Chapter Forty-Seven: It is Hojo Akitoki, the Kirin of Sagami!

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In this land of Japan, where rites and music have fallen into disarray, daimyos are generally shameless. And those who care about their reputation cannot become daimyos here. Yet, these monkey-crowned daimyos usually take great care to maintain their image before outsiders. That Takeda Shingen could publicly declare treating the Uesugi forces stationed on the outer perimeter of the camp as cannon fodder speaks volumes about the immense pressure the surprise attack by the Hojo raiding party is putting on him. After all, perspective matters.

While the soldiers inside the camp, locked in bloody infighting, are blind to the situation, the generals on the raised platform, including Takeda Shingen, see everything clearly. Under the black veil of night, the thunderous hoofbeats of the Hojo cavalry ring out. They—astonishingly—are the legendary heavily armored cavalry of the Tang dynasty at the height of its power.

“How could such ironclad cavalry appear here?” The already irritable Nobushige grows even more anxious, sweat dripping down his face as he follows his elder brother.

Since ancient times, Japan’s scarcity of resources has made its people