosure, prepared seating in a separate temporary quarters, and entertained him with food and drink. “This is a token of consideration from our lord, Lord Kenshin.” “In camp, we have little to offer, but please accept this humble meal in place of proper provisions.” Amidst such circumstances, while sensing the thoroughness of their hospitality toward an envoy, Den’emon accepted the cup. Kiheiei portioned out the food onto a whitewood tray.

“I shall now go summon Lord Oni-Kojima here, so please converse at your leisure.” With that, he bowed politely and took his leave.

Flowers of the Riverbed

Looking at the food on the tray, these were neither river fish nor vegetables from this region. They were marine products from Echigo and delicacies from snow country. The sake was naturally unrefined. Yet its aroma surpassed anything from Kai or Shinano.—If they carried such luxuries as these, their supply train must have been loaded with provisions of staggering quantity.

Den’emon immediately began pondering such matters.

Before long, Oni-Kojima Yatarō came to attend to him all by himself.

“Here, please feel free to relax without reservation.”

Yatarō first made an effort to open up. And then he continued: "My lord has heard from me about that time long ago when I infiltrated Kōfu Castle Town and was able to leave the country without difficulty for your sake—he knows of that matter." "Therefore, I believe it must be out of gracious consideration that he deliberately assigned me to host you, intending to rekindle our old connection." "...Let me express my gratitude anew." "I remain deeply indebted for your merciful oversight at that time." "Thanks to your aid, I was able to return to Echigo and now serve in this capacity."

“No, no—such gratitude only causes trouble.” “I don’t know how you’ve interpreted this, but as for Den’emon, I have no recollection whatsoever of overlooking someone who was an enemy spy, even temporarily.” “However, I do recall your figure when you had changed your appearance and were kneading fire clay at a gunsmith’s household in Kōfu.” “But such cases can be said to be common occurrences between enemies and allies.” “Ah yes, that reminds me—your words just now jogged my memory.” “How many honorable daughters do you have?”

“Are you inquiring about your daughters?” Den’emon must have been startled by the abruptness. Such a gleam appeared in his eyes. In this battlefield sky—moreover within the enemy camp he attended as envoy—the forced panic could be called a sensation utterly absent from any part of his being, no matter where he searched. “My eldest and second daughters have already married into other households. There are none I call daughters now.” “No—there is another one, isn’t there?”

Yatarō brought the cup of sake to his laughing lips and took a sip. “When this humble one was in Kōfu—at that time—there was indeed a lovely honorable daughter of yours who had not yet reached ten years of age.” “I saw her in town and in your household’s garden—I remember well.” “However, years later, I saw the same honorable person in Kasugayama Castle Town.” “To my surprise, she had become a servant in the household of Kurokawa Ōsumi, a vassal of the Uesugi family.” “According to what I heard, she had been taken into service from around Zenkōji Temple through someone’s arrangement as a governess for the Ōsumi family’s only daughter… Her name was Tsuruna-dono, with a mole near the left corner of her lips.” “And she bears a resemblance to your features somewhere.”

“…………” “Lord Den’emon, during your pilgrimage to Zenkōji Temple, do you recall perhaps leaving behind such an honorable daughter on the road? If you wish to inquire, I would like to inform you of her whereabouts.” The stout-boned Sengoku warrior’s fierce spirit had already revived in Den’emon’s gut at this moment. Suddenly, he shook the sake from his cup and spilled it, then burst into laughter. “Ah, now that you mention it, I do recall.” “Truly, several years ago, near Zenkōji Temple, I lost my youngest daughter.” “That she was picked up and taken to Echigo, and that you happened to see her—what a remarkable twist of fate, truly remarkable.” “She must have grown into a fine young woman by now.” “That said, I feel no urge to see her.” “Let her stay where she is and leave it to heaven’s will.” “After all, she was a child I allowed to become lost.”

“Well, you are quite the resolute parent. If your child remains where she is, that would be well enough—but as this humble one knows, Tsuruna-dono is no longer in Echigo. Moreover, just recently, she left Echigo and began returning to where her parents and siblings are. But alas, before she could set foot in Kai Province, it seems she strayed again around there. This time, she must be praying to be found by her true parent’s hands.”

“What, around here—” Den’emon involuntarily set his cup down. In that instant, he had become a father to his child once more. He inched his knees forward as if struggling against himself, bound to something that, no matter how much he tried to sever it, he could not break free. “...Is that truly so?” “What you have just stated—” “Why would you play such a jest at a time like this?” “Wh-why would she be around here…?” “I don’t know the details, but last evening, there was a traveling woman who wandered to the riverbank across the Chikuma River from who knows where. She seemed to be asking Takeda laborers, who were cutting horse fodder, for directions. At all times, the scouts stationed on this Saijosan Mountain show no mercy when they identify someone as Takeda forces. They lined up four or five arquebuses and fired upon the laborers. That shot—alas—struck Tsuruna-dono somewhere. Thinking ‘She resembles her,’ I—who had been staring from this same mountain—rushed down shouting ‘Stop!’ to halt the scouts, but it was already too late. I thought to cross the river immediately to rescue her—but Wait—it occurred to me that bringing Tsuruna-dono back to this side might be a blessing or a curse for her—that was my dilemma. By dawn today, no trace of her collapsed form remained. According to the foot soldiers, peasants who were grass-cutting laborers carried her off into the dusk and fled somewhere far away... So even if she was injured, she must still be alive. Such were my thoughts since morning when, at that very moment, a messenger arrived from you—the enemy camp on the opposite shore. This is no coincidence. It may be the Zenkōji Nyorai’s divine arrangement… You likely have no leisure from your military duties, but if by chance you find a moment of respite, I suspect she is being treated in a farmhouse not far from this vicinity of Kawanakajima. Go and search for her. Or rather, extend the Buddha’s divine hand to her.”

Yatarō took the sake flask, poured for the envoy, poured for himself, and repeatedly filled their cups.

Den’emon abruptly withdrew from his seat. “I have indulged in your graciousness.” “I have had my fill.” “Please convey my regards to your lord’s side.” “Will you be departing?” “This is my inescapable station. “It would be unwise to linger.” “…Moreover, regarding your earlier kindness—I find myself at a loss for words to properly express my gratitude.” “If I were to remove my armor, this humble one would be no different from any parent in this world. But as one who now wears these arms, even should I witness a parent’s death, a wife’s tears, or a child’s blood before my eyes, I would have no memory of it.” “I have only my own battle to fight.” “Henceforth, I declare this plainly: though today we share drinks here, should tomorrow find us meeting on the banks of the Sai and Chikuma Rivers amidst the clamor of battle—know that Hatsukano Den’emon’s spear shall never dull.”

“You needn’t concern yourself.” “In such circumstances, even Oni-Kojima Yatarō—” He grinned wryly and rose. “Then allow me to see you down the mountain.”

Illusion and Reality The envoy boat shaded by a parasol once again crossed the waters of the Chikuma and returned to the opposite shore.

Far off, the Kai Army’s camp haze lingering around Amemiya Crossing betrayed just how anxiously they awaited their envoy’s return—so much so that even the wind whistling through their banners seemed to know it.

“Lord Hatsukano has just returned.” When this hurried report reached Shingen at central command, the air inside the war council tent suddenly grew taut. Den’emon marched through the space and prostrated himself far from Shingen and his clan generals’ campaign stools. “...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 an extraordinary calm.” “In Kenshin’s brow as well, a composure as though anticipating certain victory could be perceived.” “Moreover, all officers and soldiers appear to have left their province having sworn death this time.” “The camp’s cleanliness, the orderly discipline—not a single thread of disorder was visible.” “Taking all this into account through my humble observation, the deployment at Saijosan is by no means born of his recklessness or lack of strategy.” “However, it does not appear to be a calculated military strategy either.” “What can be said here is that it is a strategy of no strategy, a law of no law.” “It is a formation stripped bare.” “They are preparing for a desperate charge.” “Otherwise, one would not sense such a Zen temple-like void in Commander Kenshin’s central army.” “Void is reality.” “Somehow, in that moment when it arrived there, I felt as though I were being crushed between both aspects—the illusory and the real—provoking a shudder that seemed to surge through my body.” “By no means should you deploy surprise troops—night attacks, dawn raids, or similar tactics—against them.” “Even if surrounded by reality or trapped in the illusory void, none would return alive.”

He elaborated in exhaustive detail. Naturally, he also relayed Kenshin’s response to our formal address precisely as delivered, replicating every nuance verbatim. Shingen maintained silence throughout, his attention never wavering. A single engorged vein pulsed conspicuously beside his fur-lined ear canal. Until dusk descended, an uncharacteristic restlessness permeated their encampment. This stood in stark contrast to the disciplined calm prevailing at Saijosan’s central command. Within Shingen’s war tent, his kinsmen and Kōyama’s elite commanders had convened since midday in intense consultation, their comings and goings forming an unbroken procession. Even the picketed steeds beyond the canvas walls contributed to the din, their frenzied whinnies swelling to deafening proportions.

An ink-black autumn night once again revealed a world filled only with the sound of insects and stars.

Shortly after mist-like columns of cooking smoke rose from the camps, the Takeda banners gradually began to move toward the upper reaches of the Chikuma River. Naturally, it had to be assumed that the enemy at Saijosan was intently watching this movement. They could not predict when—at any moment—a rain of bullets and a ferocious cavalry charge from the opposite shore might come crashing toward their flank during the advance, kicking up spray as they struck. While maintaining full defensive preparations, they were conducting an extremely perilous redeployment of forces directly under the enemy's gaze.

The winding black stream seemed broader and longer than the Chikuma River's span. Around midnight, part of the vanguard had already forded a tributary of the Chikuma near Hirose. "...I've grasped it—Shingen's intentions."

Atop Saijosan, Kenshin must have muttered this. That the Kai Army had begun crossing the Hirose tributary made it plain their entire force was heading toward Kaizu Castle. First entering Kaizu Castle to combine with Danjō's troops there, then augmenting that force - Kenshin saw as clearly as counting stars in the Big Dipper that Shingen meant to answer Saijosan with every stratagem and preparation at his command.

Islands on Land

When viewing the plains through a strategic lens as an ocean, the scattered hills and mountains could be regarded as islands of this great sea, their utility value becoming apparent. Kenshin had taken position at Saijosan early, establishing it as an advance base by leveraging the terrain's advantages, while Shingen had lifted his camp from the plains to enter Kaizu Castle, "A prolonged encampment on bare ground is perilous," he must have concluded. In this sense, castles too might be called islands. Land-based fortress ports that augmented natural defenses with human engineering.

Kaizu Castle had mountains at its back on three sides, with only its western face opening onto the plain like a harbor mouth. Beneath it flowed the Chikuma River, forming a natural great outer moat.

"You cannot discuss castles without having seen Kaizu Castle."

This was a phrase often said among the military-minded warriors of that era who were passionate about castle construction techniques. Some attributed it to the roping technique painstakingly devised by Baba Nobuharu, the renowned general of Kai and Minister of Civil Affairs, while others asserted it was conceived by Yamamoto Kansuke.

In any case, here, facing Echigo’s territory, it always spoke without words. It was the Takeda forces’ salient.

From the Takeda forces' perspective, mobilizing from Kōfu to this distant border whenever events arose was no ordinary military campaign. Therefore, it had been necessary to station a permanent garrison of fortress troops; moreover, it served as a base when large armies were deployed, and in prolonged campaigns, the stored provisions, horse fodder, and armories there would prove critically important.

Of course, the Uesugi forces also required such conditions. Compared to the distance from Kōfu to here, the distance from the Uesugi’s home province to here was far shorter; however, the poor condition of the roads was severe—nonetheless, it remained a campaign on foreign soil, fought away from their homeland.

Therefore, he too had Mizusashi Fortress in northern Minouchi District. Yet Kenshin had discarded such strongholds far behind him, advancing south deep into enemy territory. Moreover, Asahiyama Castle was located between Zenkoji Temple and the Sai River—closer to this battlefield than Mizusashi Fortress—and thus should have been a highly reliable stronghold. Yet Kenshin had abandoned even that one far behind, giving it no consideration. Even when Shingen initially moved his camp from Mt. Chausu to Amemiya Crossing and proceeded to sever the connection between Asahiyama Castle and Saijosan, to Kenshin at Saijosan, it appeared as though he was willingly embracing a death ground and regarding his isolation as an honor. Even Shingen, who had spent over forty years—half his life—on battlefields up to this day, had never encountered such an enemy nor known of such battle formations existing.

Woodpecker tactics Outside the arrow slit, everything was hazed in a milky white. It seemed to be drizzling with something indistinct between mist and light rain.

“Hyōbu, what are your thoughts?” “Speak without reservation.”

Shingen’s eyes fixed their gaze. His eyes were like amber jewels. Centered on the movement of those eyes, today too was a war council.

Inside Kaizu Castle. It felt dimly lit and hollow, as if one were inside the belly of a Great Buddha statue.

Though it was daytime, candles were placed here and there, their flames flickering damply. Those gathered at the council were merely a very limited number of qualified individuals: clan members, veteran generals, and castle lords such as Kōsaka Danjō. Ōbu Hyōbu Toramasa was a brave commander known as the Fierce Tiger of Kōyama. True to his name, when Shingen called upon him to speak, he stated without hesitation:

“Both this prolonged encampment of inaction and these honorable daily councils are, to this humble one, utterly useless.”

“Useless.” “They serve only to wear down morale. When our eighteen-thousand-strong army departed from Kōfu, we were resolved to crush Saijosan in one bold stroke and push straight into Echigo territory. Yet without acting on that resolve, you have idly shifted camps, scouted the enemy, and sought to gauge Kenshin’s intentions—displaying uncharacteristic indecision—then holed up in this castle to spend day after day in these councils. Naturally, the troops grow weary of this tedium.”

One could say that even this man was capable of such blunt words. Shingen listened sullenly, his thick chin slightly upturned. “And then?” As he made a face that seemed to await the next words, Hyōbu continued speaking with even greater intensity. “Even the shadows of mindless things, when observed as though they harbor intent, can be perceived in myriad ways.” “Encircling the enemy’s Saijosan to gauge Kenshin’s intentions is akin to the folly of suspecting every shadow cast by moonlight to be a specter.” “In my observation, Kenshin has no strategy.” “He has no strategy whatsoever—it is merely our side’s overimagination, akin to casting one’s own shadow and straining to untangle it.”

“Hmm, that’s a valid point.”

Shingen neither rebuked nor voiced opposition. Slowly turning his gaze to Sanada Yukitaka once more, he asked: “You there.” Yukitaka answered tersely: “Lord Hyōbu’s argument is most valid.” “What say you, Shōyōken?” Shingen posed the same question to his younger brother beside him. Takeda Nobukado broadly supported Ōbu Hyōbu’s position: “Should we delay further, large reinforcements from Echigo may arrive to cut our rear—or launch some unforeseen strategy.” “In such case, every move we make would fall perpetually behindhand.”

and added, “Moreover, though this Shinano Province already lies largely under Kai Province’s control, when our Kai Army—possessing numbers far superior to the enemy—hesitates and remains unable to strike or act against Kenshin, who has thrust deep into Shinano to establish his position, it will appear as though we truly fear his prowess. I wonder how this will reflect upon the hearts of Shinano’s people.” “Therefore, I believe your decision would prove most advantageous the sooner it is made.”

“Hmm, mm.” Shingen nodded to this as well.

And muttering to himself: "In war councils past, there was always Kobatayama Jōnyūdō—an old man who offered wise counsel directly to this Shingen—but he fell ill and died. Hara Minō-no-Kami too had fallen gravely wounded during the assault on Waregatake years ago. Here now, to be deprived of both their words felt strangely lonesome.—In their absence, I would consult Dōki." "Dōki, your thoughts?"

and turned his face toward Yamamoto Kansuke Dōki. Kansuke was a rigid old man. The old strategist’s words often differed from Shingen’s. For Shingen was rich in decisive action, while this old man was exceedingly cautious.

However, today’s situation was the opposite. While Shingen—always proactive—still showed no sign of movement, Yamamoto Kansuke Dōki—who typically offered cautious counsel—opened his mouth and clearly proposed this course of action. “The declaration earlier made by someone—‘The enemy has no strategy’—is one with which this humble one wholeheartedly concurs.” “However, this lack of strategy is entirely different from a lack born of ignorance or reckless absence of planning.” “In my estimation, Kenshin’s so-called ‘lack of strategy’ should be viewed as a terrifyingly desperate gambit—staking life and death on this single battle, resolved never to tread alive upon his homeland of Kosan again—or rather, not to tread even in victory. Our forces too must steel ourselves no less than he, confronting this with equal desperation.” “And knowing this, there should be no hesitation—we must immediately crush and annihilate him as he desires. For our forces, I can only say this is the sole honorable course of action.”

“So then—the majority among you advocate for swift decisive battle.” “First…” he said while exchanging glances with each face around him.

“Then it seems settled.” “Good.” Shingen shifted his heavy knees. For the first time, he declared his resolve.

“This war council ends today. That Kenshin had no strategy whatsoever—this too Shingen now perceived. If Kenshin himself had come to bury corpses in this land, then Shingen too would gladly wage a decisive battle without regrets. Dōki—I intend to test the woodpecker tactics in this engagement. What say you?” “Do you mean the woodpecker tactics?” “Truly peerless discernment.” “At this juncture, I believe that enemy’s maneuver to be supremely ingenious.” At that moment, clamorous shouts erupted from beyond the castle moat. Kōsaka Danjō rose from his seat and thrust his head through an arrow slit to peer downward. Shingen and all his generals fell silent, their eyes fixed on Danjō’s back.

“Their nerves are frayed. …… Could it be our foot soldiers have started another brawl?”

When Koyamada Bitchū-no-Kami inquired from behind, Danjō shook his head retracted from the arrow slit and, “No, no—the large scouting party we secretly dispatched the night before last has just now returned to the castle gate in terrible shape, having been fiercely shot down. Only seven or eight men remain, all bearing superficial or deep wounds.” “Judging by their state, they must have advanced too deeply, been surrounded by Uesugi’s forward positions, and barely managed to gallop back.” “Once I have gathered the full details, I will return here later to make my report.”

With that report, Danjō, having received Shingen’s permission, hurriedly withdrew alone from there.

Playing the koto.

The scouting exchanges between both sides were intensely frequent. The only way to uncover the enemy's core was to risk death and approach their headquarters. Ordinary scouting missions were naturally conducted with small groups. Sometimes only one or two went. Yet of the small scouting parties dispatched from Kaizu Castle, not a single member had returned alive. Therefore, Kōsaka Danjō had dispatched a large scouting party of twenty-five men the night before last. He had expected they could annihilate any enemy reconnaissance units they encountered and break through sentry lines; with fortune's favor, they might even press close enough to Saijosan's main camp for one or two men to bring back valuable intelligence.

“Mataroku.” “You’re back?” After descending the tower, Danjō immediately summoned Takaito Mataroku, the scout commander, to a room within the castle and pressed him for a report. Mataroku had injured his left hand, the joint at his elbow bound in tattered cloth like a graft. “We crossed Tada and reached Ōmura, but...” “What? You only made it as far as Ōmura?” “We were surrounded by enemy ambushers, harried relentlessly, and barely escaped with seven men.”

“Did the rest all die in battle?” “No—before that happened, I sent two men disguised as farmers on a wide detour from Hōsenji Mountain to infiltrate Tsuchiguchi.” “If they return alive, we might learn Saijosan’s layout—or so I reckoned.”

Danjō was disheartened.

Soldiers were lost, but nothing was gained. Thus, he had no new intelligence to present at Shingen’s war council once more, but at dawn two days later, one of the scouts—whom they had already given up on—returned. He was a meritorious individual who had left Mataroku’s large scouting party, detoured around mountain after mountain, and successfully observed Saijosan’s headquarters. However, despite having ventured into such a dangerous position and gained rare contact with the enemy’s true state, the scout who had achieved this meritorious service—a man born in these nearby villages, a woodsman-turned-soldier possessing only dullness and honesty—proved woefully vague and incoherent in his responses to Danjō’s questions.

Below, if we were to arrange those questions and his answers side by side, they would look something like this. “Did you go to Saijosan?” “Yes. I went.”

“How far into Saijosan did you go?” “From the mountaintop, I walked all around.” “How did you avoid being captured by the enemy?” “Dunno. Even me.” “Even me.” “What was at Saijosan?” “There were a great many warriors of the Uesugi forces.” “If you walked all the way up to the mountaintop, you must have seen Kenshin’s headquarters.” “Yessir. “Yessir. Just spent the whole night up on the mountaintop, I did.” “Did you observe the headquarters?” “In the dead of night, I heard the sound of a koto. Thinking, ‘Hmm, that’s strange,’ I rustled through the shade of the trees and crawled all the way there.”

“The sound of a koto?…” “What do you mean by ‘the sound of a koto’?” “Were you dreaming?” “At first I thought it was a dream,” Mataroku replied, “but when I peeked in, General Kenshin had a small Tang koto on his lap and was playin’ it. So I knew it wasn’t no dream.” “You peeked inside?” “Where?” “Right into their headquarters where the bonfire burned.” “You’re saying Kenshin sat alone playing that koto deep in the night?” “Wasn’t alone.” “There were a young general and a white-haired one too—five or six men pulled back by the camp curtains. Some dozed off, some wept, all just sittin’ there with their heads hung low.”

“They must have been listening to Kenshin play the koto.” “That might be.” “Did Kenshin say anything to his retainers?” “He’d play the koto, gaze up at the rain-clouded moon, then chant soft-like under his breath—nothin’ else.” “Did all the samurai in camp seem full o’ fight?” “Horses were neighin’ plenty.” “Not about the horses—how’d their spirits look?” “Dunno.” “They got provisions or not?”

“Ain’t none.” “None?” “Ain’t none.”

“You couldn’t even discern whether their morale was high or low, yet you claim to know about their provisions?”

“When I saw what the ashigaru and samurai were eatin’, it weren’t brown rice—millet porridge and potato porridge.” “And there were discarded bones of packhorses.” “They’re eatin’ horse meat as well.” “No matter where you look in the mountains, there ain’t no bean bales or rice bales either.”

“How did you manage to return safely?” “I went all the way downstream from Amemiya, wandered around the other side of Hachimanbara, and made my way back.” No matter how thoroughly they questioned him, this was all they could glean in the end.

But when Shingen heard this report, “He too is a brave warrior.”

said Shingen. Then he ordered generous rewards to be given, and after thoroughly digesting that dubious intelligence about enemy conditions, it seemed he had gained something sufficiently useful for his purposes. The month had turned; it was now early September. For the Uesugi army—which had encamped here on the sixteenth of last month—with over twenty days already passed, one could imagine their provisions had begun to run short unless they had hauled a substantial amount of supplies up that mountain.

Even his desperate and self-sacrificing deployment must have seen its fighting spirit considerably depleted during that time. Even desperation is but a fleeting thing. When that sharp edge of fervor was stripped away, they reverted to their usual worldly desires.

Now, Kenshin and those under him—who had once deemed their strategy-less camp a mark of purity—instead felt emptiness and dread within it. They could neither retreat nor advance, turning all of Saijosan Mountain into a graveyard of living corpses. That’s right. That must be it. That’s what Shingen thought. And to annihilate them, there was no need to rush. Rather than act immediately, he judged it more advantageous to let a few more days pass. Secretly deploying his schemed "woodpecker tactics" without oversight, he diligently studied troop allocations, commander placements, timing, movements, and terrain advantages to ensure full effectiveness—yet was still in the midst of preparations.

This “woodpecker tactics” involved taking direct inspiration from the wisdom of the woodpecker—a bird that pecks at the bark’s edge to startle swarms of insects deeply hidden within tree hollows, causing them to crawl out en masse, whereupon it swallows them down into its stomach as it pleases—and applying this principle to execute a massive slaughter that would shake heaven and earth.

Thirteen thousand dewdrops of white pearls. When a siege dragged on, weariness set in easily. Even the enemy’s strongest soldiers found it no easy task to battle boredom. Weariness—surfeit. This mist-like internal enemy born of lethargy would whisper complaints, induce timidity, sow discord among comrades, evoke nostalgia—attacking every weakness of worldly desire—and gather to assail their ironclad morale.

Each day was a long, long battlefield. The soldiers who had held their positions in silence for as long as twenty days or even a month—though they did not fight outwardly, within each individual heart raged a battle fiercer than any physical conflict.

To conquer oneself! This was the battle they fought. A silent daily struggle more arduous than defeating external foes—demanding fiercer resolve than any battlefield clash—that grew ever more intense as the stalemate prolonged. Yet. Strangely, no such sediment tainted Saijosan's soldiers. Each day passed in crisp autumn clarity. Through rains and mists alike, thirteen thousand hearts remained fused into one mass, smoldering amidst desolation. To call this immovable form—or perhaps when morning mists cleared under sunlight—the entire army seemed to exhale vapor from a single spirit.

There was no particular reason.

Endless delusions—weariness, nostalgia, timidity—acted all the more persistently when one found oneself in a place where life’s security felt relatively assured. This manifested more in the center than the vanguard, and more still in the rear than the center—such was the pattern. Yet at Saijosan Mountain, there existed neither vanguard nor rear. The enemy’s Kaizu Castle lay barely under one ri away. On clear days, those white walls and banners could be seen vividly from the mountain’s heights. A life present at dawn might vanish by dusk; dreams spun among night grasses resembled the glimmer of life’s dew—its morrow unknown. To find wonder in this was but a sweet delusion born of tranquil, uneventful days. Pressed to such extremes, each life had become like a white pearl polished to clarity. All clinging delusions had been shed, allowing them to dwell instead within carefree, guileless smiles. How much truer this held for these warriors of Echigo Uesugi—men who through autumn had ceaselessly honed themselves solely for this day. At this pivotal hour, they would never blunt the warrior’s "Way," which they cherished beyond life itself.

A single chrysanthemum branch “Don’t be impatient, Gonroku.” “Gonroku.” “I’m alright.” “Well. Want me to take over?” “Want me to take over?” “No need. I’ll finish soon.” “I’ll finish soon.” Gonroku had inverted his body and thrust his head into a pit he had dug himself. He was responding to his master from inside the pit. Oni-Kojima Yatarō, too, had crouched down and was peering into the pit—about two feet in diameter—from its edge. Gonroku’s hands were scratching out dirt like a chicken at his feet. Then, through the trees behind them, someone came walking quietly with a rustling sound. A red haze tree leaf danced onto that person’s shoulder.

“Yatarō. What are you doing?” Startled by the voice, the two turned around. Gonroku—who had raised his head from the pit, his face and hands caked in mud as though caught in wrongdoing—startled, leapt back, and prostrated himself. “Oh! So it was you, my lord,” Yatarō said with some fluster—“We were digging wild yams to pass the time. This young attendant here boasts of his skill in yam-digging and believes it will greatly nourish his vigor.”

Kenshin gave a wry smile. Though standing at the cliff directly below headquarters, he had come alone without attendants. He walked over and peered into the yam pit. "Wild yams," he observed. "You've shown remarkable patience digging these." His tone shifted to urgency: "Now dig—dig without restraint." Then came philosophical wonder: "How marvelous—does this heavenly bounty truly lie beneath us? They appear to have devoured everything above ground during these encamped months—akebi vines, walnuts, hackberries, wild grapes, every edible thing down to the bulbils... Yet Yatarō—more remains below, does it not?"

“Yes, there certainly is. Should we still seek to eat—even grass roots or soil itself.” “Hmm…” He smiled and nodded,

“Are those at the foot all in good spirits?”

“Therefore, not a single soul among us grows weary.” “…But you—why walk alone here?” “I too sought to stave off boredom.” “I went searching for wild chrysanthemum flowers.” “Yet on this mountain, truly few seem to grow.” “Are there none?”

“……There are none to be seen.” “I saw some at the foot of the mountain.” “I’ll go fetch them.” “I see.” “A single branch will suffice.” “If you find any, bring them here.” “Later.” “I will deliver them together with the wild yams.”

“Will you give me the wild yams as well?” “I shall humbly present them.” “Very well, I’ll accept without hesitation. I’ll be waiting for that single branch of wild chrysanthemum as well.” Kenshin turned on his heel and, alone once more, ambled up toward the headquarters atop the mountain—a small flat area called Jinbaira.

Double Yang Festival

The autumn day, which had been so crisp and clear in the morning, began to cloud over around noon. Myōkō, Kurohime—all the distant mountains were shrouded in mist. Over the past few days, the weather in the highland region had remained unsettled, and both the Chikuma River directly below and the Sai River in the distance appeared to have swollen considerably.

“That will do.—Summon everyone.”

It was Kenshin’s voice. Amidst a wind carrying the moisture of an approaching shower, where the surrounding camp curtains flapped incessantly, the command had come. The servant, having answered, immediately ran off somewhere.

It seemed they were heading to the camps of each unit dispersed throughout various parts of the mountain. Before long, the summoned generals began arriving one after another there—Naoe Yamato-no-Kami, Kakizaki Izumi-no-Kami, Amakasu Ōmi-no-Kami, Nagao Tōtōmi, and others—only the so-called senior vassals of the headquarters. “Well.” “This is...”

As soon as they entered, all the generals' eyes widened because spacious mats had been spread out. Moreover, at each spot where they were to sit, whitewood trays and cups had been prepared. On the trays for the feast, kelp and chestnuts had been arranged as if celebrating a departure for battle or a victorious campaign. There were also persimmon vinegar-dressed dishes and simmered dried fish side dishes visible. Though only in small amounts each, wild yams had also been grated.

“I came believing this to be a summons of some kind... but what manner of celebratory feast is this?”

Amakasu Ōmi-no-Kami inquired.

After seeing that over ten veteran generals had all taken their seats, Kenshin smiled genially, “They say there are no calendars in the mountains, but today marks exactly twenty-five days since we departed Kasugayama Castle on the fourteenth of last month—having crossed into the ninth month, it is now the ninth day.” "...Unintentionally, this has turned into a prolonged siege." “Each of you must be exhausted, day and night consumed by battle with no other thoughts.” “Moreover, today is a day to celebrate and enjoy.” “Even when provisions are scarce, let us share a cup with what little we have.” “Now then, relax and raise your cups.”

he stated. First appreciating the heartfelt sentiment in Kenshin’s words, the generals felt their chests grow warm before their lips even touched their cups. Naoe Yamato-no-Kami inquired further. “Your Lordship mentioned today being a day to celebrate—is there some special occasion?” “...” “Nay, nay,”

Kenshin shook his head, “Have you all forgotten? September ninth, the auspicious Double Yang Festival. Today has long been regarded as the day for viewing chrysanthemums.”

“Oh!…” they all slapped their knees,

“Indeed! Of course!” they exclaimed collectively. “Today is indeed the Chrysanthemum Festival.” For the first time, their eyes turned to the single-legged sutra desk at the mat’s center. In a small bronze vase shaped like a crane’s neck stood a single sprig of yellow wild chrysanthemums. They finally understood this was no ordinary flower. “The ninth day of the ninth month—nine being the supreme yang number,” Kenshin continued. “‘Double Yang’ signifies the culmination of yang energy. Chrysanthemums symbolize longevity—a tradition rooted in Han China.” “In Runan lived a man named Heng Jing. One autumn day, an immortal warned him: ‘Place dogwood in a red silk pouch, bind it to your arm, and climb a high mountain to escape impending calamity.’ When plague ravaged villages that year—killing even livestock—Heng Jing’s household alone survived unscathed by following this counsel.” “Since Heian times,” he pressed on, “whether in imperial courts or common homes, our people have celebrated this day by admiring chrysanthemums and drinking their wine for vitality. Ascending heights on this date brings fortune—a custom we fulfill unwittingly here at Saijosan Mountain.” “Heaven smiles upon us still this day,” Kenshin declared, spreading his arms. “Should we not rejoice? How could we refrain from celebration?”

Kenshin spoke eloquently. He also frequently raised his cup. He appeared to be endeavoring to lift the generals' spirits and dispel the gloom of their prolonged siege. While viewing the chrysanthemums, all the generals frequently raised their cups. Joyful talk bubbled up, and gloom flew away. But—even so, there was an unavoidable sense that a lingering tinge of sorrow still lurked somewhere, threatening to sink their spirits. "My Lord…." "I wish to voice my humble thoughts—might I beg your indulgence?"

Finally, as if unable to endure any longer, 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 then, all eyes without exception were gathered upon Kenshin’s countenance. Kenshin’s phoenix eyes suddenly flushed red. At the state of the assembly, he too slowly set down his cup, “Sanetsuna.—What is it you wish to say?” he deliberately leaned in to listen.

Hundred Remonstrances

Naoe Yamato-no-Kami Sanetsuna was a veteran commander among veteran commanders who had served three generations of Kenshin’s forebears. His talent and loyalty were acknowledged by all. Kenshin’s trust and affection toward him were likewise extraordinary.

Despite this, since the commencement of this campaign, he had never once lent an ear to this elder statesman’s counsel. Moreover, he made no particular effort to consult them. Since this was even true regarding Yamato-no-Kami, he had not sought any council from the other generals all the more. Moreover, day by day, this perilous position compounded the worst possible conditions for an encampment. One might say that for each day they remained, the crisis deepened. The reality had pressed upon them to the point where thirteen thousand lives now faced either starvation or piling tombstones there.

“Now then—what might Your Lordship’s esteemed intentions be regarding our position here? While we would never presume to question your customary valor and boldness, above all else, on this day when the provisions under your command have been utterly exhausted…” “That’s what concerns you?” Kenshin responded with utter nonchalance, “Regarding that matter—I gave clear instructions when we first encamped here. Kenshin holds no stratagem; he makes no-strategy his strategy—a seamless void. There’s no need to repeat this. Can you not comprehend even a single word?”

It was an uncharacteristic rebuke. “Yes…” Though trembling with fear—as if determined not to let slip this perfect moment when both lord and vassals were gathered—Yamato-no-Kami pressed on: “With all due respect—as retainers who have sworn our lives to my lord’s grand design, how can we act without understanding?” “Yet Lord Shingen entered Kaizu Castle after the twenty-fourth of last month, fully prepared his defenses, filled his granaries, and still refuses to move—intent on exhausting our forces through prolonged encampment. Should we show the slightest weakness, he will strike like lightning to claim certain victory, biding his time with utmost patience.—Considering our plight: even if we attempt to transport provisions via Zenkoji now, Takeda ambushes along the route are inevitable.” “Moreover, as I have repeatedly stated, those paths remain blocked—even correspondence with our homeland falters.” “Thus, not only have provisions vanished—the men now eat dead horses and boiled bark, enduring without complaint as they await our banner’s movement—but such unsustainable resolve cannot hold.—We humbly beseech your wisdom to change course. Now, while time remains, we implore you to devise some remedy. These past days, we have gathered in private council, hearts anguished solely by this matter—indeed, we had resolved to approach you united in entreaty.”

“Is it truly so dire?” “Well now… It seems none of you can remain still by nature.—Then I shall inquire.” “Speak your thoughts first.” “How exactly do you propose we might secure prospects of victory here?” “In our humble view, our position at Saijosan has become overextended. Now that the enemy’s main force holds Kaizu and controls all routes, altering our strategy has grown nigh impossible—yet we believe options may yet remain if we act swiftly.”

“You propose we adopt unconventional tactics to change our course?” “That is precisely why.” “Rather than shrinking here and whittling away our meager provisions, I believe it would be far more honorable for you to adopt an orthodox approach by besieging Kaizu Castle and destroying the scattered enemy forces on each route individually.” “No—if we were to attack Kaizu, I would have done so before Shingen even left Kōfu. “Even that scenario—had I not refrained because if he were to come like a sudden downpour with Kōfu’s main forces reinforcing him all at once, our side would surely face certain defeat—why would I now deliberately choose such a reckless battle?”

“Since Your Lordship deems this both disadvantageous and reckless, might we limit this campaign to a mere training exercise? Withdraw for now, then plan anew to launch your expedition come next spring—how would this proposal suit your will?” “I have no such intention.”

“Though this may seem excessive worry, should the Takeda forces—twice our number—leave a contingent at Kaizu and send the rest charging into Echigo province, surrounding Kasugayama Castle in the worst case...” “Ha ha ha!” “Be that as it may—what an intriguing battle that would make.” “If Shingen invades Echigo, Kenshin will sweep through Kai and storm his stronghold—a simple matter indeed. Moreover, Kasugayama holds twenty thousand troops and a year’s worth of arrows and bullets in reserve.” “Nonsense! Would that smug strategist Shingen ever commit to such short-sighted folly?”

Unnoticed, the sun was beginning to set. Within the camp curtains, dusk had already begun to settle. Under chilling drizzling clouds through which the sunset spilled, all the generals stood with furrowed brows. Kenshin’s words had finally been exhausted on that day as well, leaving us with no strategy. ――And before long, within the camp where human voices had fallen silent, there remained only two bonfires, a wavering twilight, and occasionally the faint sound of leaves falling like rain.

Distant haze

As heaven's appointed sovereign, Through successive reigns unbroken—your eternal rule

With hearts unveiled— To the imperial court—perfected in full, Serving ever onward—generation upon generation, May those who witness—pass it onward, May those who hear—make their mirror, Fresh and pure—your noble name, Dimly—within my heart I ponder, Vain words—do not sever the ancestral name. Bearing the Ōtomo clan’s name—the stalwart band... It was still the evening of September 9th—the Double Yang Festival. Perhaps still slightly intoxicated from his heightened sensibilities, after the evening meal Kenshin sat alone with a Tang zither on his lap, plucking its seven strings as he softly chanted ancient verses from the Manyoshu.

It was the "Song of Admonition to the Clan" that Ōtomo no Yakamochi had composed to give to the clan's youth. The pine firewood in the bonfire crackled and snapped in the light rain. It wasn't enough to soak through. Mixed with leaves, the rain fell scattered in fits and starts while through gaps in those storm clouds, the moon of Double Yang Festival night cast its pale glow over these mountains and rivers.

“Those are geese calls.” Suddenly, he raised his eyebrows. The moonlight cast a pale glow on Kenshin’s face.

The old retainer and young samurai who had been stationed at a distance by the edge of the curtain both raised their faces. Their lord’s lips had closed, and the zither had fallen silent—this was why. “Hmm? … Who’s there?” “…….” “Who’s there?” Kenshin suddenly noticed a single figure perched like a crow in the large tree above the headquarters and began staring intently. But— He immediately realized it was one of our scouts—those tasked with keeping constant watch on Kaizu Castle in shifts day and night—

“Summon that man down here.”

he ordered. Understanding the order, one of the close attendants immediately dashed out and soon returned with the scout from the tree. For Kenshin himself to personally summon and question someone was an unprecedented occurrence, 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 you see Kaizu Castle?” Kenshin’s question was a simple matter, and his voice was gentle.

The scout finally answered with apparent relief. “While the moon remains out, it can be seen dimly—but once hidden, almost nothing remains visible.” “That’s only natural,” he said with a laugh, “It’s truly exhausting to stay up in the tree without respite. Is there anything unusual in the Kaizu area tonight?” “No—there are no irregularities whatsoever.” “I see. Along the Chikuma Riverbank as well?” “Earlier, from the castle’s west entrance down toward the lower riverbank, an unusual amount of smoke was seen rising. At first, I thought it was night fog—”

“—Smoke?” “That is correct.” “Is it still…? Do you still see smoke even now?” “It still faintly rises. This humble one believes it to be smoke from cooking the evening meal. On such a rainy night with storm clouds, it doesn’t rise as usual—clinging low along the castle walls instead—so I initially found it somewhat suspicious, but…” “Good—begone!” It was nearly a barked command. As if struck by some invisible force, Kenshin let the Tang zither slip from his lap and sprang upright. Without uttering a word, he strode out beyond the camp curtains.

Light and darkness flickered moment by moment.

Kenshin stood motionless. Jinbara-daira—he climbed from the headquarters position there up to a slightly higher elevation at the edge of a mountain spur and stood fixedly for a long time. The nearby generals and direct retainers, “Ah!

“What’s happening?” At this, from the nearby camp curtains and huts, they swarmed out in pursuit of his figure, then huddled together at a distance. "…………" From here, looking out over the Chikuma and Sai Rivers upstream, Kaizu Castle lay just under one ri away. From the distant mountains beyond mountains to here at Saijosan's base, the entire expanse of the wide basin plain stretching across this region lay completely within view.

“……?”

Kenshin's pupils remained fixed on a single point of the distant Kaizu Castle. He continued his unwavering gaze without end.

But the night was dark, and rain clouds filled the sky. From a break in the clouds, the moon flashed momentarily—only for dark clouds to seal it away again in an instant. The flickering remained unsettled; heaven and earth ceaselessly shifted between darkness and light. “Is Suruga here?” “Is Usami present?” “I am here.”

“Naoe Yamato-no-Kami, Amazake Ōmi-no-Kami—come here.” Kenshin turned toward the rear and beckoned.

Usami Suruga-no-Kami, Naoe Yamato-no-Kami, and Amazake Ōmi-no-Kami drew near to his side and looked up at Kenshin’s face. Kenshin’s eyes remained fixed on the distant horizon; he made no attempt to look at any of those who had drawn near to his feet. “My Lord… Have you noticed any unusual activity in the enemy’s Kaizu Castle tonight?” “Look there—” Dimly, at that moment, the moon cast its pale light across all mountains and rivers, emanating from Kenshin’s face. Kenshin’s pointing hand too was pale. “Smoke has been rising from Kaizu since before and still does even now. If this were their usual evening cooking, the hour would be somewhat earlier. Moreover, this increasingly dense billowing is far too abundant for their usual cooking smoke.—I believe they are preparing provisions for tomorrow and the day after. It appears certain that Kaizu’s main force intends to leave their castle and engage us in battle before this night is through. Rejoice! Exult! The hour is upon us.”

Having said that and concluded, he added one more word, “We too must prepare.” He said with a chuckle, truly joyfully. The lack of strategy was not merely a lack of strategy after all. It had been a breath held in anticipation of this moment. Just as one must measure the timing when striking a drum, so too does every art require its rhythm. The subtle genius of military strategy also lay in rhythm. “Our defenses have been thoroughly prepared at all times without oversight.” “Should the enemy come, it will be an unexpected boon—we shall not let them trample even the first or second barricade, but slaughter them all where they stand.”

Usami and Amazake had apparently instantly interpreted this solely as preparation for defensive warfare. Kenshin had meant—preparations—

When they answered thus at once, Kenshin shook his head in denial and said with a faint smile.

“This place is but a temporary foothold—merely a staging ground to await his move. He has already revealed his hand; Kenshin too must claim his position. Defense and battle—in all things, we shun passivity. My resolve has not wavered a hair’s breadth since departing Kasugayama. I mean to press the offensive relentlessly—advancing, ever advancing—until Kenshin’s banner flies within Shingen’s very camp.”

And then, he requested a writing set, grasped a brush, and immediately drafted several articles outlining preparations for mobilization and guidelines, “Immediately issue this to each division commander’s forces.” He entrusted it to two or three generals.

Unorthodox and Orthodox

Military orders are military law. The document now issued from Kenshin’s hand bore the following hastily written lines. 1. All allied soldiers, from this very moment onward, are to immediately consume their provisions. 2. All limited resources are to be allocated to field rations. In essence, provisions must suffice for one day’s needs tomorrow. 3. As has been instructed all along, armor is not to be loosened. Tighten the cords of your straw sandals. Personal tools are to be those each soldier is accustomed to using daily. Do not indulge in unorthodox methods or carry what exceeds your capacity. Inept handling results in lost spoils.

1. At the Hour of the Boar’s Latter Half (11:00 PM), strike camp. 2. Before abandoning the camp, burn down all bonfires with deliberate intensity. All remaining paper banners must be left standing. 3. Prepare for the enemy vanguard’s skirmishers and spies to swiftly infiltrate the mountains. Our forces shall leave behind a hundred stalwart men even after departing the mountain. If any enemy infiltrators appear, slay them without fail. 4. My central army’s mounted guards—a large force is unnecessary; they shall be fixed at only twelve men. Chisaka Naizen Ichikawa Shuzenno Wada Hyōbu Uno Samanosuke Ōkuni Heima Wada Kihee Imokawa Heidayū Nagai Genshirō Iwai Tōshirō Takemata Chōshichi Kiyono Kunio Inaba Hikoroku

The above were written notices; however, the words conveyed through oral commands even to the various units at the base of the mountain included: "Tomorrow, His Lordship has suddenly decreed an order to return to the province." "Therefore, from this moment onward, promptly stow baggage bundles and fasten them onto packhorses." "Given the urgency, it remains difficult to predict whether His Lordship will command departure even before the latter half of the Hour of the Boar [11:00 PM]." "Be prepared to rise immediately at any hour." "If enemy forces block our path along the way, you are to understand we will cut through them and advance to Zenkoji Temple."

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

Meanwhile—

That night, around that very hour, the Kai Army’s Kaizu Castle too was filled with battle spirit and killing intent. The twenty thousand troops had every last one of them completed even their gear preparations and were now in the castle’s plaza, Great Surprise Division Great Righteousness Division had been divided into two divisions: the Great Surprise Division and the Great Righteousness Division. The soldiers had eaten their fill of rice. They also carried sufficient field rations. The matchlock unit cut their fuses to two shaku and five sun each, bundled and folded them in half to hang at their waists, and fastened two leather bullet boxes each to their left and right waist belts.

The majority were spear corps. At the core of Kai’s pride stood warriors wielding long spears—three-ken and two-and-a-half-ken shafts held like a forest—among whom gathered many of what might be called the elite of elite cavalry. At this decisive moment, they rubbed their arms in anticipation of the impending clash, minds fixed on achieving great feats. What’s happening?

"How much longer?" Seething and seething, twenty thousand troops and horses jostled within the confined castle walls, desperately awaiting the advance order. Shingen had already armored himself and set a camp stool in the watchtower, his eyes blazing with uncommon intensity tonight as he surveyed both his shifting forces below and distant Saijosan Mountain.

Even at such a critical moment, the Kai Army’s scouts somehow detected and reported movements at Saijosan Mountain: "The enemy had begun bundling their baggage and packhorses since this evening—there appear to be signs they intend to abandon their position." And also: "The Echigo forces seem poised to strike camp tomorrow and withdraw to their home province." They brought reports of such developments. “Just as expected.”

Shingen was delighted that the strategic plan was coming to fruition.

Moonset The Kai Army’s strategy fundamentally consisted of 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 formed the Great Righteousness Division. They would traverse the Tada Pass in the mountainous region, emerge at Kiyono, and boldly initiate what was termed a righteous assault at dawn. The remaining eight thousand-odd soldiers would pivot entirely in direction, cross Hirose Ford, advance into the Kawanakajima plain, and—anticipating the Uesugi army’s inevitable descent from Saijosan toward this front—execute an interception through unconventional methods. This comprised their military stratagem.

“What hour is it now?” Shingen asked repeatedly. Among the retainers were advisors devoted solely to measuring celestial phenomena, wind direction, temperature, and weather conditions. One was a scholarly old man who always remained by Yamamoto Kansuke Dōki’s side. “It is already nearing the latter half of the Hour of the Boar.”

The one who answered was Kansuke Dōki. Shingen nodded and inquired, “And the moonset?” Kansuke again verified with the advisor before responding, “Tonight’s moonset on the Ninth Day of the Ninth Month is said to occur six minutes past the Hour of the Rat—approximately half past midnight.” “Then it approaches,” Shingen observed. “Imminently,” confirmed Dōki. “Minbu.” “Baba Minbu here.” “At your command!” “When the Hour of Rat comes, sound the conch shells without delay. Beat the advance drums.” “Understood.”

“To exit the castle gate, have the Great Righteousness Division’s twelve thousand lead the way. Ensure they advance without jostling.” The commanders were fully prepared. Yet Shingen took every conceivable precaution. Though their forces stood assembled, they idly passed the time – for the night sky’s weather had transformed completely as darkness deepened. In the evening hours, fleeting moonlight had pierced through scudding clouds at brief intervals, but now those clouds had parted entirely across the firmament, revealing a celestial expanse polished like gold-flecked lacquer. Whether employing orthodox assaults or unorthodox stratagems, those who initiate combat naturally abhor moonlit nights.

However, that too lasted only until midnight. “Drummers! “Strike!” At the very moment Baba Nobufusa released his signaling cry, the three conch blowers standing facing the three sides of the watchtower pressed the shell mouths to their lips and blew with all their might. Long. Short. Again, long— Beneath their feet, across the entire castle grounds, the clanging of armor plates and clattering of horse hooves could be heard pouring forth like awakened waves—metallic and relentless.

“Then, this humble one shall take the lead.”

Yamamoto Kansuke Dōki was the first to rise from his seat. Following that, “—By your leave.” Then, Ōbu Hyōbu, Kasuga Danjō, Baba Nobuharu, Sanada Yukitaka, Oyamada Bitchū-no-Kami, Amari Saemon-no-Jō, Aiki Ichibyōe, Koba Yamashiro-no-Kami, and others bid farewell to Shingen one after another and departed from his presence. All these generals belonged to the Righteous Attack Force targeting Saijosan and were those who would traverse the mountain passes. Shingen himself departed Kaizu approximately half a koku after seeing off the advance force of twelve thousand from the castle. Leading the eight thousand-strong unorthodox interception force himself, he took an entirely different route, crossed Hirose Ford, and made for Hachiman Plain. Although the distance there was not particularly great, it appeared to require considerable time for twelve thousand troops and horses—followed by a column of over eight thousand—to exit through the castle gate. By the time they encamped at their objective, Hachiman Plain before Kawanakajima, it was already nearing dawn, around the upper hour (3:30 AM).

No sooner had Shingen arrived here than he—

“Headquarters will be established within Hachiman Shrine’s precincts,” he immediately designated, then commanded: “At key positions, pile up earth to construct defensive ramparts and dig trenches.” While engineers began working diligently on the still pitch-dark ground, Shingen’s headquarters curtains were already being erected around Hachiman Shrine’s precincts. Sun Tzu’s grand banner and Suwa Myojin’s flag now fluttered fiercely as if stirred by blood, while the twelve generals of the command tent, over a hundred elite cavalrymen, and all eight thousand soldiers moistened their brows with mist, buried their straw sandals and shin guards in the grassy fog, and firmly swallowed down their rising battle fervor into their lower abdomens.

Perhaps because the rain had lingered until last evening, this dawn’s fog held an extraordinary severity. It was a thick haze so dense one could not discern even an inch ahead. From flags and battle standards to helmet visors, droplets fell without cease—no different from a light drizzle—pattering down incessantly.

Abandoned Campfires

The route taken by the Righteous Attack Force, which made a detour over the mountains, was an arduous march.

From Saijō, the road began to climb, and at Tadagoe Pass, the path narrowed considerably. Having waited for moonset before departing, they carried ample stealth torches; however, if those flames scorched the heavens too brightly, there was considerable fear the enemy’s scouts might detect them. Though the mountain was small, with its peaks and valleys, the troops and horses sweated profusely before reaching Kiyono. Though the distance was short, it naturally took considerable time, and the men and horses, moving in a long procession, already had a rhythm equivalent to being in battle.

“What a terrible fog…”

“Heaven’s divine protection—the enemy won’t notice a thing until they’re right upon us.”

En route, the two units of Amari and Sanada split off onto separate paths. From above Monomidaira, to the rear of Saijosan—this was to exploit the opening.

Time: — As night paled toward dawn, it was already the tenth day of the Ninth Month.

The first battle cry of this major conflict erupted with a roar from this assault point at dawn. A dawn offensive. Assault conches, gongs, and war drums. They shook heaven and earth as one, charging up Saijosan Mountain from both flanks and front. The war cries of twelve thousand men made the very firmament tremble through sound alone. Small birds burst upward as though scattered like ashes. Every tree on the mountain quaked; fallen leaves showered down like rain; and the dense fog swirled in vortices.

“Wh-what?!” “What the—?!” “It’s an empty camp!” “Paper banners!” Here and there, the same astonishment and the same hollow cries began to be heard. On this mountain they had charged at with ferocious momentum, there were already no human figures to be found. The infuriating sight of paper banners soaked in mist, the maddening glow of abandoned campfires still raging fiercely.

“Outmaneuvered!” Countless straw-sandaled feet kicked through and trampled every decoy position on the mountain while the soldiers admonished one another. “Do not let your guard down.”

"The enemy could appear anywhere!" "What a disappointment. Kenshin had already anticipated our movements!" Too slow, too slow, Takeda forces.

Kenshin was surely smiling like that. His camp withdrawal had been carried out last night while there was still moonlight. Quietly, neatly, efficiently. The soldiers muffled their armor, the horses had their lips bound; under the moon, they descended the mountain and began crossing the Chikuma River—only then had the moon finally set. While dipping spear tips and long sword scabbards into the dark autumn water, the entire army's serpentine line crossed solemnly to Inugase's opposite bank. “Ōmi! Ōmi!”

Kenshin suddenly reined in his horse before the rapids. He called Amakoze Omi-no-Kami from the rear guard, “Approach. This far.” Beckoning him to his saddle’s side, he leaned down from horseback and whispered into his ear. Arteries · Veins “Your detachment shall split from our main force here, cross Jūnikase ford several chō upstream, and encamp near Komori on this northern bank of the Chikuma River.” “Understood!” “Treat every shadow across this vast dark plain and fog-drowned riverbed as enemy presence—maintain constant vigilance. Should you encounter prowling scouts, spare none.”

“Understood.” “The main force of the Kō Army has likely crossed downstream at Hirose and advanced to Hachiman Plain.” “—His left wing—that is to say, the entire plain northeast of where your unit is stationed—will become the region closest to the enemy.” “While keeping your ears attuned to his movements, should any changes occur, dispatch messengers from my rear to the pursuit force each time.” “Yes.” “I clearly comprehend your command.”

Amakoze Omi-no-Kami bowed to Kenshin on horseback and departed—in accordance with your will. This signified the unfolding of the battle formation Kenshin had envisioned. It was an order to maintain vigilance against the Kō Army as a surveillance force during that critical half-hour interval until Kenshin accomplished his deployment.

Approximately one thousand soldiers of Amakoze's unit raced along the southern bank of the Chikuma River and hastened toward Jūnikase. When one stared intently at them from Amamiya Crossing downstream, the shadows of Amakoze's unit crossing toward Komori's shore—blurred with white spray and night mist—appeared as nothing but phantom movement, indistinguishable whether human or water, water or mist. “Good!” Kenshin’s horses too, having washed their legs, crossed the river waves with splashing sounds. When the river water dwindled, its flow formed but a single channel across the bed—yet when rains swelled the mountain headwaters, this vast basin would suddenly trace countless watercourses like human arteries and veins. It was autumn—the season when water’s voice roared loudest from every direction.

The sky remained dark. Excluding Amakoze Omi-no-Kami's unit, with Naoe Yamato-no-Kami's large supply corps at the forefront, the entire army had completely crossed. Both horses and men were wet and glistening. “Shh! Don’t let the horses neigh!” Perhaps its muzzle had come loose—a single spirited horse shook its ears and mane, letting out a high-pitched neigh. While hurriedly scolding it, the unit commander leapt forward and clasped the horse’s neck to his chest. Don't neigh. For mercy's sake. They calmed the horse through action rather than entreaty. Every step of their onward advance now demanded absolute stealth.

The flickering red light spilling from the soldiers' waists was from their matchcords. They wanted to conceal it at all costs to avoid detection by the enemy, but the foe might already be right upon them. If they waited to light their matchcords until after spotting the enemy, it would be too late. To the left stood an avenue of trees resembling the Hokuriku Highway. Ahead echoed the sound of the Sai River's waters, with shadowy forms suggesting Tanba Island's grove. Through the thick fog and unyielding night darkness—devoid of clear landmarks—the entire force of over twelve thousand soldiers, horses, and carts followed Kakizaki Izumi-no-Kami's vanguard groping its way forward. Suppressing every sound, they trampled across Kawanakajima and marched relentlessly northward until reaching the Sai River's edge.

Last night, upon breaking camp at Saijosan Mountain—abruptly— (The entire army returns to Echigo)

Having been told this—and believing it without question—the majority of soldiers had not doubted until arriving here that they would cross the Sai River northward and head toward Zenkoji Temple. Yet now, from the lead supply train and vanguard Kakizaki Izumi-no-Kami’s unit to the second Honjō unit, third Murakami unit, Shibata unit, Nagao unit, and even Kenshin’s central command guard—all halted in their tracks before the waters of the Sai River. Through the jostling mass of horses and soldiers, the torrentially flashing river water could be seen ahead—yet Kakizaki’s unit’s great turnip-shaped horse tassels, the central army’s Nakanomaru banners, and Bishamon banners merely fluttered and rustled in vain. No horses advanced, no soldiers crossed; only the endless arrival of troops piled tens of thousands of shadows here, swiftly swelled into a pitch-black mass within the fog.

“—Have they begun crossing, the vanguard?” “Not yet.… Seems like not yet?”

“What’s happening? What in the world—” “I don’t know. Something’s up—the generals have gathered around our lord of the central army.” “An impromptu council?” Just as whispers began to stir among the rear ashigaru units and others, Kenshin’s voice and figure suddenly rose above the entire army: “Excluding the small and large baggage trains—starting from the vanguard units in order—advance gradually while detouring east toward Hachiman Plain, keeping the Sai River to your left.”

A grand command was heard. The horses' straw sandals kicked up pebbles once more. At a sharp angle, the troop formation swung sharply to the right. While advancing and pivoting, they began reorganizing from their single vertical column into a battle formation of three rows and four sections under their respective generals' command. The hour stood between Tiger (4 AM) and Rabbit (6 AM), dawn still distant.

Of course, the sky remained dark. Due to the darkness and fog, neither the Echigo nor Kōshū forces had noticed at this moment—but directly ahead on Hachiman Plain, the Takeda army had already deployed its massive formation. Around Hachiman Shrine, which Shingen had established as his command post, soldiers were vigorously digging trenches and constructing earthen fortifications. It would only become clear later that the distance between both armies' vanguards measured a mere ten *chō*.

A lone house

“Oh... What could this be?” Tsuruna lifted her face from the pillow. Perhaps due to having been bedridden for over twenty days since falling ill, her cheeks and neck—once tanned from travel—had turned deathly pale. “Oh! The neighing of horses… Those voices… This is no ordinary matter.”

She had been straining her ears when, with a start, she forced her seemingly aching body up from the futon,

“Priest! Priest!” she called out toward the next room.

This was a lone house at the very heart of Hachiman Plain, encircled by a cluster of trees. Beside the house stood an ancient torii gate weathered with age. Here ordinarily dwelled an elderly shrine priest and his family. Some twenty days earlier at dusk, Tsuruna had been struck by a bullet and fallen on the banks of the Chikuma River, where she was borne by chance-passing horse fodder gatherers to this shrine residence for succor.

From then on— She had been recuperating from her wound under the care of a kind old priest, but perhaps due to the amateurish removal of the lead bullet, her left foot from the instep to the ankle had swollen terribly, and even now she could not walk ten steps. “Priest! Madam!” “Madam!”

There was no response. She crawled. And then she shouted toward the next room. “The battle is finally here! It seems it will be fought very near here! If you don’t move the children somewhere else quickly now, they’ll get injured! Stray bullets and stray arrows may come flying here as well… Madam—are you awake?” Her leg throbbed. She tried to rise but could not. She crawled closer and opened the sliding door.

And then, once more, she crawled to another room.

There should be no reply. The old priest, his daughter, and her children—where had they gone? The bedroom had become an empty shell. She seemed momentarily bewildered but also somewhat relieved. For she had deduced that with great haste, the daughter must have evacuated somewhere—carrying her child on her back while her husband supported the old priest. "Is it the Kōshū Army or the Echigo forces that have set up camp here?" As for herself, she showed neither particular sorrow at being left alone in this lone house nor any visible signs of loneliness.

The cedar grove outside roared thunderously at the sky, and the sound of falling leaves swept through the fog. Amidst the sounds of wind racing around this house, there clearly mingled the footsteps of soldiers.

When the family here fled, they must have left everything wide open. The storm shutters along the veranda had been removed, and the kitchen door had fallen. Near that dark water jar, a huge shadowy figure suddenly moved. Then, just as a clattering noise sounded, someone retrieved a bucket from there and immediately moved toward the well at the back.

With a clatter, he opened the well bucket and began drawing water into the hand bucket. That was the shadow of the gigantic-looking armored warrior. “Ah! Father! Is that not you, Father—?” Tsuruna screamed. While still gripping the well bucket’s handle, the warrior’s face—revealing only his eyes and nose beneath the hachigane helmet and gilt mask—turned toward the house and fixed its gaze on Tsuruna’s shadow for some time. Armored Father The warrior showed no reaction, as if mute or deaf. He released the well bucket. He carried a water bucket in his hand. He wordlessly walked onward.

“...Wait!” She ran down the veranda—or rather tumbled off. The moment she did, both the swelling in her leg and its pain vanished from her awareness. Clutching a water bucket, the warrior walked along the cedar-lined path; she chased after him, “F-Father... Is that not you?” “You are Lord Hatsukano Den’emon—the Kōshū bannerman—are you not?” “No.” “There can be no mistake.” “No. No.” “But the crest upon your armor’s breastplate—it bears the Hatsukano clan’s clasped myoga ginger crest.”

“The clasped myoga crest exists in other families as well.” “I remember no such thing. 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 gaze and voice—your true child would recognize them. Why won’t you call me Tsuruna?” “I know not.” “That’s cruel. When I was fourteen, accompanying you on pilgrimage to Zenkoji Temple, you suddenly gave strict orders—‘For Kōshū! For loyalty! We abandon you! Let Echigo take you!’—and through caretakers’ hands, I was sent to serve at Kasugayama’s bannerman Kuroda Ōsumi’s household. …And when we parted, exactly as you had instructed, I continuously sent detailed reports to Kōfu about the Uesugi clan’s affairs—movements in the castle town, whispers within the household…” “And yet...”

Somewhere, a gunshot rang out. With a roar, the sound wave ripped through the wide field, shook the fog, and pierced through to this grove. “Let go! Do you realize where we stand?!”

Den’emon raised his leg. The water from the bucket splashed onto Tsuruna’s back. As though that water were far more important than his own daughter, Hatsukano Den’emon did not even glance back and raced away through the cedar trees.

The Delicate Threshold

A single structure with a cypress-bark roof bearing ornamental ridge logs came into view. It was the old worship hall of Hachiman Shrine. Facing south with its back to it, camp curtains were stretched across a considerable area in various places. Shingen's headquarters could be said to encompass all of this area extending one chō square from here. There were several identical encampments—so many that even if one searched only for banner markers or decorative ribbons as targets, it was impossible to discern in which curtained enclosure Shingen himself had placed his camp stool.

“I have come seeking good water.”

Hatsukano Den'emon slipped into one of them. There, unmistakably, was Shingen. Shingen stood, leaving his camp stool empty. His entire being was charged with battle spirit. The fierce circulation of blood through the night had naturally parched his mouth. He had been persistently craving a cup of water for some time. One should send even a foot soldier, but when it came to the lord's drinking water, a lowly servant would be unreliable. I—Den'emon himself had walked to finally find and bring back this well water.

“Ah, refreshing. “I’m satisfied.” Shingen drank about half of the ladle’s water in one gulp and returned it to the bucket. With a clatter, the ladle’s handle struck the edge of the bucket. As if it were some kind of omen, his large, hairy ear pricked up sharply.

"...Hmm. “Den’emon—don’t you hear it?”

“What might that be?” “It’s uncanny… I can’t quite say what.” “If it’s gunfire you mean, I heard it moments ago while returning.” “No—that was just some panicked sentry in Nobushige’s camp firing at shadows. What I feel isn’t that—it’s vaster… formless and silent.” "What name does it bear?" The flowing white darkness of thick fog seemed to press sorrowfully against his encampment. "...Yes—troop movements." “Bungo! Bungo!”

At one side of the curtained entrance, Morozumi Bungo-no-Kami—who had been standing guard with four or five hatamoto, gripping a long-shafted weapon—startled and stepped forward five or six paces to respond. “Have the trenches at key positions been dug?” “Are the earthworks completed?” “Or do they remain unfinished?” “At Lord Naito’s front and beside Lord Ogasawara’s position, the foot soldiers still rush to finish them, but…” “...Was that what I heard?” “The sound of their labored panting?” Shingen seemed to reconsider and tried to settle his mind on the camp stool for a moment, but then abruptly summoned Mochizuki Jinpachirō, the scout commander,

“Have none of the scouts you dispatched reported anything from Amamiya Crossing or the Komori area yet? Has anyone returned?” he inquired. Jinpachirō,

"Only one has..." he answered hesitantly, "Shall I go and see for myself?" he peered at Shingen’s face. But at that moment, as if Shingen’s heightened senses had detected something, he abruptly raised his large eyes skyward and rose from his camp stool, body tensed. “Well, this is unexpected!” he shouted out loud. “Not a single messenger had come from our allies who attacked Saijosan, and none of the scouts had returned—there was no reason for Uesugi’s forces to be advancing here… How then?!” “...That tremendous sound of troops and horses—?”

At his words, all the officers and soldiers within the curtained headquarters pricked up their ears. The clang of armor rang out. A deep rumbling, unmistakably like the approach of a massive army, sounded. Suddenly, the area around Shingen erupted into commotion.

“Don’t panic.”

Shingen abruptly revealed a composed demeanor. When they saw his complexion and that ample belly, everyone's agitation subsided. He began barking orders. "Urano Minbu! Minbu Saemon - there you are. Scout at once. No formalities! Hurry!" With a gasp of acknowledgment, Minbu Saemon's upper body appeared high above the camp curtain. He vaulted onto his horse's back. No sooner had he whipped the reins than he wheeled about instantly. Thudding down from the saddle, he knelt immediately before Shingen and reported.

“It is indeed the enemy forces.” “What? So it’s the Uesugi forces after all?” “They advance northward in an extended column—endlessly northward—making for the Sai River.” “Has their vanguard crossed the Sai? Or do they remain on this bank?” “From that point onward, they’ve turned right and begun forming a vast crescent formation. Yet given their current marching tempo, even should battle commence, I doubt matters will progress with particular haste or efficiency...”

Trailing off, Urano Minbu Saemon looked into Shingen’s eyes. Shingen discerned the meaning in his gaze—"Hmm"—with a deep nod.

There was an art to delivering scouting reports. Matters that might dampen allies' morale, incite panic, or unduly emphasize enemy strengths were considered improper to mention needlessly. Yet if truth went unspoken, the commander's judgment would falter. There were times when messages passed through eyes alone, and moments when words deliberately misled those around one's lord. In essence, everything hinged on quick-witted improvisation. Wheel formation. "So! Kenshin has quit the mountain."

This shock had indeed taken root in Shingen's breast. Yet his brows remained motionless. Moreover, he had intuitively grasped the gravity of the situation and its urgency. "......"

After hearing Urano Minbu Saemon’s report, he momentarily darted his large eyes beneath their lids. A low hum escaped through his nostrils as breath. As soon as the handle of the war fan in his right hand left his knee— “Muroga Nyūdō. For thoroughness, scout once more.” “For thoroughness, scout once more.” A commander of Kenshin’s caliber would never abandon a position held over twenty days and retreat home without a single battle. Moreover, having crossed the Chikuma River before midnight and still lingering here at daybreak—this could not be mere withdrawal. Minbu must have misobserved. “Make haste and discern Kenshin’s battle preparations anew.”

he pointed at the face of the man in the corner and commanded.

“Understood! I will go and observe.” Muroga Nyūdō was a local samurai. He knew this terrain intimately. No sooner had he vaulted onto his horse’s back than he lashed it once with his whip and raced away. Shingen immediately called Hara Hayato no Kami and summoned Yamamoto Kansuke Nyūdō Dōki, drawing both men close to either side of his camp stool where they engaged in urgent whispers.

By then, the faint light of dawn had already begun to appear on their faces. Indeed, the night was paling. However, in the increasingly thick morning fog, the colors of objects could no longer be distinguished. In fact, within such fog, not only was vision obstructed, but even sound itself failed to carry clearly. Even the neighing of horses from their own ranks and all nearby noises reached their ears only faintly. Shingen had fully accounted for this. He now meticulously applied his daily knowledge of military strategy to all five senses, seeking to avoid errors arising from conventional perceptions of sight and hearing—yet despite this, even he still harbored a miscalculation regarding the distance to enemy forces, a misjudgment that became starkly clear mere moments later.

“I have returned from reconnaissance.”

Muroga Nyūdō, having returned here, immediately bellowed at the top of his voice. The situation had escalated beyond urgency, leaving no time to stoop and deliver a detailed report. “The Uesugi forces appear to be abandoning us here entirely—their entire army marches toward the Sai River, ever toward the Sai River, pressing onward in dense column after dense column with our allies visible to their right—but in truth, they are drawing a massive whirlwind-like vortex across all of Hachiman Plain while gradually closing the distance toward our army.”

The moment he heard this, Shingen, like an eagle beating its wings, began to compose himself while— “So it was as I thought—that must be the wheel formation!”

With that, he leaped to his feet. “Now then, Hayato no Kami. As Kansuke Nyūdō has just stated, given that the enemy presses upon us with such resolve in their close-quarters formation, our current defenses will be difficult to maintain. Quickly, quickly! Relay orders to all units to redeploy according to Kansuke’s instructions!”

Was it real or not? The opening engagement at Kawanakajima that day has long been vehemently debated among military strategists—some claim it began with the Uesugi forces’ “wheel formation” making contact, while others argue no such formation was deployed. However, Uesugi Kenshin—

In this very battle! Having firmly resolved himself and with meticulous planning, he had plotted a direct assault on the enemy’s central axis—a deliberate stratagem indeed. To accomplish this, with a conventional solid formation and a confrontation requiring fixed distance, one could never penetrate Shingen’s central forces in the end. Thus, under cover of thick fog, he directed his entire army toward the Sai River, feigning a retreat to their homeland while continuously marching his troops—all while secretly rotating a massive wheel formation—and advanced toward Shingen’s position like a typhoon shifting latitudes. From the perspective of his resolve and strategy alike, this was a natural course of action, by no means unfounded.

According to scholars who deny this, (On this day, in this opening engagement, Kenshin too did not know Shingen’s exact whereabouts. This was because when the Kō Army of over twenty thousand departed from Kaizu, they had split into two forces: one contingent advanced along mountain paths toward a surprise attack on Saijosan, while another portion crossed Hirose and emerged onto Hachiman Plain. Therefore, whether Shingen and his direct forces were with the interception unit in the foothills or with this field standby unit remained unclear even to Kenshin’s discerning eyes. Thus there was no reason to recklessly charge at the enemy using a deadly self-sacrificial formation like the wheel formation.)

While this argument seemed plausible, it still fell short by fixating solely on Kenshin’s tactical acumen while neglecting his psychological calculus. Even before abandoning Saijosan and throughout the march and river crossing, the scouts he had deployed relayed critical updates in relentless succession. Though none of these reports conclusively pinpointed Shingen’s exact position among his formations, they undeniably furnished Kenshin with ample clues to deduce his rival’s disposition.

Moreover, according to a text passed down by the Uesugi family's elders, Kenshin—even after deploying onto this plain—had specifically ordered two of his direct retainers, Yamayoshi Genba and Suga Tajima, to accurately pinpoint his target: "Conduct deep reconnaissance." There was also the fact that he had them infiltrate the Kō Army's patrol zone.

Deep reconnaissance was not mere scouting but rather the work of ninja who fully infiltrated enemy lines—a life-risking search requiring what was called the art of transformation, evasion, and concealment.

The fog was deep; the predawn world. In the haze where even the shadows of allies and camp curtains could barely be discerned, predicting where such humans—resembling field mice yet not allies—might be lurking proved utterly impossible. Yet in preparation, even here at the central army where Shingen stood, they had hidden all their banners—the Kō Army’s grandest symbols: Sun Tzu’s banner, the Hosshō banners, Suwa Myōjin’s divine banners, and the hanabishi crest banners— (Here lies Shingen) They had not adopted any conspicuous formation that might declare this to the enemy at a glance.

Centipede Banners

This is a digression, though it concerns events much later, but even when Oda Nobunaga charged into Yoshimoto's central forces at Okehazama, Yoshimoto's exact whereabouts could not be ascertained until they had broken into his camp. As they searched here and there, they came upon a splendidly lacquered palanquin, and it was only then that they confirmed Yoshimoto's location there. Nobunaga's retainers were said to have grown even more emboldened and vied with one another to achieve merit. Additionally, there are accounts that Shingen—ever exceptionally cautious—had eight shadow warriors, but how true that was remains uncertain. However, considering the battlefield practices of commanders like Ieyasu and Nobunaga—who often left substitutes at headquarters while secretly joining the vanguard to issue direct orders—even if the claim that Shingen maintained eight permanent shadow warriors remains uncertain, it would not be an overstatement to conclude that he frequently employed such substitutes.

Moreover, there were also theories questioning the effectiveness of the "wheel formation" itself. But according to Yamaga Sokō’s military texts, "The wheel formation yields great success when employed against enemy forces arrayed in three or four layers. This is called the small wheel formation. However, when employing the large wheel formation against enemy defenses arrayed in ten or eleven layers, it holds no advantage." Considering this statement, while fully acknowledging the value of the wheel formation, it emphasized that its effectiveness depended on the enemy’s preparedness. Opposing this theory, among contemporary scholars who denied the wheel formation was Ogyū Sorai. Ogyū Sorai vehemently argued that since the Takeda forces’ formation at this time was the so-called twelve-layered fish-scale formation—a formidable arrangement—there had been no reason for Kenshin to employ the wheel formation.

However, battle formations inherently contain constant change—where emptiness becomes substance, and convention transforms into innovation. The essence of formations lies in their capacity for swift reciprocal transformation; whether Crane Wing, Serpent Coil, or Bird-Cloud Array, to rigidly maintain any configuration as-is creates a lifeless formation rather than a dynamic one. ——Wheel formation! The instant Takeda Shingen intuited this—"Wheel formation!"—he commanded Lord Hara Hayato no Kami: "With haste! With haste!" Urging messengers to relay orders across allied units, he thereby mandated immediate tactical adaptation.

Moreover, in this situation, the reason Shingen's face showed a hint of panic was that until this very moment, he had believed himself to be— (He had preempted the Echigo forces) —to have preempted the Echigo forces. Both dispatching a surprise attack force toward Saijosan Mountain and establishing an interception formation here to ambush the collapsing enemy—he had viewed the entire situation as a shogi match where he took the initiative. But. Their positions reversed.

Kenshin was already advancing without hesitation toward this position, yet Shingen found himself compelled to alter his own army's formation at the critical moment—in other words, forced onto the defensive. For Shingen—who had been brilliantly outmaneuvered right from the start by the young Kenshin's divine tactical wisdom and skill—even his seasoned judgment and unshakable belief in ultimate victory could not, on a human level, "The petty conduct of Kenshin" he could not suppress his fury. Given this turn of events, he would show them his mettle—Shingen found himself compelled to brim with combative resolve.

Strategic overview “Orders to reform the formations!” “Deploy new formations now!” Several mounted samurai bearing centipede sashimono banners galloped through allied units, urgently relaying commands to every position like wildfire. “Lord Yamagata’s division must push into the vanguard’s center and raise the white bellflower banner as their marker—by military decree!” “The forces of Lord Takeda Nobushige and Lord Anayama Genba shall position themselves on his left flank when Lord Yamagata displays the white bellflower banner—”

“To the right flank: Lord Morozumi Bungo.” “Lord Naitō Shuri Masatoyo.” “In the center: Lord Shingen and the Hatamoto retainers.” “Next, the left flank’s defense.” “Lord Hara Hayato.” “Lord Takeda Shōyōken.” “To the right flank: Lord Takeda Tarō Yoshinobu. Lord Mochizuki Jinpachirō. “—For the rear guard: Lord Abe Ōsuke, Lord Imafuku Jōkanzai, Lord Asari Shikibu-shōyō…” Even as the Centipede Brigade messengers busily, loudly, and urgently galloped about everywhere to relay these orders, Yamagata Saburōbyōe’s vanguard and other units had already begun moving like clouds emerging from a gorge—but it could be said that time had already run out.

Kenshin’s fearsome wheel formation had already surged forward and was now right upon them. Their method of approach was not what one would call a direct assault. As massive chain links ceaselessly spun closer, if one were to ask where the spearhead of their combat strength lay, it was precisely where they collided with the enemy’s vanguard—that point of impact itself became the sharp angle. Now, it seemed that one end and another end had made contact somewhere.

Yet, for the Takeda forces, this occurred before they could fully reorganize their entire formation or even solidify their footing. Naturally, signs of confusion began to appear in some positions. Damn it! Even Shingen must have felt his blood rush in reverse here. Whether in response or not, from near the curtained enclosure where he stood, the sound of a great war drum suddenly boomed forth with heroic cadence, reverberating continuously. But—it was the battle plan. Yet still, it was not the urgent drumbeat commanding a reckless offensive.

“Messenger! Messenger!” Nearby, the hatamoto retainers were shouting. Yamamoto Dōki, Hara Hayato, and the rest had all hurried back to their respective positions and were no longer present there.

“Hah! At your command!” Two or three centipede banner bearers came running in. Their eyes, lips, and complexions showed nothing of their usual composure. “Reiterated orders from His Lordship! All vanguard units on both flanks must hold their positions firmly—do not leave your posts without cause, and under no circumstances retreat. You are to withstand the enemy’s fierce assault where you stand, defend your ground, and counterattack resolutely. Hurry—relay this to every commander!” Upon receiving renewed orders from headquarters, the messengers flipped their centipede banners and raced off in all directions.

Because he used drums, it is said that this side deliberately used bells instead. In any case, it was now clear—each side had seen the other as mutual enemies. In their eyes, in their ears, at the tips of their feet—in every hair-raising pore across their bodies. Before they knew it.

In the sky, the sun rose. Judging by its position, the time was thought to be around 7:00 AM—the lower hour of the Hare. The fog had not yet fully cleared but hung milky and translucent, churning like steam from a hot spring; where its veil thinned, everything from Kawanakajima across both the Sai and Chikuma Rivers to the distant Myōkō and Kurohime mountain ranges emerged bathed in hazy light.

“They’re close.” “They’re close now!” “Forty to fifty ken.” “No—it’s only thirty ken.” At the vanguard’s foremost edge—crawling low in their forward position—lay a small firearms platoon under Yamagata Saburōbyōe’s command. “……Not yet.” “Not yet!” They loaded their ammunition and aimed from the scant cover of a hollow’s shadow, gauging the distance but withholding fire. “Hold until twenty ken.” “Let them approach resolutely!”

It must have been the squad leader. He barked from behind. For the gunners maintaining their poised aim, the wait felt interminable. All the while, the slightest lapse risked the drenched dew on autumn grasses extinguishing their match cords and dampening their gunpowder. “Still not?” “Hold!” The effective range of matchlock guns at the time was said to cap at thirty ken—yet even bullets that reached maximum distance merely bounced off armor skirts or leather cuirasses. The lead balls—weighing three to seven monme—could barely manage three shots at best before requiring barrel breeches and scorched cartridges to be cleaned for reuse.

Despite being such troublesome devices, these were nonetheless state-of-the-art weapons that had only recently appeared on battlefields. Even the financially robust Kōshū forces and the culturally astute Kenshin could barely muster more than a hundred firearms across their entire armies—or at most a hundred and twenty to thirty. Therefore, in that single shot— “We won’t waste our shots!” With this mindset— “If we’re to shoot them down, let it be their commanders.” —they held a preference for aiming at high-value targets.

Indeed, compared to traditional bows, they achieved their objectives more accurately. The firearms commander believed that if he failed to achieve more success in the opening battle than the archery commander, he could not face his lord. Though commanding only twenty to thirty gun barrels, this naturally held significant sway over the entire army’s morale. —Footsteps. Footsteps. Even the enemy’s footsteps now reverberated in their ears. The seething, swirling movement was not limited to the Uesugi forces’ shadowy figures. The fog’s shifting densities too churned with terrifying force. And whenever sunlight pierced through, countless things glittered behind the mist.

It was the Uesugi clan's famous long-shafted spear unit. They were fierce warriors clutching what resembled large swords with elongated hilts.—Before one could process this, the whirling formation swept past before their eyes like a raging torrent, and abruptly another unit materialized. Glinting and flashing, a single column of the spear phalanx advanced in perfect unison like a sudden evening shower. “—Fire!”

The firearms commander’s gaping mouth unleashed a full-bellied roar. Boom! Bang! Thud! The reports were irregular. This was due to a mix of strong gunpowder adjustments and damp bullets among them. Of the twenty-some gun barrels, five or six had misfired. Yet both these dull thuds and the acrid smoke that suddenly billowed forth were more than enough to enrage the blood of the armored warriors. Indistinct as to whether they were friend or foe, from a distance of about twenty-five or twenty-six *ken* between both sides, a roaring war cry erupted all at once, shaking the very heavens and earth of the morning.

Life in the Killing Ground

The enemy's heavy front lines advanced gradually—yet with a surging, wild appearance—in what was known as the warrior press, that relentless grinding advance, when suddenly from one of their formations came a full-throated roar. The opposing side roared back with equal ferocity. Rooooar… rooooar!

Shouting and roaring, they closed the distance step by step from both sides. This close-quarters stalemate showed no sign of breaking. Each full step forward brought a collective roar; each half-step advance elicited an even louder bellow. They pressed forward less with their legs than with the full force of their voices. They strained their throats raw against each other—so much so that this description rang true. No—to muster courage for the opening clash, raised voices alone proved inadequate. Behind the front lines, drummers now began pounding their instruments fiercely. The art of war drumming followed strict principles: unless these drummers struck with spirits poured into heavenward prayers, unless they drove every ounce of their strength into the drumsticks, they could not impel their comrades' footsteps—one by one—toward the enemy.

To describe it this way made it seem as though they all cowered at the opening phase of battle, appearing unlike the fierce warriors of that era. Yet no matter how many battles a seasoned warrior had experienced, the moment they faced the battlefield, glimpsed the enemy’s shadow for the first time, and pressed into closing formation—no matter how many times they had experienced it—

—To be honest, it was terrifying. Such are things even true warriors do not speak of. Though this concerns a figure from much later years, an old text recording the firsthand account of Miyake Gunbei of the Tōgun-ryū school—as told to others—also documents Gunbei’s recollections of the terror of facing battle in this manner.

(—The enemy’s spear phalanx and our own spear phalanx closed in with shuffling steps, exchanging war cries dozens of times until even the pounding war drums grew inaudible to our ears. Our own shouts blended indistinctly with theirs—eyes dazzled, hands stiffening on spear shafts, body and spirit unmoored—until in an instant, heaven and earth seemed plunged into utter darkness. Though enemy faces now loomed clearly before us, not a soul stepped forward from their ranks; our own lines too held spears leveled without advancing a step. Was this a chasm thousands of fathoms deep? An endless void? Legs froze, minds reeled—when suddenly, one nameless warrior leapt forth with a roar, hurling himself bodily into the enemy throng. From that moment, forgetting even our own selves, we too were spurred by that brave soul’s example and charged after him into the fray.) Therefore, the glory of being first to charge is not a prize carelessly claimed. Even for skilled warriors, this is no easy feat; those who boast daily courage become as any other when faced with that moment. Though I myself have set foot on countless battlefields, at the initial clash, I find myself unable to suppress the trembling of my body.)

Even a warrior of Gunbei’s caliber had said this. This later account concerned experiences during the Osaka Summer and Winter Campaigns, when he fought valiantly after borrowing Matsudaira’s battlefield position and was asked to recount them to others. Yet whether speaking of him or of the Osaka campaigns, one imagined that the beginnings of all battles must have been much like this. decisive single strike In the close combat at Kawanakajima, where even if only slightly, the influence of firearms had begun to manifest, naturally, the organization of battle formations—and thus their preparations—differed from those of earlier engagements.

Generally, it had become standard practice to arrange forces in a four-tiered formation: firearms units first, followed by archers, long-shafted spear units, and then warriors. And ordinarily, the firearms unit would begin firing from a distance of two or three *chō* between themselves and the enemy. At this distance, the bullets would not yet reach, but they fired first with the purpose of raising their spirits through warrior shouts, much like the war drums. When the distance narrowed to forty or fifty *ken*, bullets could reach their targets. They fiercely exchanged fire. That said, due to the time required for loading bullets and cleaning guns, the firearms units had adopted a system of three rotating lines: they would fire, retreat to the rear, and then be replaced by the next line—which had been waiting while reloading—to advance forward and fire. And then they would retreat again—this was the method they had adopted.

And when they closed within half a *chō*, this time the archer unit loosed arrows like rain. When the distance narrowed to ten *ken*, then seven, then five *ken*, it was finally the long-shafted spear units or regular spear units that initiated the charge, marking the onset of hand-to-hand combat. At this juncture—employing what was called secondary tactics—they sounded the urgent conch and beat rapid war drums. Then foot troops and samurai alike plunged recklessly into enemy ranks, abandoning formal tactics of swords, spears, or bare hands to seize victory through sheer force, descending into what became known as a state of chaotic battle.

However, on the morning of September 10th, during the opening phase of battle at Kawanakajima, these conventional tactics of warfare differed drastically. For the Kō Army, having detected that the enemy was deploying a wheel formation, pressed forward with an even more rigidly disciplined formation than standard tactics dictated; however, Kenshin had long since— (Now—at last—) he had resolved, and his tactics were unbound by conventional wisdom, (We shall decide victory in an instant through single-strike combat) This was the strategy he had already resolutely declared to his various generals and retainers on both flanks.

A single-strike decisive battle meant precisely that—there would be no second move. There was no four-tiered formation, nor any opening skirmish. He had aimed for a do-or-die battle that would plunge immediately into decisive combat from the very opening clash.

The very first to charge forward was Kakizaki Izumi-no-Kami’s unit. Rubbing the great turnip horsetail standard to launch a surprise attack, Honjō Echizen-no-Kami, Yamayoshi Sonjirō, Irobe Shūri, Yasuda Jibu, and others from both flanks took up positions with shouts.

What was astonishing 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 directly before the enemy. It was beyond daring—there were no words to describe it.

“To this extent”—even Shingen had not imagined. Even the brilliant minds of master strategists Yamamoto Kansuke and Hara Hayato had failed to fully discern this. Thus while the Kō Army—adhering to conventional form—deployed its formations with heavy precision and commenced arquebus fire from their front-line gunners toward the enemy’s wheeling ranks, from the Uesugi side a rapid bell clanged and war cries erupted almost simultaneously. “Single-strike now! —Do not retreat! Not one step back!” Commander Kenshin himself shouted these words while hoisting high before his steed a crimson banner emblazoned with a dragon—the battle-torn standard—

“Charge! “Charge!!” He bellowed at the top of his voice while waving the banner furiously—as though willing the pole to snap and the cloth to tear—urging them on without respite. This battle-torn dragon banner was known within the Uesugi house as the charge banner, their standard of certain death. When this banner waved, every soldier beneath it swore an oath that there was nothing but death awaiting them. Even should they face overwhelming enemy force, to falter one step or retreat half a step meant they could never again show their faces as samurai among men—such was the Uesugi house’s code of honor, one of those warrior traditions that held shame itself as shame.

Farewell

They charged toward death. No—they hurled themselves forth to seize death. Even so, it still fell short. No words could suffice to describe it. The moment when a wave of gleaming blades suddenly surged into enemy ranks with reckless abandon—that spectacle had no equal among any ecological phenomena on earth. Majestic, grand, anguished, transcendent. There were no words that could capture it. If one were to imbue it with greater meaning, it could only be described as the "beauty" of that fleeting moment when human life reached the pinnacle of its potential exertion. It could only be said to reach its pinnacle here.

At this moment, the swiftest was Kakizaki Izumi-no-Kami’s unit of the Uesugi side—from the commander down to every last soldier, they all charged on foot with ferocity. Foot soldiers and samurai alike bowed their heads low beneath their helmet fronts, disregarding bullets and arrows as they charged with a ferocious roar—"Raaah! Thud-thud-thud!" And they collided. The Kō Army unit that bore this single-strike assault was under the command of Yamagata Saburōbyōe Masakage.

“Damn it! Nozoe! Archers and gunners—fall back! Long-shafted spear units. Forward... Forward, advance!” Beneath the white bellflower banner, Saburōbyōe Masakage was leaping about. Nozoe Magohachi bellowed the order even louder toward the front lines, but their allies had already fallen into confusion. In the opening clash, they had been taken by surprise. First, when they fired their arquebuses—assuming the enemy would naturally respond in kind—the fierce enemy had already penetrated their ranks.

“Kodaī Kōsuke of the Uesugi house!” “I am Soboya Gonnosuke, he who was called Kasugayama’s foremost warrior!”

“Koshi Samanosuke here! Behold the Echigo warrior’s technique!” The voices heard on the right were enemies. The roaring voices on the left were enemies. Even Yamagata Saburōbyōe Masakage’s shout of “Damn it!” came too late. Like clear water bursting through a ship’s hull, in moments the entire position was scattered by Uesugi soldiers—and there, here and there, upon the crimson of warriors who had already fallen, from gaps in the mist spilled a sunrise so blazingly red it seemed to outshine blood itself.

A young general of the Kō Army stood atop a small hillock resembling a wart on the plains face, observing this opening engagement. It was Shingen's younger brother, Takeda Nobushige. He had positioned his eight hundred troops far to the left of their ally Yamagata's location when— "What—? This Uesugi morale... it's unnatural," he muttered to himself. "Never have I witnessed an enemy display such ferocity from the battle's outset. For we Takeda who know no defeat, today must become that desperate struggle where nine perish so one may live." Resolving himself, Nobushige concluded: Today would be his day to die.

Muttering this, he struck his horse with a whip. Just as one might think he was charging toward the enemy, he dismounted before his brother Shingen's headquarters, lifted the curtain, and immediately stood before Shingen. Then, informing him of the urgency of the situation and the fact that their own formation was now in the worst possible state, "Holding here resolutely and your strategic deliberation on favorable outcomes are crucial." "To say the Takeda clan's crisis is imminent would be no exaggeration." and urged his elder brother to make a decision.

Shingen, on the contrary, “Lord Nobushige? What brings you here?” Nobushige calmly replied, tears brimming in his eyes, “For our final farewell in this life—” As Nobushige bowed—more to hide his tears than in formal courtesy—Shingen glared fiercely at him, “Do you still harbor in your heart the notion that family members exist on this battlefield? For Shingen, there was nothing beyond the crucial matter of commanding twenty thousand troops; whether he had a brother or not was something he had never contemplated. Unnecessary sentiment—a hindrance to military duties. Get out at once!”

he snapped. "It was my lapse in judgment," "Please forgive me." Lord Nobushige wiped away his tears, left his brother’s headquarters, and galloped away on his horse. Then,

“Is that not Lord Nobushige?” Then from behind came a voice calling out. When he looked around, he found himself before Yamamoto Kansuke Dōki’s defensive position. “Ah, Dōki!” “The battle already descends into chaos.” “That amidst such turmoil I might unexpectedly behold your noble form speaks to bonds transcending this fleeting life.” “Though I have long enjoyed your esteemed favor, this monk must now bid eternal farewell.” “May your martial fortune endure.” At this position too, the front palisade had been breached. Corpses—indistinguishable as friend or foe—lay scattered in disarray, broken spears and trampled banners suffusing the air with desolation.

“What of it, Monk? The path to death requires but one pursuit! Even so, has the enemy already broken through to your position like this?” Lord Nobushige turned around and replied, “Oh, no—this Yamamoto Dōki will not crumble so easily. Though Honjō Echizen and Kakizaki Izumi’s forces did overrun us initially, we pushed them back desperately. Now we exploit their retreating steps, doing our utmost to bolster our vanguard commander Yamagata Masakage’s faltering position.”

“……Oh! That human whirlpool yonder—does it mirror the distant tide?” “Hold firm here, and our victory stands beyond doubt." “If we endure until ten thousand comrades who stormed Saijosan last night come charging forth, today’s triumph shall rest with our Kō Army!” As he spoke these words, a messenger materialized at his rear— “Strategist! “The Yamagata unit’s right wing—Naitō and Morozumi’s detachments—were shattered under Shibata Owari-no-Kami’s assault." “Reinforce that sector at once—by His Lordship’s command." “Make haste!”

he shouted and ran off again. "What?! The right wing too?"

Upon hearing this, the old strategist—though already over sixty years old—suddenly stood up like a man in his prime, using his spear as a staff. And then, staggering forward five or six unsteady steps, he turned once more toward Lord Nobushige and said, “Farewell.” Lord Nobushige watched him go with a pained gaze. On Dōki the Monk’s body, several spear wounds and bullet injuries could already be seen. Yet he showed no sign of yielding; immediately mustering a hoarse voice, he began shouting something into the battle’s dust.

Severed Heads Adrift Takeda Nobushige was outfitted that day in armor patterned with deutzia flowers, a helmet adorned with kuwagata crests fitted to his bull-like neck, a long spear tucked under his arm, and mounted upon a Kai-bred black steed. He had slung his helmet behind him, swept back his disheveled hair under a blood-stained headband, and stood valiantly at the vanguard himself—when something occurred to him,

“Gennojō! Gennojō!” Then summoning his retainer Kasuga Gennojō who stood by his horse, he tore off the navy-blue horo cloak draped across his back. “This was a memento from my father Lord Nobutora. This horo bears his own brushstrokes—should enemies seize it, our family name would be sullied for generations. I entrust this to you—deliver it to my son Nobutoyo.” He tossed it over. Gennojō scrambled to catch the cloak, but protested: “Does entrusting me with this and ordering its delivery mean you command me to return alive to Kōfu? With respect, I beg you order another. I shall not retreat one step from this field today.”

he retorted to his mounted lord—as if shouting, as if weeping. Lord Nobushige deliberately feigned anger, “If I intended to order another with my own judgment, I wouldn’t be telling you. Return to Kōfu at once.” No sooner had he uttered this than his figure plunged into the chaotic fray. The Echigo warriors Nojiri Yasusuke, Sekigawa Jūdayū, Kashiwara Kurando, Kumasaka Daigo, and their ilk—

“That’s him—Lord Nobushige!” “Takeda Shingen’s younger brother!” Upon seeing this, they abandoned their other opponents and— “I’ll take him!” With that, they lunged forward— “If I cannot claim your head, then I shall find glory in mutual destruction!”

With that, they blocked his path, gave chase again, and clung to him with relentless tenacity. Lord Nobushige had his spear wrested away. He immediately drew his battlefield sword and cut down Kumasaka Daigo.

Sekigawa Jūdayū, “A splendid strike. Now, face me!”

With that, he thrust his spear diagonally. Because Lord Nobushige had instinctively grabbed the spear thrust at his face, With a guttural “Grhh!”, he was yanked forward with such force that he flipped over the horse’s head and crashed to the ground. As Nojiri, Kashiwara, and others vied to claim his head, a dozen of Lord Nobushige’s subordinates surged forward in a mass, and amid the flurry of slashing blades and chaotic movement, Lord Nobushige’s body vanished from sight. “He’s escaping!” When they spotted him, Lord Nobushige had already driven his horse to the very edge of the Chikuma River. Judging they couldn’t reach him, one of the Echigo soldiers fired his matchlock. Lord Nobushige fell into the river, sending up spray.

With great splashing, kicking up white waves, a great many Echigo soldiers charged into the river. They were determined to claim Lord Nobushige’s head. Lord Nobushige’s body floated up, now sank down, drifting away. A retainer of Usami Suruga-no-Kami named Umezu Sōzō finally seized the corpse. And in an instant, he turned the river crimson. He severed only the head, tucked it under his arm, and emerged from the river once more with great splashing.

But the moment he took one step up from the water onto the bank, Lord Nobushige’s retainers—Hikuchi Saburōbyōe, Yokota Mondo, and others— “Hand over our lord’s head!” With that, they slashed at him. Umezu Sōzō swiped one man aside with a horizontal slash of his long sword, then felled another with precision, and ran toward his allies while roaring at the top of his voice. Presumably, “I, Umezu Sōzō of Usami Suruga-no-Kami’s house, have taken the head of Lord Shingen’s honorable younger brother, Lord Sama-no-suke and Master of the Stables Nobushige!” He must have bellowed this declaration, but between labored breaths, battlefield frenzy, and the cacophony of clashing steel, his exact words were swallowed by the din.

There was a single soldier who had followed deep into the Uesugi ranks and suddenly sliced Umezu Sōzō down from behind with a diagonal cut. No sooner had he snatched his master Lord Nobushige’s head from Umezu’s grasp than he raced into the Takeda camp, his face drenched in tears. It was only after the war that it became known—this soldier, though Lord Nobushige had personally looked after him, was a youth of extremely low status serving under a page named Yamadera Myōnosuke.

The howling battlefield

Morozumi Bungo-no-Kami, a general of the Takeda army, had been suffering from diarrhea since the previous day. When the pain became unbearable, he would sometimes lie atop his shield while continuing to command, but now he cast aside his afflictions and took up his spear himself to hold back the enemy. The Uesugi forces that struck here were the vanguard of Kakizaki Izumi-no-Kami’s unit that had broken through the Takeda army’s center.

"Do not waste your efforts on the foot soldiers! Second Unit, Third Unit—break through boldly! Make straight for Hachiman's Forest! That is where Shingen’s headquarters lies!" Amidst the screams, an unidentifiable enemy commander’s voice rang out. Morozumi Bungo-no-Kami felt every hair stand on end. The enemy showed no interest in securing frontline victories—they appeared wholly focused on penetrating straight to Shingen’s command post. "If they breach this position—" Looking around, he saw his men locked in desperate combat everywhere. Some crossed spears with opponents; others cast aside broken shafts and charged sword-first into the blood-misted haze.

A horse with its crimson intestines exposed raced frantically through the chaos. Men fell from mounts, men were trampled beneath hooves, men clung to stirrups while trying to drag riders down. Men who tried to strike from their saddles found themselves impaled from below by enemies, meeting brutal deaths in battle. Some cast aside plunder and grappled hand-to-hand. Kneading grass, soil and blood into paste, opposing forces clashed until one side fell; no sooner had they claimed a head than—

“Avenge our comrades!”

With that cry, fresh enemy forces emerged. In moments, one after another, lives were scattered without mercy, and corpses piled mountainously.

Across the entire battlefield, the dew on the grass leaves had dried, and in place of the cleared mist, horse dust and blood-misted haze now hung thick. From amidst the indescribable human shrieks, twanging bowstrings, gunfire reports, horses’ whinnies, and accompanying earth rumble—at that moment, “Lord Nobushige has been slain!” the Uesugi forces’ triumphant song of “Lord Nobushige has been slain!” and, “Lord Nobushige has fallen!” The Uesugi forces’ triumphant cries of “Lord Nobushige has been slain!” and the anguished voices of his allies mourning “Lord Nobushige has fallen!” reached Morozumi Bungo-no-Kami’s ears in alternating waves.

The Death of Morozumi Bungo-no-Kami Those who met their end in battle were said to have uttered words tinged with premonition before that very day. “Since this morning, it had been repeatedly said that today’s battle would be Lord Nobushige’s place of death—and now, already, for your honorable younger brother…” By now, the Takeda forces’ signs of defeat were unmistakable across the entire front. “Come, I too shall join you in death!” With that, Morozumi Bungo-no-Kami rushed toward death, now completely disregarding any onlookers as he met each successive enemy in combat. Repelled by that momentum, Kakizaki Izumi-no-Kami’s unit scattered momentarily, but Shibata Owarino-Kami’s unit from the same Uesugi side struck Morozumi’s forces on the flank.

Kakizaki’s unit also counterattacked. Naturally, caught in a pincer attack, Morozumi Bungo-no-Kami found himself in dire straits. “I behold a samurai of renown. I am Matsumura Shin’emon, retainer of Shibata. Yield your head to me.” From behind Morozumi Bungo-no-Kami came a man running while roaring thus. When he turned, there stood a warrior afoot. He bore a spear with a long oak shaft. “Have at you!”

With a roar, he wheeled his horse about and swung downward at stirrup height—the instant Shin'emon's spear struck true against the opponent's mount at the base of its neck. Bungo-no-Kami somersaulted from the saddle.

“I got him! Got him! The head of the Takeda forces’ samurai general, Morozumi Bungo-no-Kami—” Even as Matsumura Shin’emon danced wildly, hoisting the severed head to show both allies and foes, he was already surrounded by Bungo-no-Kami’s retainers—Ishiguro Gorōbyōe, Yamadera Tōemon, Hirose Gōzō, and others—and with a thud fell into that thicket of spears.

The Fate of Kansuke Dōki The two armies that had entered full-scale battle around 8 AM—the Hour of the Dragon—still seethed across the entire field in thick, hazy chaos even at noon’s Hour of the Horse, their death-struggle shrieks never ceasing for an instant. When even the Ushikubo-shu—the iron wall of the Takeda forces said to have never collapsed in any past maelstrom—were seen losing formation and fighting desperate solitary battles, all members of the Takeda army— Is this the end?

They could not help but acknowledge their own total defeat. The Ushikubo-shu were an all-black unit organized entirely of valiant generals and fierce warriors from the same region—Mikawa Ushikubo natives led by Yamamoto Dōki Nyūdō, including Daibutsu Shōzaemon and Isahaya Gorō. From their sedge hats to helmets, armor suits, and banners—all were uniformly jet-black, "When this falls, it will mean the annihilation of the Kō Army."

This was what the Ushikubo-shu had always boasted. Had that day finally come? The Ushikubo unit too had been scattered into utter disarray, and though there were no eyewitnesses, their commander Yamamoto Kansuke had perished in the chaotic melee. According to post-battle merit investigations by the Uesugi side, Yamamoto Nyūdō had been slain through the combined efforts of four retainers from Kakizaki Izumi-no-Kami's household: Hagita Yosaburō, Yoshida Kishirō, Kawada Gunbyōe, and Sakanogi Isohachi.

The location was established near Numaki Myojin Shrine in the Azukinaotoko district, while the site where they washed the severed heads was said to be Mizusawa within Hachiman Plain. However, since they had washed not just one monk’s head there but actually three—and one among them bore resemblance—it was reported as Yamamoto Nyūdō’s severed head. Consequently, even within the Uesugi clan, later generations would... "Indeed, whether this was truly Kansuke Dōki’s severed head remains unclear." ...this too had been called into question.

In truth, the very existence of Yamamoto Kansuke himself had long been questioned: *Buko Zakki* records that Kamiizumi Ise-no-Kami and his disciple Torahaku encountered Yamamoto Kansuke at the Makino residence in Mikawa Ushikubo while returning to Kyoto, while *Hokuetsu Gunki* writes as if he existed yet simultaneously suggests his absence. In the *Kōyō Gunkan*, as the presenter of Lord Shingen’s military code, Baba Mino presented the manner in which the army was formed. In other provinces, determining battlefields; regarding other formations, Hara Hayato and Motsupara received consultations.

Given this, there was no mention of anyone named Yamamoto Kansuke as the so-called openly acknowledged camp strategist. However, when considering to what extent one could rely on the veracity of works such as the *Kōyō Gunkan* and *Buko Zakki*, there remained inherent limitations. Therefore, we shall proceed under the assumption that a man called Kansuke was indeed present there, confining ourselves to noting only the regret of having no means to scrutinize the particulars of his final moments.

Through the Blood Whether firearms' flames ignited dry leaves or scattered embers from trampled campfires sparked a wildfire, the skies over Kawanakajima were choked with ink-black smoke. Within that smoke, the sun—now nearing the Hour of the Sheep (around 2 PM)—smoldered like a single coral bead. Reports spread of valiant warriors falling one after another—beginning with Hatsukano Gengorō of Kai—and with Lord Takeda Nobushige, Shingen’s brother, along with samurai commanders Morozumi, Yamamoto, and Naitō being successively struck down. The Kō Army’s encampment now appeared on the very brink of annihilation.

Kenshin struck his saddle pommel at this moment, “The moment to achieve our years-long ambition is now!”

He looked around at his surrounding retainers.

Of course, since this morning, he had not established his position in a fixed location. He himself created raging waves and was dashing about unrestrainedly. Those riding before and behind his horse, striving constantly not to lose sight of their lord’s figure, were unquestionably the twelve retainers who had been selected from the very beginning of their nighttime descent from Saijosan Mountain.

Chisaka Naizen, Ichikawa Shōzen, Ōkuni Heima, and others—at that moment, seven or eight faces remained visible, but the remaining several had already been wounded or slain in battle, no longer seen near Kenshin. "Advance. Do not lag!" Kenshin hurled these words brusquely. With a crack of his whip against Hōjōtsukige's flank, his form streaked like a meteor into the ranks of Takeda Tarō Yoshinobu's forces. "Agh! For our liege!" "For our liege!"

“Now is the time! We recognize My Lord’s resolve to achieve the long-awaited ambition here and now.” The retainers also charged after him. However, neither Kenshin advancing ahead nor they on foot were traversing an empty field, of course. Enemies blocked them from the front. Enemies attacked them from the side. Enemies surrounded them from behind. Kicking them aside, thrusting them down, stomping over them—it was an endless advance through blood, a relentless surge of fierce exertion. Naturally—Kenshin, followed by his retainers, was joined by other scattered units surging in from behind, and there they forged a single torrent amidst the raging waves.

Three thousand six or seven hundred warriors—allies and foes intermingled—stabbed and were stabbed, slashed and were slashed, grappling for the cotton padding of each other’s armor, tumbling together in struggles; seizing a head only to find it their own lord’s, they would demand its return with spear thrusts or leap to cut down the claimant; pages of sixteen or seventeen, down to the lowliest sandal-bearers, formed groups to fight, clasping hands in combat until finally skewered together, clutching each other’s topknots—not a single soul among friend or foe emerged unscathed from that maelstrom.

This is what the *Kōyō Gunkan* records, though one can imagine the clash's ferocity matched precisely its descriptions. In any case, Takeda Tarō Yoshinobu's unit was overrun in moments. Having endured the so-called carnage of dismembered limbs and gore, Kenshin had already plunged headlong toward Shingen's central army—detected since dawn's first light.

Sudden Rain and Lightning Kenshin bent his upper body on horseback as far as possible, pressing his face into the horse’s mane. It was not to evade arrows or bullets.

"Shingen is nearby," he thought. This was because he had thought so. Until he could see Shingen, he desperately wanted to avoid being recognized as Kenshin by enemy eyes. Moreover, he had no desire to engage any foe other than Shingen. Therefore, his disguise had been made particularly plain even during their encampment. Over black-laced armor he wore a yellow-green damask jacket, his face wrapped in a white silk hood like a traveler's—nowhere could be seen any ostentation befitting a commander. Yet his steed was the famed Hōjōtsukige, his blade the two-shaku-four-sun Azuki Nagamitsu.

"Shingen - where?" While scanning the area with torch-like eyes, he dashed around near the Hachiman shrine grounds.

When he had come this far, unexpectedly, the enemy did not press close. Numerous soldiers and officers passed by him with bloodshot eyes, yet none could have conceived this was Kenshin, the enemy commander-in-chief. Nor did Kenshin grant them even a glance. Intent solely on confronting Shingen in decisive combat—he trampled over fallen banners, shields, and scattered arms lying upon cedar needles again and again as he searched.

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 is the enemy plotting now?”

Shingen, suspiciously, were in an uproar, having gathered in a cluster with the three monk-warriors and several retainers beside him. When an unusual shout erupted nearby, all present turned around simultaneously— "Shingen! There you are!" Then appeared the figure of a gigantic man astride a massive beast, looming so large before them that their two eyes could not fully grasp it. Ah. Kenshin. Those present must have realized. They were within the curtained enclosure, and those near their lord carried no weapons like spears or nodachi. All at once,

“Look out!” In their panic, the comrades could not even maintain enough space between each other to draw their longswords. “You!” One of the monk-warriors hurled a nearby camp stool far into the distance. Did it hit or not? The camp stool’s whereabouts were unknown. Just like rain, cedar leaves scattered down. For a moment, Kenshin’s figure on horseback seemed caught on the giant cedar’s horizontal branch—but bending low and leaping, Hōjō Tsukige’s legs were already plunging into the throng of people.

"Guh!" The sound resonated. Whether it was a cry from Kenshin's mouth or the sound of Azuki Nagamitsu being swung down - in an instant, a monk-warrior staggered backward from his blade's tip, severed a tent rope, and collapsed supine.

However, that was not Shingen. Shingen dodged, his eyes glinting like those of a fierce tiger ducking into thickets as he watched Kenshin's figure. No—his eyes had scarcely a moment to register it. Kenshin, glancing rightward, twisted his body—still extended from delivering a strike—leftward as he turned toward Shingen, and again— "Haagh!" he roared.

Truly, this time, it was a roar that erupted from the very core of Kenshin’s being. In an instant, Shingen thrust out the military command fan in his right hand and slightly lowered his face toward his left shoulder. Shingen dropped the military command fan from his numb hand. And as he shifted his position like a great phoenix taking flight and gripped the tachi’s hilt, Kenshin’s second strike slashed through the space where he had pivoted. That was the instant. Hara Ōsumi, Commander of the Guards, picked up the spear with the mother-of-pearl-inlaid haft that had fallen in the distance,

“Grah!” With a snarl-like cry, he charged forward, but in the nick of time to save his lord Shingen from peril, he thrust his spear upward at the mounted foe. Kenshin paid no heed, “Kizan, you dishonorable cur!” As he brandished his third strike, Kenshin attempted to leap—horse and all—onto Shingen. For Takeda Shingen, wounded in his right arm while clutching his elbow, had twisted his body and pretended to turn his back. Aimed at his retreating shoulders, Azuki Nagamitsu’s blade flashed—but in nearly the same instant, Hōjō Tsukige let out a piercing neigh and reared up on its hind legs——all because Hara Ōsumi, having acted too hastily, had thrust his spear in vain,

“Tch!” —all because he had adjusted his reversed spear and struck Kenshin’s three-headed horse with all his might.

Hatamoto versus Hatamoto "I can't see him!" "Where?!" "Has he already fallen?!" Chisaka Naizen, Wada Hyōbu, Ōkuni Heima, Oni-Kojima Yatarō, and eight or nine other hatamoto—all on foot—had lost sight of their lord Kenshin amidst the chaos. "We who never left our lord's side for even an instant have now lost him alone in enemy territory—if calamity should strike, we'll become the laughingstock of the age, a disgrace for generations to come." And so they ran about hither and thither in a frenzy, like trees howling in a tempest,

“My lord!” “My Lord!” they shouted as they searched. Then two comrades from the same unit—Imokawa Heidayū and Nagai Genshirō—appeared as if from nowhere. Like sparrows battered by a tempest, they were seen hurtling headlong toward the distant tent screens’ shadow. “Ah! Heidayū!” “Heidayū!” “Then our lord must be there too!” The men vied fiercely to reach those canvas enclosures first. No—not just Uesugi’s twelve elite guards. Even Takeda retainers—who had been darting frantically between nearby enemy huts and tent screens—hearing some strange clamor from their lord Shingen’s headquarters, had all converged on the same spot.

Naturally. As they closed in on that spot, Kenshin’s elite guards and Shingen’s elite guards became so densely packed that their bodies collided with one another. Yet neither side paid any heed to the enemies flanking them. The Takeda elite guards, fearing the worst for Shingen, and the Uesugi elite guards likewise anxious for Kenshin’s safety—both sides, in the face of their blazing eyes and ferocious stances, had room for nothing but their lords’ peril—nothing else existed. At this moment, Kenshin charged alone into Shingen’s headquarters, saw Shingen himself with his own eyes, and though he unleashed Azuki Nagamitsu’s first strike and then a second—both proved futile, merely inflicting a light wound on Shingen’s right arm—he was obstructed by the enemy’s Hara Ōsumi, who struck his mount’s hindquarters with a spear shaft. As a result, Hōjō Tsukige reared up in shock with Kenshin still mounted and bolted sideways out of the encampment.

"Ah—" Amidst indescribable chaos, it could still be said that things were somewhat fortunate. Perhaps having stumbled over a tree root or something, Hōjō Tsukige lurched forward. And Kenshin had been thrown from his horse with tremendous force. Hara Ōsumi, who had given chase, along with several other spears,

“Got you!” Eagerly closing in on Kenshin’s figure, they leapt forward to surround him. “Look! His peril!” “His peril!”

How could the Uesugi elite guards possibly overlook this? With a thunderous roar, they charged sideways in a fierce dash. “Stand back!” and aligned their spearheads to block. Hōjō Tsukige, bearing an empty saddle, galloped recklessly into Nagasaka Chikan’s encampment during this commotion. As for Kenshin, Oni-Kojima Yatarō had swiftly grabbed the halter of a stray horse and dragged it over, so he leapt onto its back and immediately applied the whip, “Return! Return!”

Calling out to his retainers, he once more cut through the swarming enemies and swiftly retreated into their own ranks.

Nobuhiko’s Voice His arrival had been swift, but his departure was swifter still. That said, the reason Kenshin hurried to withdraw was that his elite guards and the enemy’s elite guards had erupted into a ferocious life-and-death struggle with their spear screens clashing—and at that very moment, Hara Ōsumi of the Takeda forces shouted loudly, “Now is our moment for victory! Look! From Saijosan come our night-raiding detached forces—Lord Kōsaka, Lord Baba, Lord Amari, Lord Oyamada, and all their units—charging here like swift clouds!”

because Hara Ōsumi had been shouting this over and over. The reason Kenshin had been rushing since dawn to decisively determine victory or defeat, and what had constantly weighed on his mind, was indeed the movement of those ten Takeda detached forces. Moreover, though he had left behind a regrettable single strike against the enemy commander Shingen, having thoroughly trampled his central army, he released part of the grudge that had festered over years— Here...

Having swiftly contemplated the strategic "shift" in military momentum, he executed a clean withdrawal with agile footwork. With Kenshin's retreat, his elite guards—Ichikawa Shōzen, Chisaka Naizen, Wada Hyōbu, Imokawa Heidayū, and others—all naturally followed in his wake, dashing toward friendly lines.

As they dashed out, Imokawa Heidayū and Oni-Kojima Yatarō, “The honorable head of Takeda Daizen-dayū Harunobu—Imokawa Heidayū has slain him!” “The honorable head of Shingen! We, Oni-Kojima Yatarō and Imokawa Heidayū of Uesugi, have joined forces to take it! Takeda forces! Do not block the path of the honorable head!”

They passed through, shouting at the top of their voices. Of course, it was a falsehood. However, Hara Ōsumi’s earlier shout—"Our Saijosan Mountain detached force is nearly here!"—had also been nothing more than spur-of-the-moment quick thinking. Such exchanges of words could, at times, demonstrate combat power surpassing that exerted through physical exertion.

In spear combat, mounted combat, hand-to-hand combat, close-quarters combat—even when friend and foe intermingled, utterly drenched in gore and grappling with flesh—battles were by no means fought in silence. No—rather, enemies and allies alike barked and shouted something at each other, unleashing all manner of curses and screams. But most of what they were barking made little sense. Some warriors had even developed the habit of chanting Buddhist prayers as they fought. Amidst the chaotic fray, voices chanting “Nenpi Kannonriki, tōjin dan dan e” —“By Kannon’s power, blades shatter!”—could often be heard. Some young warriors repeated their ancestors’ names like incantations, while others roared “Wassho!” like woodcutters’ work cries or charged forward bellowing “Yah! Hoy! Yah! Hoy!” in rhythm with their slashes, as if rowing a great ship’s oars.

Regardless of intent—conscious or unconscious—they unleashed every conceivable voice. Amidst this cacophony, any samurai who could interject with words that diverted the enemy's focus and galvanized allied morale—uttering such apt phrases with precisely timed spontaneity—would have to be either a warrior seasoned through countless battles or an individual possessing both exceptional courage and strategic acumen. Be that as it may, that day saw a gale erupting past noon, so fierce that figures from both sides swirled indistinctly in billowing sand—a storm so thick survivors later recounted thinking night had fallen, only to realize the sun still hung in the sky.

The hooves of warhorses churned up the earth in utter disarray, and soldiers kicked up that very soil. This compounded the chaos further, and with various rumors flying about, numerous instances of friendly fire occurred—even among Takeda forces and Uesugi troops—during this period. Above all, “Lord Shingen has been struck down!” Though fleeting, this rumor spread through Takeda’s ranks like a cursed talisman, and in moments, an air of desolate demoralization shrouded the entire army.

At last, having regained their composure and restored Shingen's camp stool to its proper place at his headquarters—where the matter had now become known—Naitō Shuri raced about on horseback to all friendly positions, spreading word as if confronting a grave crisis.

“My Lord is in good spirits! My Lord commands without hindrance. Should any among you be swayed by the enemy’s lies and disrupt our resolve—cut them down, even if they are allies!” Though this proclamation finally quelled the uneasy unrest throughout the entire camp, the Takeda headquarters—whose very core had been trampled by Kenshin’s cavalry—found it impossible to readily recover from both their shock and the disarray of their battle formations.

However, this forbearance was an endurance that only Takeda Shingen could have mustered. To the Kōshū forces, who had deliberately endured a defensive struggle from start to finish, auspicious news arrived before long. “They’ve been spotted! “Ten units of our allied forces—from both downstream and upstream of the Chikuma River over there—” In the treetops of Hachiman Forest, those who had climbed for reconnaissance shouted down this report in loud voices, and the commanders below immediately headed toward Shingen’s encampment to relay the same message.

The battle situation shifted decisively. It was too late. The arrival of allied reinforcements diverted from Saijosan came far too belatedly. Shingen and all Takeda commanders and soldiers who had been locked in desperate combat—

(What are they doing?)

And until this very moment, he must have been seething with rage in his heart. However, from the perspective of those who had advanced toward Saijosan Mountain only to find themselves standing in Kenshin’s deserted camp after his departure, there were understandable aspects to their delay.

From morning until just before noon, thick fog made discerning the Uesugi forces' direction impossible—one contributing factor—but above all, they had exercised extreme caution, fearing potential stratagems from the Uesugi side as they prepared to shift their course of action. Another factor emerged when descending the mountain to begin river crossings: on Komori riverside hill across the water stood Amakasu Ōmi-no-Kami—renowned Uesugi commander—who had secured control of the Twelve Rapids area. Strike when enemies ford rivers at mid-current.

he had prepared with a stance exactly as prescribed by Sun Tzu’s Art of War.

Because of this, time dragged on further, and amidst their fragmented discussions, gunfire could be heard in the distant Kawanakajima direction. A battle cry rose; where once there had been fog, a thick haze of dust from horses now billowed into view. "Damn it!" The enemy’s main force had instead launched a fierce assault on our own thinly defended main forces. "There can be no delay." They commenced their crossing from both upstream and downstream in two prongs. Unlike a lone rider crossing, preparations were required and time was needed. The troop numbers here, though a detached force, far exceeded those of Shingen’s main force that had earlier advanced to Hachiman Plain—organized into ten commanders leading ten units, totaling twelve thousand strong.

It was precisely for this reason that Kenshin had been most vigilant against this mass of forces moving from Saijosan Mountain. To counter this, Amakasu Ōmi-no-Kami, who had been positioned in full force on Komori Hill since that morning, shouted "Now!" and unleashed a barrage of arrows and firearms against the enemy before they could set foot on this shore. Within effective firing range across the water's surface, spray like rain erupted; the water turned crimson as countless men fell, floating and sinking while being swept away.

Initially, Kenshin appeared to have left nearly all his army's firearms units behind there. His own forces had been prepared from the outset for "single-stroke" tactics—a decisive all-out assault—anticipating that bows and firearms would prove unnecessary. Yet they were prepared for casualties during the crossing from the start; these were no green troops to balk at such losses. In an instant, units including Baba Mimbu and Amari Saemon surged upstream from below, while upstream contingents like Kōyamada Bitchū, Obata Yamashiro, and Sanada Danjō made landfall.

At this moment, the efforts of Amakasu Ōmi-no-Kami of Echigo and his men were truly remarkable—so much so that their deeds would be recounted for generations to come,

――The Uesugi had their Amakasu. Though their deeds became renowned throughout the realm, a single detached unit lacking communication with the main army could not―no matter how fiercely they fought―long hold back the tide of twelve thousand. The enemy forces that had surged from upstream had already reached Hachiman Plain. Having finally joined forces with Yamagata Masakage's unit―which had been driven back to near-death conditions―they instantly counterattacked the opposing enemy army before them―the triumphant Kakizaki Unit of Echigo―pursued them relentlessly, and routed their ranks.

The fresh Kōshū forces that had advanced from downstream relentlessly pressed against the Uesugi rear. From this field's edge, new reinforcements answered the distant war cries—"Waaah! Waaah!"—roaring from the main Takeda forces at Hachiman Shrine where Shingen stood, raising vigorous battle shouts of their own as they fiercely struck the Uesugi flank. There rushed Echigo's Naoe, Yasuda, and Arakawa units. Pushing, being pushed—like endless raging tides—blood swirled like smoke. The sun was about to set.

“Yatarō! Yatarō!” “Understood!” “Plant the flag around here.” “Understood.”

Kenshin discarded his horse and stood in the field. Far behind lay the allies' rear. As Oni-Kojima Yatarō held aloft two banners—one bearing the character "毘" and the other a sun emblem—Kenshin ordered Unno Samanosuke, the conch blower, “Blow the conch.” he ordered. He did not specify what signal to blow on the conch. Yet Unno Samanosuke the conch blower understood. Because at this very moment, five or six retainers such as Ōkuni Heima, Wada Kihee, and Ichikawa Shōzen from their lord’s left and right began rushing toward their allies in all directions,

“Withdraw immediately.”

they were dashing out in all directions to relay their lord’s command. “This battle ends here.”

Kenshin, letting the wind blow against his face still damp with sweat that had not yet cooled, murmured loudly. "I am concerned for Lord Kakizaki Izumi and others—our allies who have advanced as far as Hirose—but is it sufficient to rely solely on the conch signal?" Chisaka Naizen said with worried eyes, stretching up repeatedly to peer into the distance.

Chisaka Naizen stretched up repeatedly to peer into the distance, his eyes filled with worry.

"Then..." Kenshin too seemed to be considering it. For their allies there had found their retreat path cut off by the Kōshū army's main force and the fresh enemy troops that had crossed the Chikuma River and linked up with them. "No—it should be fine." "Lord Izumi-no-Kami will undoubtedly break through the enemy's fresh forces from the flank and make his way here." "Therefore, Amakasu still holds Komori, and the forces here—Naoe Yamato-no-Kami, Yasuda, Arakawa, and others—can regroup and withdraw together."

Just as he had predicted, the allies gradually began to regroup and return. And yet. An irreversible reversal of the tide. Up to this point, it had been clear— "I have prevailed." Kenshin too had believed this, but now that twelve thousand fresh troops had joined him, he had no choice but to withdraw his forces; instead, he reversed the submission from that morning and— Do you see now? As if declaring their intent, they would launch a full-scale attack, ride the momentum, and this time pursue with thorough ferocity.

No—if things went badly, the allies might face annihilation at this very moment. A battle formation that had reversed the tide by shifting its ground now displayed such a dangerous and sinister aspect. Yet composure still showed on Kenshin’s face. He gazed at his own banner while surveying the allies withdrawing from all directions, contemplating these thoughts in his mind.

"I won. Truly won. But this victory—how can I truly claim it? How can I see it through to the end?" While he judged his own battle concluded, the Takeda army’s fight was likely just beginning. When he looked up at the eclipse-like sky, the sun appeared to be precisely at the Hour of the Monkey (4 PM).

Unaware—Kenshin and

Someone was there. About ten horsemen, bathed in the crimson western sun.

But in the grass, evening darkness had begun to gather. The wind blew desolate, thick with gloom. There, a group of about ten horsemen—indistinguishable as friend or foe—had planted a banner and were scanning their surroundings. On the white field of the standard, the character “毘” stood prominently visible. “Enemy!” “A fine commander!” The Takeda forces came charging forth. They remained unaware this was Kenshin. Nor had Kenshin’s side recognized these warriors as Takeda troops until they drew perilously near.

“Are they Shibata’s forces? Or Kakizaki’s men?” They had mistaken them for nothing more than a contingent of their own allies who had swiftly approached upon spotting the banner there. However, when they had drawn within about a hundred paces, “It’s Kōsaka!”

Then, as Nagai Genjirō shouted beside Kenshin, for the first time everyone—

“Look out!” They unconsciously shielded their lord with their bodies. Kōsaka Danjō’s subordinates numbered two or three hundred—dozens of times more than Kenshin’s hatamoto. Yet fortune favored them, for this was merely a contingent of Kōsaka’s forces, not their main body. “That head!” Though they charged toward Kenshin, they lacked both clear purpose and a resolute commander. By chance amidst the chaotic battle, they had spotted a small cluster of enemies and come solely to annihilate them.

"You rabble!" Those protecting Kenshin fought with every ounce of their strength. Nagai Genjirō, Takemata Chōshichi, and Oni-Kojima Yatarō first leapt forward and plunged into the enemy ranks. When confronting them with such a small force, had they been overwhelmed by superior numbers, become fearful, and focused solely on defending narrow ground, their isolation would have become complete, leaving them entirely at the enemy's mercy. The enemy, contrary to their dense formation, had already scattered like shadows even before Nagai, Oni-Kojima, Takemata, and others could launch their furious charge.

Two or three shadows appeared to press forward ferociously, thrusting spears and raising swords, but Kenshin’s surroundings were filled almost entirely with elite flag guards who stood preeminent even among the Echigo forces. They were no match. The large blades of their tachi and nagamaki swept through their targets, scattering them in disarray, “Hrah!” “Hrah!” Thus, they continued calling out to one another without pause.

There were a mere ten or so allies. This was both because scattering would be disadvantageous and because they sought not to break the protective formation serving as their lord Kenshin's shield. Kenshin was already on horseback. Uno Samanosuke and Chisaka Naizen ran while grasping the bridle. Following behind, Inaba Hikoroku, Wada Hyōbu, Iwai Tōshirō, and others continued charging—cutting down approaching enemies as they advanced, then halting to guard the rear. A general of a wounded army is like a mother's heart. Kenshin spurred his horse and raced to the bank of the Sai River in one breath.

A mere quarter-hour ago, he had single-handedly galloped through the Kai army's headquarters and delivered a flash of light above Shingen's head—yet now, as he withdrew, there was neither gnashing of teeth nor hesitation in his bearing. His bearing was calm and composed. "Wait, wait, Chisaka." Chisaka Naizen immediately tried to lead his horse into the current to cross the river, but Kenshin refused and once more brought the horse to a halt there.

“Ah, there you are, My Lord.”

Earlier, Ōkuni Heima and Ichikawa Shōzen, who had gone to relay the order for a full withdrawal to various allied forces, returned one after another to his side.

As they continued to linger, Oni-Kojima Yatarō, Nagai Genjirō, Takemata Chōshichi, and several others—having repelled Kōsaka’s vanguard and finally carved a bloodied path—now gathered here, their forms crimson-stained. By tens and twenties, other allies gradually gathered around. However, their military types and affiliations were varied. Even seeing this, one could perceive how both their main forces and each unit had been fragmented, struggling wherever they were, with the entire front plunging into chaos.

The water gurgled coldly, the wind moaned bleakly, and with the deepening dusk came an intensifying chill—yet Kenshin's heart could not but ache with sorrow for his officers and men who had yet to return. Shinbata Owari. Niitsu Tango. What of Honjō Echizen? Hōjō Aki? Had Kakizaki secured a clean retreat? And Naoe... The man who had seemed a war god capable of crushing demons now surveyed the twilight-veiled field, murmuring these thoughts unbidden—his bearing as singularly focused as a mother standing gateward awaiting a child who would never come home.

“All is well. There is no need for concern.”

Ōkuni Heima said encouragingly, “The enemy reinforcements from Saijosan—being a large force and fresh troops—are difficult to hold off entirely. However, all our allies are gradually withdrawing toward this side of the Sai River and Tanba Island. There may be units who, unaware that My Lord still remains stationed in this area, have crossed the Sai River and retreated far to the rear.” Following Heima’s words, the others also spoke to Kenshin in unison.

“Your Lordship remaining here with such numbers may instead be causing confusion in our allies’ regrouping.” “With all haste, may Your Lordship cross the Sai River and withdraw to secure ground.” “If Your Lordship remains here, there is no telling when peril may strike again.”

Kenshin accepted the admonition. With that resolve, he turned his horse toward the riverside to cross the river. Upstream at this sandbar called Tanba Island, there were places where horses could stand and humans could ford by wading in up to their necks, but from here downstream, the river was decisively deeper. The Chikuma's current flowed gently with shallow fords, but the Sai River was far more turbulent in comparison. The water level of this river reaches its shallowest and driest at the peak of midsummer in July. By September and October—the rainy season in mountainous regions—the water level typically rises rapidly by four or five shaku annually, and particularly downstream from Tanba Island, there remained not a single ford shallow enough for humans to cross on foot.

Kenshin's anxiety and his repeated muttering of "retreat" must have stemmed from concern over this very point. Of course, the allied commanders all knew the river's depths and shallows. But such basic knowledge was equally possessed by the Takeda commanders. Thus, now that the enemy held the advantageous position, they were likely directing their vanguard's spearhead and encirclement formations downstream along the Sai River with maximum effort. Kenshin and his banner guards—numbering approximately a hundred men—first remained behind while a dozen lower-ranking samurai entered the river upstream, using their spears as staffs and sending up sprays of water. Their purpose was to search for a shallow ford to guide their lord's path.

However, those guides suddenly collapsed in the middle of the river, sending up sprays. It was not firearms. Nearby, the twang of a bowstring resounded. In the blink of an eye, the elite Kai army led by Takeda Yoshinobu— "Charge!"

“Take the initiative!” They came charging like a gale-force wind. This assault bore a blood-soaked ferocity beyond comparison to even a single unit of Kōsaka’s forces that had been attacked earlier. Indeed, it carried a fury verging on madness. Some waded into the river up to their shins while Kenshin remained on the bank. Naturally, churning the water into spray, those midstream turned back.

Takemata Chōshichi clashed swords with a fierce foe, slew him, immediately grappled with the next enemy, tumbled headlong, and rolled toward the water's edge. "Hyah!" He stood up from the bloodied mire and charged straight into the swarming Kai soldiers. One plate of his armor skirt hung torn, his helmet gone, wind whipping through his disheveled hair. Before Kenshin's eyes, Honda Ukonnosuke battled an unidentified stalwart commander of the Kai army. Their struggle resembled two eagles locked in mortal combat.

Wada Hyōbu and Uno Samanosuke, fighting side by side, kept their two spears aligned as they engaged each successive enemy. A single spear thrust. Could even this be considered a minor tactic? Moreover, not a single attendant surrounding Kenshin remained untainted by fresh blood. Over a hundred men were cut down to forty or fifty in the blink of an eye. The enemy also piled up countless corpses. Moreover, they did not retreat easily, nor did they falter. And for good reason—this was a unit led by Taro Yoshinobu, whose father Shingen had been wounded and whose own forces had once faced annihilation, now reorganized with fresh reinforcements.

“If we do not cleanse the disgrace of our first engagement, we cannot face the people of Kōshū alive while drawing breath.” Such was the leader of indomitable spirit and his elite warriors.

The sole regret lay in this: even Takeda Yoshinobu—despite twilight having darkened the water’s surface—ultimately let Kenshin slip away before his very eyes, never realizing he was Uesugi Kenshin.

Life arises from death. Kenshin spurred his horse's flank once more and galloped. Was this night's fog all blood? Across the face of the harvest moon drifted an eerie aura, like ink blown upon paper.

“Samanosuke. Where are we?” “I believe this is the Mimaki Hatano Ford.” “Well now... We’ve withdrawn quite far indeed.” Disconsolately, he looked up at the moon from his saddle. And repeatedly, Kenshin blinked one eye. The blood that had drenched him from forehead to cheek was drying on his eyelashes, threatening to seal his eyes shut. “Are you the only one? And those who followed?” “That is my understanding.” Samanosuke, too, grew despondent. But Kenshin suddenly shrugged his shoulders and laughed, as though something had struck him as funny.

“If we cross here, we’ll reach Takanashi Mountain’s foothills. It connects to Nakano-suji. Then let us ford it. Samanosuke, find the shallows.” “Yes!” The stretch before them didn’t seem particularly deep. Samanosuke silently tugged the bit, steering his horse into the current. The water bit like ice.

And white waves washed over the saddle. Kenshin muttered. As if reciting a poem. "In death, there is life. In life, there is no life. Ah, how precious, how precious. He perceived the autumn water's chill. Kenshin still appeared undefeated by death." In death, there is life. In life, there is no life. This phrase was Kenshin’s everyday utterance, used in all manner of situations. Regarding this matter, his retainers had heard a certain story.

When Kenshin was twenty-four or twenty-five years old, he met an old monk in Kasugayama's castle town. "Reverend, where are you going?"

Kenshin asked from horseback. The monk was Sōken of Rinsen-ji Temple; he looked up, “Castle Lord, where are you bound?” the monk countered.

“Then - my departure to the battlefield.”

When Kenshin said this, "Oh, how disquieting..."

The monk merely bowed once and began to depart into the crowd along 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 the sin of arrogance. And tell him to impart a single teaching for Kenshin’s sake.” (Am I to go apologize?) On the verge of departure for battle, Seishichirō thought resentfully, but he chased after Sōken and conveyed the message.

Sōken returned and said, "How humbling..."

With that, he returned, “I possess no teachings or such. If there is anything this humble monk can answer, I shall respond to whatever you ask.” With that, he crossed his sleeves and stood still.

Kenshin, remaining dismounted from his horse, inquired with the courteous deference due a teacher.

“They say that when advancing troops, one should make divine speed the rule,” Kenshin posed. “And what do you take as your guiding principle when spreading the Dharma?” “When advancing troops,” Sōken responded, “one must put death first.” His robes rustled faintly as he adjusted his stance. “In spreading the Dharma too—death must lead.” A dry chuckle escaped him. “Those who walk this earth today know life but remain ignorant of death—ah! Nothing more than mistaking before for after.” “One more question,” Kenshin pressed. The monk’s brows furrowed faintly beneath his straw hat. “To retreat upon seeing weakness,” Kenshin’s voice sharpened like drawn steel, “yet advance toward strength—is this inversion?” His hand tightened imperceptibly on his reins. “Or proper order?”

“Those who do not fear death are at ease; those who delight in life are in peril. Strength and weakness, advance and retreat; delusion and enlightenment regarding life and death—all are contained within this. And what about you, My Lord?” Abruptly presented with this counterquestion, Kenshin fell silent for a moment, pressing his lips together, but eventually responded thus. “In death, there is life. In life, there is no life.” Then Monk Sōken laughed heartily,

“Very well, very well. …Then you may go.”

He bowed and sent him off to battle. Later, it is said that after his triumphant return, he would don plain clothes, enter Rinsen-ji Temple, personally pay his respects to Zen Master Sōken, and from then on study deeply. It is said that the "Ken" in Kenshin’s name was a character he had requested from his teacher to adopt. Even looking at the journals from his youth recorded by his scribe,

Though His Lordship was present in the main enclosure, there was never a single person in his private quarters. Only the attendants were kept waiting nearby. There was nothing to hinder his engagement with Zen studies, it states.

One could see how deeply he had devoted himself to Zen, and his mentor was Sōken, the seventh-generation abbot of Rinsen-ji Temple. That said, he was not solely devoted to Zen; he had also deeply inclined his heart toward Shinto, Confucianism, and Buddhism. He revered heaven and earth and understood the folly of humankind. As for Buddhism itself, he thoroughly studied its various sects—Jōdo, Hokke-shū, Tendai, Shinshū—without discrimination, drew out their essence, and stored them all within the jar of his heart.

The Unbroken Line

From Hachiman 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 at their ridges and spears gleaming flashed like countless fish leaping amidst the roaring waves of armies; by now, warriors' attire, horo banner colors, even shadowed flags—friend and foe alike—had become indistinguishable. The newly arrived forces—Kōsaka, Amari, Oyamada, Yamagata, Baba, and Sanada units—created small encirclements at various positions and annihilated the Uesugi troops trapped within each. The disarray of Uesugi's ranks stemmed above all from the pressure exerted by this formidable Kōshū army that had wheeled back from Saijōsan Mountain.

Amidst this chaos, fifteen hundred Uesugi troops maintained flawless formation. These were forces under Amakasu Ōmi-no-Kami, who had begun withdrawing gradually from the Komori vicinity. Step by step they sounded conch shells to rally scattered allies, cutting down foes to front and flank as they retreated with majestic composure toward the Sai River. "A masterful retreat."

And even the enemy forces of Sanada and Kōsaka saw them off. And then, for reasons unknown, those two units suddenly turned their heels and withdrew toward Kaizu Castle. Later, within the Kōshū army, the withdrawal of the Sanada and Kōsaka units came to be criticized—

(Why?) There were those who criticized this, but Shingen responded— No—considering our seventy percent victory, their withdrawal while intact was rather a masterstroke, not something to criticize. —handing down this decisive judgment. 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 retainers in tow—meaning they had not withdrawn from the battlefield ahead of their main forces.

What remained piled across the aftermath were the day's wounded and fallen warriors. The figures toiling through the night dew—drenched and laboring—were only cleanup troops transporting corpses and injured men to their respective camps. On Sai River's bank, Amakasu Ōmi-no-Kami stood with a great banner planted, awaiting gathering allies as he blew low, droning notes on his conch shell for over an hour more.

When the remaining soldiers drawn by its sound gathered from various places until their numbers exceeded three thousand, they eventually crossed the river northward and made camp at Katsurao. On this day, after seven to eight hours of fierce fighting that had lasted since morning, the casualties on both sides were: Kōshū forces: 4,630 or more dead Echigo forces: 3,470 or more dead. There are also records stating the Kōshū army’s combined officers and soldiers numbered over 3,200 dead. Ancient records also indicate the Uesugi forces lost 3,117 men. However, regardless of which casualty count one accepts, it remained an indisputable fact that while the Kōshū forces saw Takeda Shingen and his son Taro Nobunobu wounded—with many renowned commanders such as Nobushige of the clan, Morozumi Bungo-no-Kami, Yamamoto Dōki, and Ogasawara Wakasa either killed or injured—the Echigo forces suffered not a single general's death in contrast. The Uesugi forces’ casualties stemmed from the moment the enemy’s Saijosan-turned reinforcements joined as fresh troops, with most losses occurring among lower-ranking soldiers—either because they became easy prey for Takeda forces amidst the chaotic rout, or due to recklessly rushing into the deep stretches of the Sai River downstream of Tanba Island, where they were swept away by the current or struck by arrows.

Lone figure.

A single trace of moon. Master and retainer—two figures.

All that reached the ears was the sound of insects. In this vicinity, neither dwellings nor lamplight could be found; as if oblivious to the day's great battle, it lay thick with dew and overgrown with grasses.

“Is there no house?” “We shall find one as we walk.” “Sama no Suke. You must be cold.” “As I walk holding the horse’s bit, I naturally forget the cold. …But My Lord—soaked through on horseback—your body must be chilled.” “I want fire. …This cold feels unlike autumn’s.” At Mimaki fields, master and retainer who had crossed the river left trails of droplets along their path as they searched for village lights.

Kenshin suddenly reined in his horse, “Isn’t that one of our men? It seems someone is calling out from behind.” With that, he turned around. While grasping the horse’s bit, Sama no Suke also strained his eyes. Beneath the white moon, a figure came dashing forward as if dancing. As soon as he drew near, the figure spoke with ragged breath.

“My Lord! Is that you?” “Oh. Wada Kihei?” “Ah... ah...” The moment he saw his lord unharmed, Kihei nearly collapsed where he stood. Having waded through that river to reach this place, he resembled a drenched rat—though the blood staining his head and face remained unwashed. “What became of my men?”

Questioned by Kenshin, he once more steeled himself and replied. “Wada Hyōbu stayed behind at the rear, cut down many enemies, and finally met his end.” “Did Hyōbu also fall in battle?” “And as for Lord Uno Yogoro…” Kihei began, but upon meeting the gaze of Sama no Suke—who walked alongside the horse’s bit—his words trailed into indistinct murmurs. Uno Yogoro was Sama no Suke’s younger brother, after all.

“Lord Wada. Did Yogoro also perish?” He had no choice but to answer under the older brother’s gaze. “In the chaotic fray, he fought with distinction—yet bore grievous wounds across his body, his agony plain to see. This humble one carried him upon my shoulders until we reached the shallows of Mimaki River. When we had waded midway into the current… he whispered in my ear: ‘Even should I reach My Lord now, this broken form would but burden you. Having exhausted every means to serve… I take my leave.’”

“Oh. And then?” “With a sudden gasp—in the blink of an eye, he wrenched free from this humble one’s grasp, pulled away from my shoulder, and cast himself into the raging current to drown.” “I called and shouted, but there was no shadow left, no voice remaining.” “...I see.” Sama no Suke kept his face tilted upward, addressing the moon. Kenshin wordlessly urged his horse forward. At dawn, the commander—surrounded by thirteen thousand soldiers—would depart the battlefield with but two retainers at his side. What, indeed, must have been the emotions of this master and retainer? The battlefield could be called a vast training ground where heaven and earth formed a single hall. In Kenshin’s moonlit, white face, not a trace of defeat could be seen. Rather, around his lips there was even a hint of refreshing ease after having completed a task and of being wholly engrossed in plans for the next battle.

Wolf.

“Ah, I can see a light.”

As Sama no Suke walked along and reported up to the horse, thinking he had finally spotted a dwelling, “No—that can’t be a farmhouse’s fire.” Kenshin shook his head in response. Now that it was mentioned, the firelight seemed a bit too large to be merely a lamp or a farmhouse’s cooking fire.

“Indeed, as you say—there appears to be someone maintaining a large bonfire.” After advancing two or three chō down the path, Uno Sama no Suke too began showing suspicion. When Wada Kihei proposed to scout ahead, Kenshin— “There is no need. The Takeda forces would have no cause to be dispersed this far. Without doubt, this must be a band of ronin who—anticipating today’s battle—have laid ambush along escape routes to waylay fleeing warriors.” “If they are ronin, their numbers would not exceed twenty or thirty.” “Moreover, they’re naught but a known rabble of masterless rogues.” “Since Lord Kihei and I shall clear the way, please rest awhile beneath the trees and await us, My Lord.”

As Sama no Suke was about to dash off, Kenshin— “Stop. Stop.” With that, he turned his horse and—

“Let’s take a detour elsewhere, even if it means going farther. Kihei, find a side path.” he said. Kenshin, who had dared to breach the Takeda army’s thousand-strong iron wall and charge alone into their headquarters, turned his horse upon seeing the ronin’s bonfires blocking the path and began to search for a safe detour.

That night, they crossed Hoshina's mountain path and took a brief sleep in the shade of a large tree.

The next day, they departed from Takaino Village, crossed Yamada, and descended toward Sarashina. That night too, they encountered rōnin, but with no way to avoid them, Kihei and Sama no Suke scattered the band and pressed on. However, this group of rōnin, recognizing the value of Kenshin’s saddle and armor, pursued them with relentless tenacity wherever they went. At dusk, they arrived at the river known as Yasuda Crossing. When they looked back, about a hundred meters behind them, a clamoring group of rōnin was making a racket. The absurd thing was, they did not actually approach. They resembled a pack of wolves waiting to pounce at the slightest opening.

"There's something good here. Let's lead the horses over there to cross." A thick rope stretched from this embankment toward the opposite bank. Beneath it, horses and men boarded the tethered raft. As they hauled the rope and reached midstream, forty or fifty figures reappeared on the embankment behind them—the rōnin who had given chase. "They're howling like beasts," Wada Kihei remarked. When Kihei and Sama no Suke laughed aboard the raft, two or three limp arrows came flying. They appeared to have matchlocks too, but no bullets. Only countless faces bared white teeth.

The raft calmly reached the shore. As Kenshin moved onto the horse's back,

"Sama no Suke. “Cut that ferry rope.”

he commanded. As Uno Sama no Suke drew his sword and severed the thick rope, it slapped against the water's surface, traced a great arc through the air, and drifted away downstream.

White teeth, bristly heads, shadows of large hands—on the opposite embankment, they seemed to be barking curses once more, stomping their feet and causing an uproar. This was no longer a battlefield. This was the ordinary world.

Buckwheat flowers As Kenshin retreated along the Echigo Road—whether at this Yasuda Crossing or elsewhere—when he approached the path at dusk, (Ahead in the distance, two rivers seemed visible—but if this were the Chikuma River’s course, there could not be two.) (Perhaps we took the wrong path) Just as he thought this, Wada Kihei laughed, (Even My Lord appears weary. That line there is not a river—it’s buckwheat flowers blooming across the entire field.)

it is said he replied.

Such stories have been preserved in this region and passed down as local legends, but this one appears to be some sort of fallacy. By the tenth day of the ninth month in the lunar calendar, it was already too late for buckwheat flowers to be in full bloom. It is thought that this piece of folklore arose from Wada Kihei meeting an unnatural death immediately after returning to Kasugayama following the battle. It was probably food poisoning or something along the way.

When they arrived at Kasugayama Castle, Kihei suffered severe vomiting and diarrhea and died. Kenshin— (How pitiable.)

Despite Kenshin personally administering medicine into his mouth, he passed away. Without any specific claimant, it came to be told that Wada Kihei had died vomiting blood - that this incident, where a commander of Kenshin's stature had mistaken buckwheat flowers for a river, could stand as a lifelong disgrace. Were this known publicly, it would become a laughingstock throughout the realm. Thus upon returning to the castle, he immediately killed Kihei. That must have been the case.

Thus went the rumors.

It was likely a fabrication by the Takeda faction. In any case, it was baseless slander.

However, it can be reliably surmised that the path taken by Kenshin and his retinue from Kawanakajima into Echigo was fraught with hardships beyond imagination. They apparently faced difficulties not only in finding places to sleep but also in obtaining food. There are countless local legends associated with this journey, but most seem to be variations on the buckwheat flower incident.

A Departing Bird Leaves No Trace

To the southeast of Zenkoji Temple, before the Susohanagawa River, Naoe Yamato-no-Kami assembled the large and small baggage trains and incorporated in full the scattered soldiers from other units.

On the day after the great battle, and the day after that, they remained standing their ground.

Meanwhile, they had also established full contact with Amakasu Ōmi-no-Kami, who had withdrawn as far as the Sai River while gathering remnants. Then, having joined forces, they dispatched troops from the Kawanakajima wilderness to every corner of nearby villages and completely gathered all fallen comrades, wounded soldiers, and even broken banners into their camp. Of course, regarding their lord’s safety, based on accounts from Chisaka Naizen, Imokawa Heidayū, and other retainers who had served as rear guard upstream on the Sai River, it had been concluded that he had returned safely to his domain. As for the retainers themselves—though they could not know for certain—they had agreed to follow in Kenshin’s wake—

“That would only end up revealing our lord’s path to the enemy.” Naoe Yamato-no-Kami strenuously stopped them. There was no need for haste. He declared that this was not only vital for securing their withdrawal route but also served as preparation for their next campaign.

In the aftermath of the battle, mere days ago. On the Takeda army’s side, which had been observing this situation from afar,

“Naoe and Amakasu remain at the nearby Susohanagawa River, rallying their defeated troops. If each of us leads a detachment and strikes there like a gale, none will return alive to Echigo.” Led by Obata Yamashiro-no-Kami, all the impassioned generals came before Shingen to offer this counsel and press their case, but Shingen— “No, no—better refrain. Though bearing grievous wounds, they maintain composure near our camp for three days now—admirable foes despite being enemies. Should we attack rashly and provoke a cornered rat to bite, it would be I, Shingen, who becomes the world’s laughingstock—far more than any of you.”

With those words, he refused to permit it. From the third to the fourth day, the Echigo forces gradually withdrew northward with banners and drums held high, maintaining the same disciplined formation they had when first arriving at this plain.

Victory Cheer After the Uesugi forces had completely withdrawn, Hatsukano Den'emon went to inspect the area, galloped a circuit, and returned. "Not a single husk from our provisions remains scattered at the site," he reported. Shingen heard this and said, "Observe—had we attacked such disciplined foes, we would surely have lost no fewer than an equal number of our own men."

he said to those around him. However, the generals said in unison, “Since you have held the field at Hachiman Plain to the very end, there can be no doubt of our glorious victory in this honorable battle. We humbly believe it is proper that Your Lordship duly perform the victory ceremony.”

they declared.

To this, Shingen had no objection. Having lost a brother of his clan, several generals, and thousands of subordinates, been wounded himself, and even seen his eldest son Taro Yoshinobu sustain injuries in multiple places—yet, “They are disarrayed; we stand united. He departed; we remain.” And upon these credible facts, his heart swelled with pride in their victory. “Purify the stage (battlefield).” Takeda Shingen commanded the preparations.

All officers who had withdrawn to Kaizu—including Kōsaka Danjō—assembled. The ceremony required extensive space. The entire army formed ranks and stood solemnly arrayed; at the central purified ground they enshrined the god of war, sprinkled saltwater, erected a sakaki branch upon an unvarnished wooden altar, and lit ritual lamps.

Then, the overlapping commanders of the headquarters were assigned roles as follows and stood solemnly facing the altar. 1. Bearer of the Ancestral Banner: Kōsaka Danjō 1. Bearer of the Sun Tzu Honored Banner: Yamagata Saburōbyōe 1. Right Flank, Nanten Bow: Koyamada Bitchū-no-Kami 1. Left Flank, Nanten Bow: Baba Minbu-shōyū 1. Battle Drum: Abe Ōi-no-Suke 1. Battle Conch: Nagasaka Nagahisa 1. Honored Arms: Ōbu Hyōbu-shōyū 1. Mother-of-pearl Spear: Obata Yamashiro-no-Kami

1. Wooden Clappers: Amari Saemonnojō Commander Shingen sat slightly apart on a camp stool, his clan and retainers positioned behind him. His right hand was wrapped in bandages. The white cloth stood out starkly against his figure. Through his silence, he imparted an unspoken lesson to the Kōshū samurai's very souls. When a general knelt reverently before the stool to present a lacquered tray of ceremonial foods, Shingen plucked a single victory chestnut from it and snapped open his great sun-and-moon fan with his left hand.

And as soon as he stood up, he faced the vast sky,

“Heave! Heave! Huzzah…!” he said. Following that resounding roar, all soldiers of the entire army—from the generals down—raised their voices to full volume, “Heave! Heave! Huzzah…!”

They raised a victory cry. They repeated this three times. Peace reigns under heaven; the nation's land lies tranquil; all people are secure; hostile foes are vanquished. The Nanten bows swished, swished through the wind. Again, with heaven and earth itself seeming to roar, their shouts of "Heave! Huzzah—!" became mere battle cries, became cheers of triumph; releasing the fervor and emotion coursing through their bodies into the sky, until finally—unbeknownst to themselves—it all turned into tears streaming down their cheeks. They did not know why, but their cheeks simply grew wet with it.

Public opinion was divided between right and wrong.

Even after withdrawing completely to Kasugayama, Kenshin and all members of the Uesugi faction steadfastly believed in their great triumph without doubt: "Our side achieved victory." "The enemy's Shingen and his son were wounded." "The Kōshū clan generals died side by side, yet not a single commander's head from our ranks fell to the enemy." However, similarly on the Takeda army's side, "The Kōshū Army's Great Victory!" they endlessly proclaimed their triumph, maintained their position at Hachiman Plain, conducted an imposing victory ceremony, and withdrew to Kōfu.

Thus, regarding this great battle of Kawanakajima in the Fourth Year of Eiroku [1561], debates arose both in military circles and among the general populace over whether true victory lay with Kōshū or Echigo. Some claimed Kenshin's triumph, others declared Shingen's victory, and from that very time onward, heated arguments over right and wrong were already being vigorously exchanged.

Ōta Sanraku Nyūdō was one of those military strategists counted among at least the top five or seven renowned generals of the Warring States period, and these words have been transmitted as his appraisal of the battle: "In the initial clash at Kawanakajima—referring to the combat situation from dawn until mid-morning—it would not be excessive to state that Kenshin held eight-tenths of the advantage. When viewed through their battle formations alone, Uesugi's vanguard had deeply breached even the Takeda forces' third and fourth defensive lines. Considering how even Shingen's inner circle—who had prided themselves on never allowing enemy feet near their elite guard—were penetrated by Kenshin alone, one can scarcely doubt how the Takeda army had temporarily fallen into perilous disarray. That numerous key commanders lay dead side by side, that Shingen and his son sustained wounds, that even his brother Nobushige met his end—these irrefutable facts show they had been driven to the very brink of catastrophic defeat. Yet when examining the battle's latter phase from afternoon until dusk, the situation reversed entirely, leaving no question that seven-tenths of victory belonged to Shingen. This reversal began the instant fresh troops from the Saijosan detachment struck the Uesugi army's flank during their moment of respite, compelling their total retreat—a disaster born from Commander Kenshin himself abandoning his central position to force swift resolution, only for the resurgent Kōshū Army to overturn his efforts midway. When one reflects on Kenshin's desperate resolve in this moment, none can withhold bitter tears for his enduring grievance. 'Yet when broadly assessing both sides thus,' he concluded, 'this battle stands as a stalemate—neither victory nor defeat—in fair judgment.'"

In addition to Ōta Sanraku’s battle assessment, it was recorded that Tokugawa Ieyasu—during his later years in Sunpu—gathered veterans such as Yokota Jin’emon, a former Takeda retainer, and Hirose Mino to assess Kawanakajima’s lasting significance.

Ieyasu said: "That battle was a pivotal moment that could determine their rise or fall for both Kōshū and Echigo, so it stands to reason that neither side acted rashly and exercised due caution. Yet even so, Shingen was being a bit too cautious. In response to Kenshin having taken position in the perilous terrain of Saijosan and deliberately adopting a sacrificial formation, Shingen’s own wisdom had turned against him, revealing its limitations. Moreover, had he devised a plan to intercept Kenshin mid-crossing as he descended from Saijosan and forded the river from midnight to dawn on the ninth day of the ninth month, the main Echigo forces would surely have met their destruction in the Chikuma River. Pushing them out to Hachiman Plain and adopting a stance to strike the enemy army from the rear after they had set foot on the plain was an uncharacteristic blunder for Shingen. In short, he observed Kenshin’s forces but somewhat failed to discern Commander Kenshin’s true intentions."

While there existed various individual theories from military scholars, they were largely encapsulated by the critiques of Sanraku and Ieyasu. However, what can be observed here from a modern perspective is this: Shingen confronted the battle through sheer physical might and veteran pragmatism, while Kenshin consistently transcended conventional military logic, summoning an elevated spirit beyond academic theories or common sense to wage this engagement with such mastery. Had Kenshin exercised caution like Shingen and adhered to conventional wisdom by marching to Kawanakajima, judging from both pre-battle circumstances and surrounding conditions, the Uesugi of Echigo could never have attained such honor. Whatever public opinion may claim, for Kenshin himself, this battle fought through an absolute path and peerless tactics must have been a resounding success. In essence, whether defending his domain or launching campaigns, his conviction stemmed from a single principle:

――Life exists in death; in life there is no life. It was all summed up in that single phrase.

The Forgotten Thing

"Den'u. “Den’emon.”

Shingen suddenly called out. They were on the march back to Kōfu. From the ranks of the elite guard, Hatsukano Den'emon steered his horse sideways and moved closer, as if to ask, "Was it your summons?"

Shingen nodded and, "Ah—I just remembered. I left something behind on the battlefield." Now, what had become of it? He was suddenly gripped by concern. "Hurry—turn back and retrieve what was forgotten." "Your forgotten item? ... But what exactly did you leave behind?" "A pitiable thing. A girl not yet twenty in traveler's garb. When she wandered lost through arrowfire, I ordered soldiers to shelter her with the shrine priests at Hachiman Plain. Return at once to confirm her safety. No—retrieve her."

“I am deeply grateful,” Den’emon replied, his voice thick with emotion. “That you noticed her without my knowledge... This fortunate one shall humbly accept your gracious words.” “There will be no consequences if you alone arrive late to Kōfu,” Shingen declared. “Escort her back at a leisurely pace and return triumphant.” The main army marched onward toward Kōfu, leaving him behind. Moved to tears by his lord’s benevolence, Den’emon turned his horse back toward yesterday’s battlefield.

Overnight rain had washed away the blood that had soaked the earth, and in the days that followed, under night and morning mists devoid of human presence, the trampled grass leaves and flowers all came back to life, raising their forms once more. At the edge of Hachiman Plain's forest, Hatsukano Den'emon tethered his horse.

Who had swept it clean was unclear, but the shrine precincts were so immaculate that even broom marks remained visible. All traces of that demonic carnage had been erased, leaving only crimson ivy leaves amidst desolation and the blue-tinged dimness of cedar groves discernible there.

Den’emon walked around to the back of the shrine priests’ residence. Near the well where someone once drew water, the shrine priest’s wife was washing the infant’s diapers. “Ah?” The shrine priest’s wife, having turned around casually, upon seeing Den’emon’s figure, immediately leapt up with her hands still wet as if struck by the terror of that fierce battle from days past, her face trembling intensely. And then, Den’emon, while minding his demeanor, inquired in an especially gentle tone.

“In your household, there is a young woman named Tsuruna being cared for, I believe.” “I am Tsuruna’s relative.” “Den’emon of Kōfu has come to fetch her.” “Could you tell her that?” “Yes. … Understood.”

The shrine priest’s wife wiped her hands while retreating backward from him. Then suddenly she rushed from the kitchen entrance into the interior.

Inside the house, Tsuruna’s voice rang out. Tsuruna had not yet healed from her bullet wound and lay on her sickbed, but upon hearing that her father Den’emon had come, she crawled out to the engawa and cried out. “Father!”

On this day, Den'emon was not the man with the fearsome countenance he had worn before. Striding purposefully closer, he deeply embraced this pitiable figure in his arms, “Daughter… Daughter…” was all he could say before falling silent for a time. While watching from the interior as the father and daughter embraced there, unnoticed by others, the shrine priest’s wife opened her robe with a puzzled look and nursed her child.

The Wu-Yue Path

The next day, Hatsukano Den'emon headed toward Kōfu via what was called "Shingen's Bōdō (Log Road)," the father and daughter riding together on the back of a single horse.

His body was still clad in armor, but with his lord's permission, he had now fully become Tsuruna's father.

More than being granted a castle or receiving a province, he felt this to be the supreme act of his lord's benevolence. “Tsuruna.” “Yes.” “Do you remember your mother’s face?” “I won’t forget.” “Your aunt’s face?” “I remember.” “Your brothers?” “Faintly…” “Did you ever resent your heartless parents?” “Not in the slightest. I only hoped that if the war ended quickly, I might return to your side.” “Now you’ve returned to your father’s side.”

“Will I have to go back to Echigo again someday?” “There, there. This time, you’ll be going to your marital home.”

Their journey became an unhurried one. Autumn deepened. Tsuruna was in a dream-like state.

Then, as Kōfu drew near, a group of travelers appeared from afar.

“Ah…?” Tsuruna clung to her father’s back. The horse carried but one rider. She alone could neither flee nor hide. “Tsuruna. What frightens you?” When Den’emon turned, reining in his mount to ask, Tsuruna lifted her eyes like a startled warbler. “Those approaching from afar are all Echigo warriors. Among them is Lord Kurokawa Ōsumi. Lord Ōsumi was my master. The one who until yesterday had raised me as their own child. What should I do?”

“I see.” Den’emon too peered intently into the distance,

“The two on horseback appear to be Ōsumi and Saitō Shimotsuke. The others are Echigo warriors who had previously come to Kōfu as envoys and were captured during the battle. Hmm, why have they come here?” While he stood there suspiciously, the group of about ten people drew near before his eyes.

“Well, well. If it isn’t Lord Hatsukano.”

With vigor, they were the first to call out from their side. It was none other than the one-eyed envoy Saitō Shimotsuke. Along with deputy envoy Kurokawa Ōsumi and his retinue. “Oh. Lord Shimotsuke?” “Lord Shimotsuke?” From both sides, they brought their horses together and began conversing fondly, as though they were old friends. “Your party, having already been captured by us and thereafter supposed to be in Kōfu’s prison—how is it that you’ve come to appear here?”

“Therefore behold—we’ve received Lord Shingen’s written permit and passed through every gate and checkpoint unimpeded. We most certainly did not come here through prison breaks or such underhanded means.” “Naturally nothing could occur without Lord Shingen’s gracious permission. Yet even so—to unconditionally release your party immediately upon his provincial return—this sits ill with me. By what rationale was your repatriation permitted?”

“Ha ha ha ha”

In his usual manner, Saitō Shimotsuke roared with laughter while, "This battle has now come to an end, for the time being. After all, what purpose would it serve for them to keep useless mouths like us locked in Kōfu’s prison indefinitely? Were they to execute us, Echigo holds several dozen of Lord Shingen’s spies and associates captive—they could always repay the favor by cutting off those heads. Recognizing this, that ever-prudent Lord saw fit yesterday to untie our bonds, grant us this missive, and declare: ‘Since we are releasing you and graciously sending you back to your province, you must safely release and let go the Kai Province retainers held captive at Kasugayama.’ In other words, they proposed an exchange of lives—enemies for allies. While our lives are hardly worth desiring in the first place, we thought it unwise to rashly refuse this offer of salvation and cast it aside. Now that the battle has finally ended, we are on our way back to Echigo."

“Ah—that clarifies matters,” he said. “First, let me congratulate you on your safe return.” “And you—having fought at Kawanakajima while successfully retrieving your daughter after all this time—what greater cause for celebration could there be?” “Your discernment does you credit,” came the reply. “On my daughter’s behalf, I offer particular thanks to Lord Kurokawa Ōsumi.”

Exchanging courtesies, those returning to Kōfu and the group bound for Echigo passed each other on the road—one heading east, the other west. And after some time had passed, when Tsuruna turned to look back, Lord Kurokawa Ōsumi too was gazing in this direction. While harboring deep personal bonds and gratitude, on this Sengoku warpath, such partings and greetings were exchanged without any hint of unnaturalness—even on days without battle, all transpiring in silent solemnity. "He is Echigo."

"He is a warrior of Kōshū." They had drawn clear boundaries between their homelands and unhesitatingly desired to live and die for their respective countries.

Autumn Grass Memorial

Bellflowers had faded, and pampas grass stood tall.

Saitō Shimotsuke's party passed diagonally through Kawanakajima and turned 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 fill that place, yet everything—the castle’s form, the mountains and rivers’ appearance—lay bathed in peaceful light as if to declare, "Where was there ever any battle?" "—Kōshū forces dead: over 4,600. Uesugi forces dead: over 3,470. Ah... such a great sacrifice." Kurokawa Ōsumi was enveloped in immeasurable emotions. Though not entirely accurate, reports of both armies' battle conditions and losses had already spread along the roadside. By the time they had come here, the party had learned of those matters in considerable detail.

“Shall we rest a while?”

Shimotsuke dismounted from his horse and sat down among the autumn grass. The branching streams of the Chikuma River babbled nearby as they flowed. Where had their allies struggled during the great battle of days past? Where had those many faces that came to mind—acquaintances from home, relatives, someone's elder brother, someone's younger brother—fought and met their end? As he lost himself in thought, he failed to notice when the sun had begun to set. And tightly—"I must not let the three thousand lives who buried their bones here die in vain."

Saitō Shimotsuke could not help but make a vow in his heart. As if he could no longer bear to remain still, he suddenly stepped around to the horse's back and called out to his retinue.

“Hey there!” “Let’s go.” “The sun’s setting.... Forward we press.”

People were scattered across the field. Looking around at their figures—some piling stones to build towers, others gathering fragments of armor and helmet bowls while breaking off flowers for memorial rites—they had been paying their respects. But when they suddenly turned at his call, they discarded both stones and flowers, each rushing as they pleased to gather around Saitō Shimotsuke’s horse.

Quiet Night

It was said that even their second sons had met noble ends. It was said that even the master of that house had performed unparalleled deeds and died gloriously in battle. The surviving families must surely have held their heads high. Their daily conduct could be glimpsed as ever. How they must have yearned to emulate such examples in battles yet to come.

After the Battle of Kawanakajima had also concluded.

Kasugayama's castle town was abuzz with such rumors whenever people gathered for a time. And day after day, everyone—each and every person—cast aside their own homes to attend funeral processions for the battlefield dead and visit the houses of bereaved families.

The narrow province of Echigo alone had suffered over three thousand battlefield deaths at once. This postwar phenomenon was not limited to Kasugayama’s castle town. Whether one went to villages or mountain hamlets, the scent of incense smoke lingered. The temple bells tolled every day. Uesugi Kenshin selected an auspicious day and conducted a grand memorial service at Rinsen-ji Temple in the castle town. Of course, on this day, not only did all members of the household—from the Twenty-Four Generals of Kasugayama downward—attend, but even the bereaved families of low-ranking foot soldiers and the elderly and young from honorable households all took their places at the memorial service, where Kenshin personally addressed them.

In the evening, Kenshin returned to the castle. Facing the late autumn garden, he sat in silence as was his custom. A candle was brought. Even in daily practice, its placement never deviated by so much as a single line of the tatami mats. Thus were his attendants disciplined and meticulously trained.

He had no wife. His evening meal was as austere as that of a Zen monk. When finished, he would immediately return to his chamber. He never used his chamber as a place for feasting. When he returned here and sat, he always reverted to his true self. He would engage in silent meditation or reading, occasionally drawing an inkstone closer to write something. “...Who’s there?” He looked behind.

It was because the sliding door to the anteroom had opened quietly. A figure had entered and, facing backward, was closing the sliding door back into place. Kenshin immediately recalled. —Yoshikiyo. . In the evening, when the attendants brought candles, they had inquired about his private intention, stating that Murakami Yoshikiyo wished to request an audience tonight. Kenshin had completely forgotten he had granted permission for him to come at any time. "Might I disturb you?"

Yoshikiyo prostrated himself at a distance and quietly peered toward the candlelight. He had often heard that when Kenshin sat alone in silent meditation in his chamber, he would usually be absorbed in Zen contemplation; thus tonight too, he approached with trepidation and hesitated. But beside Kenshin—unusually—lay an open book of waka poetry face down, likely the Kokinshū. “No matter,” Kenshin said. “Enter.” Kenshin summoned his attendants and offered a cushion. Murakami Yoshikiyo had long been part of the Uesugi military command structure, but he was no vassal—he remained a guest. What they called a guest general.

The Heart of Poetry “I’ve interrupted your valuable studies.” “No, no—merely a book to pass the idle hours.” “It appears to be a book of waka poetry.” “This is the Kokinshū gifted by Lord Konoe Sakihisa. I do not think to compose waka myself, but even amidst the clamor of war, I wish to retain a heart for poetry.” “When you speak of a heart for poetry...” “Well, how should I put this? ...If I were to call it the Yamato spirit, it might bear some resemblance to that. To put it more simply: softness against strength, love against killing, eternity against the transient, stillness against motion.”

"I'm beginning to understand." "Year after year of battles, day after day of war makes the natural mind single-purposed. Yet when I consider this warring states era's endless future—like traversing a long journey or ascending a high peak—the rhythm of breath becomes vital. Exhaling, inhaling, sustaining its flow without disorder." He paused in reflection. "That essential discipline..." "You charged alone into Shingen's main camp yesterday. Tonight, in this stillness, you contemplate such matters?"

“For instance, koto strings left taut will lose their tension,” said Kenshin. “A bow’s string should be removed when not in use.” “Remove it, and one forgets to reattach it,” Yoshikiyo replied. “Leave it strung, and one neglects to take it off. Such shifts in focus prove difficult for men like us.” “Thus we mortals must face soldiers at dawn and books by lamplight,” Kenshin continued. “The bloodier our path grows, the more we must crave poetry’s essence. To speak plainly—uniting civil and martial arts within one self.” He chuckled dryly. “Simple in theory. Yet arduous in practice—even for Kenshin.”

When he laughed heartily, even the light of the short lampstand seemed to brighten. At that moment, he took one of the wheat cakes an attendant had offered there, sipped some tea, displayed relaxed hospitality, and eventually inquired himself. “Now then, what urgent matter brings you here tonight?” “I shall hear it.” “Lord Yoshikiyo—your complexion seems somewhat poor. What have you done?”

Desperate bird

Yoshikiyo hung his head. He was weeping. "…………"

The candle palely illuminated the silence between host and guest, while the sound of a spring flowing through the garden's stillness dampened the lamplight with its piercing chill. From time to time, leaves struck the eaves of the great hall so fiercely that one might have mistaken them for an autumn shower. "I have reached my decision. "My request is most selfish, but I humbly ask that you grant it." He prostrated himself and spoke. And still he seemed to be weeping. Kenshin appeared unable to comprehend anything. Having listened with his head slightly tilted, he now asked Yoshikiyo once more what exactly this request entailed.

Yoshikiyo wiped his flowing tears, finally straightened his posture, and after humbly expressing gratitude for the kindness he had received up to that day, spoke as follows. “I humbly beseech you to rescind the plea I made to your honorable house nine years ago—that is, to cease your chivalrous protection of the Murakami family effective today.” “I myself shall immediately request my leave and retire to the deep mountains of Kōya or such places.”

With tremendous courage, Yoshikiyo spoke in a single breath. One could honestly accept that this man—inherently good and reserved by nature—must have sworn tremendous resolve and courage in his heart to speak words of such magnitude. “Hoh.” Kenshin opened his already large eyes even wider. “Then... what are you saying? Are you declaring that you’ve abandoned all hope of returning to your ancestral lands in Shinano and reuniting with your former subjects?”

“Yes. …For nine long years, I have received the generous support of My Lord and all the Echigo forces, but—” When he had said this much, Yoshikiyo slumped forward again, dropped both hands onto the tatami mats, and buried his face in them. His hair trembled. White frost could now be seen in that hair. Now, having become a guest of another house, he humbled himself even before Kenshin—yet this man’s blood indeed carried a noble lineage. A descendant branch of the Seiwa Genji, a renowned clan of Shinano. Every time he saw that aged appearance, Kenshin immediately thought of his pitiable circumstances. And he even felt responsible, as if half that sin were his own.

Until over ten years ago, the Murakami clan had flourished in a position revered by all as descendants of Minamoto no Yoriyoshi—ancestral commander-in-chief of the Defense Command—who commanded authority across northern Shinano Province, centered around Sakaki's administrative seat and Katsurao Castle. From around the middle of the Tenbun era onward, they found themselves eroded year after year by the Takeda clan of Kai. With the Battle of Uedahara marking their final stand, their main castle fell, their clan scattered, and their lady cast herself into the Chikuma River to perish—thus did they meet a devastating downfall too horrific to occur in peaceful times.

Tenbun 22, August.

Yoshikiyo had escaped from the defeated army with barely more than his own person and come to Echigo,

*Please save me.* He clung to Kenshin. At that time, Kenshin was still in his twenties. How could one coldly witness the sight of this noble clan brought to its knees, pleading for justice? The words he gave Yoshikiyo then were:

(Very well. Rest assured.) A clear, unequivocal word of consent. From a minor northern domain—remote, lacking in soldiers and horses, with no thriving industry—Kenshin arose to draw the clouds of war and confront the mighty Takeda clan of Kōshū year after year. The very genesis of this lay in that single desperate bird’s arrival in Echigo. This was the catalyst. The conflict between Kenshin and Shingen had its origins there—so it was widely believed by society at large, the people of Echigo, and even the Kōshū faction alike.

Thus, the war that began from a single act of righteous valor has endured for nine long years up to this day.

Moreover, the enemy country was strong. They were Kōyō's fierce generals and brave soldiers, renowned for their elite cavalry; he was Takeda Shingen—a commander counted among history's rare military geniuses.

Yoshikiyo's wish had still not been fulfilled. In Yoshikiyo's former domain, the Takeda invasion still raged with unchecked violence—by recent years, even Yoshikiyo himself had begun resigning to the notion that this state might persist eternally, dismissing his dream of returning to his ancestral lands as nothing more than a fleeting hope.

And then, today— Something had struck Yoshikiyo’s heart with piercing anguish. It was a grand Buddhist memorial service at Rinsenji Temple.

Yoshikiyo's Anguish Yoshikiyo had attended today’s grand memorial service.

Before his eyes, he saw the numerous bereaved families of those who had died in battle at Kawanakajima. He saw them all at today’s memorial service—aged parents, young children now orphaned, pale-faced wives clutching infants, nephews and uncles and nieces, countless relatives bound by loss. Even as the venerable monks Tenshitsu, Sōken, and others of the mountain temple offered the grandest Lotus Sutra rites of the Sōtō school to pray for the heroic spirits' repose, Yoshikiyo could not raise his eyes to gaze upon the altar. Moreover, he averted his eyes and could not look directly at the many bereaved families filling the corridors and floors of the temple grounds.

(All of this ultimately stems from my having fled to Echigo.) He questioned himself alone, blamed himself alone, until he reached a state where he could find no peace whether sitting or standing. Once he began harboring such self-reproach, even the temple bell ringing in his ears seemed like the voices of over three thousand war dead rising to condemn him, leaving Yoshikiyo feeling there was no place left in this world for him to live.

In truth, he had already resolved while at Rinsenji Temple. I will shave my head and enter the Buddhist priesthood. And escape from the sphere of strife and rise and fall. At the same time, I will abandon the dream of returning to my former glory, wash away all attachments, express gratitude for the Uesugi house’s long-standing benevolence, and drift away to withdraw beyond the worldly dust of Kōya. If I do so, these great sacrifices will cease again. As atonement for all I have done until now, I will spend my life solely praying for the repose of the deceased. I will enter the monastic order and atone for it.

“...I have thus resolved.” “The great favor you have shown me—treating this wandering exile almost as your own kin these many years, sheltering Yoshikiyo beneath your protection at the cost of vast military expenditures and the precious blood of your officers and soldiers—is something I shall never forget even in death.” “But should even more countless lives be sacrificed and sorrow brought upon those remaining in your household—Yoshikiyo knows not how he could atone.” “Even were I able to return to my ancestral lands—this one could not take joy alone.” “Though words cannot convey all—with Your Lordship’s compassionate understanding—this selfishness of mine—I humbly beg you forgive.”

At length，Yoshikiyo poured out the depths of his heart． Kenshin had listened with his thin eyes closed for some time，but when he had finished relating his anguish at length，for the first time，he sharply opened his eyelids． “Be silent．” “…Lord Yoshikiyo．” “Be silent．”

His voice was low.

However, it was a tone that pressed down from above with bedrock solidity. Mahayana and Hinayana "Hah! ...Yes."

Yoshikiyo involuntarily shuddered.

In everyday life, they all said Lord Kenshin was just like a woman. Never in all their nine years together had that person directed such a terrifying gaze at him from across the tatami mats. Kenshin never rages. He does not roar. Yet even in the quietest voice, anger resides. Indeed, he was angry.

“What nonsense do you speak? “What absurdity do you utter? “Listening in silence, one might think you regard war as mere human curiosity—some idle diversion for listless men.”

“N-no, that’s absurd! I, Murakami Yoshikiyo—none could claim to have endured war’s hardships more thoroughly than this unworthy one. Precisely because these ravages are known to me down to the marrow...” “Enough!” “Ha...” “For all your years, do not wag your tongue in foolish prattle. War is neither so simple that a single Murakami Yoshikiyo—merely exiled from his domain—could claim full comprehension, nor a matter of such petty significance. Judging by your tone, you seem to have merely passed through war’s shadow. It appears you still know nothing of true war.”

“Is... is that so?” "What a troubled countenance you wear. Having been told this, you must now for the first time harbor doubts about what true war is. You should scoff. Did you truly believe that this Kenshin’s nine-year blood feud with Shingen was merely a shred of righteous loyalty performed at your behest? ……Why? Why?” Kenshin laughed soundlessly with a shrug. And he continued speaking with solemn words. "Consider this. Since the Ōnin War, the world’s darkness has been gradually recognized by regional warlords carving out domains—Tokugawa and Oda rising in the eastern seas, Mōri and Ōuchi in the western seas, Shingen in Kōyasan, here stands Kenshin, Hōjō in Sagami, and at the border of Suruga and Tōtōmi, the Imagawa clan crumbled overnight—until now Japan’s currents have shifted into a swift tide, heralding a great and sudden reformation. In this tidal surge of an era, whether a single Murakami Yoshikiyo—however noble a clan of Shinano he may be—perishes or prospers, lives or dies, it matters not at all. To the currents of Japan, he is but a single straw drifting in the vast sea.”

He particularly emphasized the endings of his sentences. Yoshikiyo had turned deathly pale. Even his thin earlobes, straining to listen, held no trace of blood’s color. “Now, if you ask why this Kenshin has fought Shingen these many years—it is because Kenshin has always acted according to his own principles.” At twenty-three years of age, I first achieved the task of domestic pacification, whereupon my modest merits reached the Imperial ear, and with profound reverence, I was granted the supreme honor of court ranks and official appointments. Though a lowly one seated far from court—never once attending imperial audience—I first received bountiful heavenly favor. Deeming it an incomparable honor, he overcame all hardships the following year: journeyed to the capital, prostrated himself at the imperial court steps, beheld His Majesty at intimate proximity, and was granted the heavenly chalice… Truly, it was at this moment that Kenshin came to know the joy of being born to bear bow and arrow. “I would fight—fight! For as long as this life granted upon earth endures—the nobility of battle, its profound significance—all these truths I engraved upon my liver, permeated into my soul, resolving to cast away my life in defense of the imperial house. With an oath sworn deeply, deeply in my heart that there would be no regrets—thus did I retreat from the capital.”

“……” "Since that time, this Kenshin’s 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—imperial edicts were graciously bestowed upon this unworthy one: commands far exceeding my station to quell disturbances in neighboring lands and march forth to pacify any violent state that would disrupt the imperial realm and torment its people." "As a retainer’s duty, could any exist who would not devote themselves to answering this imperial will?" "Even in this remote northern corner of Echigo, not a single day have I forgotten that gracious edict." "How much more so on days when I mobilize troops—"

The night apparently turned into a passing shower. The sound of rainwater overflowing from the gutters pounded fiercely against the eaves. Kenshin, with his monk-like traveling robe and greenish-brown hood—a man with no wife in his chambers—had eyes that appeared remarkably youthful when he fervently poured forth his true feelings on such matters. At times, he found himself nearly brought to tears alongside Yoshikiyo. Yet Yoshikiyo’s eyes remained drowned in the anguish of petty doctrines and narrow affections, while his own eyes—resembling the sea of the Great Vehicle—though brimming with tears, still caused those who gazed upward to harbor something akin to an oceanic future and warm ambiguity.

Last night, wind and rain struck before the window. “Until this night, I had never truly understood your intentions.” “Compared to the pettiness of my aspirations and my own inadequacies, I can do nothing but feel utterly ashamed.” “…I have imposed these unnecessary trifles of a petty man upon your ears and marred this precious night of tranquility.” “I beg you to grant me your forgiveness.”

He apologized from the bottom of his heart. Moreover, having his ignorance enlightened, he had come to clearly understand for the first time what Kenshin’s wars had aimed for and what significance they held. Once he realized this, Murakami Yoshikiyo himself grew ashamed—ashamed that he had believed, year after year, the battles with Kai had been waged solely for the sake of a single Murakami Yoshikiyo—and felt he wanted to vanish into nothingness.

Kenshin softened his tone,

“No, no—if anything, it is I who unwittingly spoke with some vehemence tonight.” “To speak truthfully—in this recent great battle of Kawanakajima—I have lost over three thousand beloved retainers and vassals raised through years of personal care; even this Kenshin harbors a sorrowful heart unknown to others that proves difficult to heal.” “No—in bearing this pain within my heart—it is I who lash myself most deeply over this heavy responsibility and grief—more than you or any other.” “Especially on a night like this—after battle—made all the more desolate by this drizzling rain—”

He fixed his gaze on the short lamp’s light and seemed about to speak further—but then, perhaps out of consideration for Yoshikiyo’s anguished heart, or perhaps deeming excessive words tasteless, he held back. “Perceive… My own heart as well.” “I understand completely.” “I understand completely.” “Therefore, even if hereafter the battlefields pile high with corpses and this entire province of Echigo becomes filled with wives without husbands and children without fathers—how could that possibly be your fault? Do not let your spirit shrink small as though it were for the sake of a single person alone. Rather than that, you must devote yourself day and night to contemplating how greatly both your single life and Kenshin’s single life may be offered up to the capital while breath remains.”

That night's conversation ended there. However, even after returning to his own residence, Murakami Yoshikiyo spent the entire night reflecting on Kenshin's words, contemplating the depths of his heart. And then he was drawn into a pleasant, peaceful sleep he had somehow forgotten over the past ten years.

Until this day, he had thought of war solely as something horrific, violent, agonizing, and sacrificial. Yet now, having abruptly collided with its grander significance, he came to realize that war was none other than the reclamation of the entire land of Japan—a task unachievable without conflict—through shedding corruption and building anew. The blood spilled and the bleached bones buried were all but offerings converging into this sacred labor.

Since then, Yoshikiyo slept with peaceful snoring, awoke with cheerfulness, stood even more boldly at the forefront on days of battle, and after passing fifty years of age, grew ever more courageous, it is said.

Great Cause and Great Self-Interest

After the Battle of Kawanakajima, there was another incident that revealed Kenshin's magnanimity. It was after a group of envoys—including Saitō Shimotsuke and Kurokawa Ōsumi—who had been captured in Kai Province returned safely to Echigo through Shingen's leniency. In response to this generosity, Kenshin naturally took prompt magnanimous measures. He gathered dozens of Kai Province spies imprisoned across his domain at Kasugayama Castle town, "You were sent here to Echigo under your lord's orders, but returning empty-handed after being captured and seeing nothing beyond prison walls would shame your master and embarrass you before kin and comrades." "In Echigo we've no impregnable fortresses to speak of—go see whatever sites you wish to survey."

Through magistrates, he had this message delivered. Officials then led them away, divided them into several groups, allowed them to tour various locations for about three days, provided them with travel funds, and sent them back beyond the borders.

“However much Shingen may have shown leniency to our envoys, they were legitimate emissaries dispatched to Kai Province. The ones we released were all troublesome enemy spies. This recent measure appears excessively generous.”

It was not exactly criticism, but out of excessive concern, there were some such voices within the household; however, the Kai Province saboteurs released from Echigo territory—

“It’s no use anymore. “We can never enter Kasugayama’s castle town again. “If we’ve been made to walk around all those places in broad daylight for three days, with even the townspeople of Kasugayama’s castle town clearly remembering our faces, no matter how we disguise ourselves next time, we’ll be exposed immediately.” While exchanging these words among themselves, they also came to fear Kenshin’s magnanimity and thus retreated back to Kai Province in disarray, it was said. From this alone, one could perceive that Kenshin’s wars were not mere personal vendettas or selfish acts of aggression. He regarded even enemy soldiers as one of Japan’s people. He was a military strategist who understood the poignancy of existence. He had clearly perceived that even what are called enemies and allies—all the blood coursing within this land of Japan—ultimately belonged to nothing but the singular great life of this nation. It was this understanding that had driven him to rebuke Murakami Yoshikiyo’s timidity, and it was this same mindset firmly rooted within him that had led him to show leniency to the enemy saboteurs.

But he was ultimately a military strategist through and through. He had sworn an oath to achieve absolute victory. Thus even when employing such methods against enemy saboteurs, he never permitted tactical leniency to endanger his own forces. Indeed, these very measures ultimately served to fortify Echigo's defenses in subsequent years.

Moreover, from his every command and utterance to all daily conduct—until the day he met his end in this world at forty-nine years of age—everything was dedicated to achieving victory in war. If he did not win, there was no self; without that self, the realization of his ideals could not be achieved. From loving oneself to daily prudence and even bodily care—rare among military commanders was one as faithful as he in all these things.

Even so, that self was no ordinary self. It differed from a self driven by self-interest and personal desire. Kenshin himself was no longer merely the individual Kenshin—he had become one with the country that had given him life. He was what one might call a public servant—he embodied the very model of a public official there. That he had reached this understanding of the Great Cause and Great Self-Interest from such a young age was undoubtedly due to his two imperial pilgrimages, which solidified his convictions. At twenty-four years old, having ascended from Echigo's remote borders to stand in proximity to imperial majesty at the distant capital—while his young heart was struck by all he witnessed and heard: the desolate state of the Imperial Palace, the decay of court ceremonies, the shogunate's impotence, and society's moral collapse—his grand ambition indeed gushed forth like a spring. By that time, the lifetime of the one known as Uesugi Kenshin had already been determined.

Beauty of mountains and seas

Battlefields may have changed with each passing year, but the wars continued unceasingly even after Kawanakajima. In the fifth year of Eiroku (1562), when Takeda Shingen invaded Ueno Province, Kenshin also took the field to Numata in Jōshū. In the sixth year (1563), he marched to Kantō to rescue Sano Castle, and in the following seventh year (1564), once again took position at Kawanakajima. At this time, it was because Shingen had directed his army toward Hida. —— In the eighth year, July (1565), to restrain Shingen, the Echigo army also entered Shinano.

“It seems Lord Long-Legs of Kai—that Shingen—has been stretching his legs ever longer in his old age.”

Kenshin once jested to this effect—so relentless were Shingen’s multifaceted campaigns year after year. In time, even this Lord Long-Legs finally had his lengthy strides checked by foes, letting out what would be his sole cry of anguish in a lifetime. From Eiroku 11 (1568) through Genki 1 (1570), during these protracted years, saltless existence had taken root in Kai Province. The entire realm fell under salt siege. This reversal came when long-limbed Shingen, having marched his forces to Suruga, suffered counterblows from enemy stratagems. The Imagawa and Hōjō clans allied,

“Not one gō of salt shall enter Shingen’s territories.” They strictly enforced a transportation embargo across Kai and Shinano provinces and parts of Jōshū, decreeing death for anyone who turned a blind eye and sold even a handful of salt to the enemy. For half a year or a year, they managed through stockpiles. Small-scale black market trading also occurred in mountains and rivers. But when this persisted nearly three years, even Shingen grew perplexed. For thirty years he who had never once shown weakness in war—

"What am I to do?" Day after day, he appeared burdened with worry. Historically, the Kai, Shinano, and Kōzuke regions had relied entirely on the Hōjō and Imagawa domains not just for salt but for all marine products, making this deprivation strike with devastating force. The subjects' skin took on a visibly bluish pallor, while the number of ailing people multiplied abruptly. Above all, being deprived of miso and pickles critically endangered the peasants' very means of survival. Consequently, agricultural yields dwindled and morale stagnated—even formidable Kōfu faced inevitable collapse.

“Is this not the moment?” “Is this not the moment to crush Kōfu in one stroke?”

The rumors grew suddenly intense. In Echigo as well, military commanders frequently urged Kenshin. Yet during that period, Kenshin deliberately refrained from mobilizing forces to Kai-Shinano. Not only that—when envoys from the Imagawa clan came seeking alliance in this salt embargo policy—he sent them away with the words: "As our house has long since devised its own measures as a house, there is no need for your counsel." However, that same year he formed an anti-Takeda alliance with Tokugawa Ieyasu of Mikawa, leaving no opening in their stance against Shingen.

Perhaps out of desperation, Shingen continued dispatching troops to various provinces—likely attempting to secure salt through military means. He even pushed into Uesugi territory in Jōshū. Unwilling to tolerate this incursion, Kenshin immediately crossed the Mikuni Mountain Range to repel him. When Shingen withdrew to Kōfu, Kenshin too returned to Echigo. Shortly after his return, Kenshin summoned Kurata Gorōzaemon, the grain storage magistrate: “From what I heard of the Kai-Shinano populace’s plight during this campaign—their salt shortage exceeds all rumors, with peasants’ suffering beyond description. Have our northern sea salt transported immediately to their region through all available land and water routes.”

he commanded.

Gorōzaemon could not believe his ears, “To enemy territory?”

[Kurata] pressed for confirmation doubtfully.—“Exactly so,” Kenshin declared with a firm nod and added a caution.

“Of course, we cannot open the salt storehouses in the castle. Issue an order to the merchants in the castle town and instruct them to sell salt freely to Kai-Shinano’s salt traders. However, there is fear they might exploit this past scarcity to pursue exorbitant profits. Strictly command that all prices remain fixed at Echigo rates and ensure none exceed this standard.”

You and we—

Salt crossed the border endlessly, it was said. The peasants of Kai Province regained their vitality. The towns erupted in commotion. Merchants went about distributing salt with blazing eyes. Those who saw the salt would grasp a handful of the white substance, “Thankful!” and weep. They worshipped it. Salt was offered before shrine deities. Sacred lamps blazed brightly.

―Hearing of these circumstances in detail, even Shingen at Tsutsujigasaki Manor could not keep his eyes from welling up. But he— “……I see.”

Yet he did not utter a single word—neither approval nor disapproval, neither emotion nor criticism—regarding the matter. “...?” Rather, he had initially shown an expression resembling pain. Next, he appeared skeptical. Just as during the great battle of Eiroku 4 when Kenshin had employed his desperate tactics and observed that enigmatic deployment at Saijosan, Shingen found himself enveloped in a fog of mind.

At that moment, a letter arrived. It was from Kenshin at Kasugayama. Still harboring considerable doubts, Shingen opened the letter. The letter was brief. The letter stated: Through countless seasons of war, you and I have called upon each other with arms and answered with arms. The tools of conflict are bow and arrow, but the heart of battle lies in the difference of our intentions. 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 deploy our battle formations.

However, in warfare between military strategists, why resort to rice and salt? These provisions are not meant for your consumption alone—they sustain the common people. The people are the nation's greatest treasure, unrelated to conquest. Who would not despise the base schemes of the Suruga and Sagami lords? Through my domain's merchants supplying salt to your country in recent days, there exists no ulterior motive. I implore you to accept this without reservation. Moreover, let your forces grow ever more formidable in troops and steeds. We shall meet again on the battlefield.

"…………"

Shingen read it twice, thrice. The furrow in his brow cleared. Yet without doubt, he felt profound admiration toward Kenshin. Illuminated by Kenshin’s noble intentions, Shingen’s heart too was beautified. All he felt was a pure, clean breath. He transcended even thoughts of victory or defeat. He carefully folded the letter, pressed it to his forehead, and placed it in the hand box beside him, but even then, Shingen did not let slip a single word of emotion. It seemed he had no words left to express.

Salt Festival

Over these past two or three years, Echigo and Kai had remained fated enemy states, each maintaining their borders, yet their activities were now directed toward entirely different fronts.

From Genki 3 to the following Tenshō 1, Shingen advanced toward the Tōkai region, emerged at Mikatagahara, crushed Tokugawa Ieyasu's army, and pressed as far as their main stronghold of Hamamatsu.

In the same year, Kenshin departed on a campaign to subjugate Etchu starting in August, spent New Year's of Tenshō 1 in the field, completed the conquest around Toyama in March, returned to Kasugayama Castle in April, and soon after—

“It is said that Takeda Harunobu Nyūdō Shingen of Kai passed away within this third month.” He received this report like a bolt from the blue.

Kenshin was in the midst of his midday meal when this news arrived, it is said. He heard the urgent dispatch from a close retainer,

“What? The monk of Kai has passed away, I hear.” “Ah… So the day when I may meet my worthy rival of many years will never come again.” He let his chopsticks fall to his knees and closed his tearful eyes, then murmured these words to admonish his retainers’ morale—or so it is told. “They say a country without enemies will perish.” “Perhaps this may even cause Echigo’s martial vigor to slacken.” “Yet now the goal of honing myself daily—to avoid defeat and overcome a genius like Shingen—has vanished from this world.” “What a waste.” “Truly lonely.”

Among the military commanders within the house, upon hearing this obituary, “It’s a perfect opportunity! The veteran generals of Kōfu must surely be sinking into an abyss of loss, like those who have lost their lantern in the dark of night. If we march in full force now, overthrowing his entire territory in a single morning would be effortless.” and some among them gathered to urge their strategies upon Kenshin. Kenshin laughed.

“Enough, enough,” Kenshin said. “It would only invite the scorn of the realm. If Kai Province could collapse overnight after his death, then Shingen’s passing—he who was its pillar—would not be worth mourning. Yet for three years, Kōfu will stand as an impregnable fortress greater than before. What lies beyond three years remains beyond any man’s knowing.” Afterward, Kenshin dispatched his senior retainers to Kaizu Castle to conduct solemn rites mourning Shingen’s death. When the condolence envoys returned, the full truth of Shingen’s demise had come to light. True to form even in death, he had left exhaustive strategies for his staff and clan—the banners of Kōshū showed no signs of rapid decline.

Shingen's illness had arisen during his military campaign that besieged Hamamatsu Castle and pressed ever further into Mikawa. His death was sudden and came at a critical juncture, giving rise to various alternative theories and skepticism across the provinces; however, the truth seems to be that after lifting the siege of Noda Castle and hastily returning to Kōfu, he fell gravely ill on the journey and by the time he reached Tsutsujigasaki Mansion, he was already a corpse.

On the verge of death, he summoned his legitimate grandson Nobukatsu, Katsuyori, and the clan generals to his bedside, "After I am gone, remain vigilant—do not rashly mobilize troops. Especially with Kenshin of the neighboring province, rely on him with trust—he is not one to betray you." Having left those last words, he then requested a brush, Ultimately returning to others' flesh and bones No rouge applied—elegance of itself

And with trembling hands, he finished writing his final verse—at that very moment, it is said, he breathed his last. From this single act—that during the time between falling ill and dying, he prepared by writing his kaō on eight hundred sheets of paper and left instructions to make the world believe "Shingen lives on" even after death—one could discern how thoroughly he had considered every contingency for what was to come.

The inner thoughts of a hero are known only to heroes. Kenshin’s conjecture had not been off the mark. Just as he had said, even two or three years after Shingen’s death, the Kai Genji Takeda clan still held significant sway over its neighboring regions without showing any signs of collapse. However, once they ventured to Nagashino and suffered a crushing defeat at the hands of the combined Oda and Tokugawa forces, the decline swiftly deepened in Kōshū’s banners, and even their once-formidable elite troops gradually lost their former semblance.

Amidst these circumstances, life’s unforeseen events also befell Kenshin. In the fifth year after Shingen's death, Kenshin too suddenly departed this world. The fact that both heroes left this world with such abruptness was itself a peculiarity, and somehow seemed fated. Kenshin had been truly robust and vigorous in daily life, though he was fond of alcohol. The field cup he reportedly cherished continued to draw tears from his bereaved family and retainers long afterward. Even now, the everyday sake cups preserved at Uesugi Shrine remain astonishingly large. Having no particular preference for side dishes, he would at times down a dipper of sake with just a single pickled plum—making his prodigious drinking habits easy to imagine.

Decreed since days of old Spreading to all directions Reigns in glorious rule

The white snow of a thousand generations

This was his old composition. When he went to the capital in his youth, it is said that he composed this poem while holding a night snow viewing with Shogun Yoshiteru.

Attributing it to the beauty of snow in a single hue, he was already expressing the spirit of restoration he had harbored in his heart at that time. It also revealed a view of the national polity purer than snow.

Yoshiteru was still a shogun at just nineteen years of age at this time. Whether he truly comprehended those ideals remains unclear. Yet Kenshin never wavered in his loyalty, even after Yoshiteru met his unnatural end and Yoshiaki assumed the shogunate. He covertly devoted immense efforts to prop up the teetering Muromachi regime. This brought him into direct conflict with Nobunaga. Nobunaga stood as his polar opposite - a demolisher of institutions. Their inevitable clash raged fiercely across both diplomatic channels and battlefields.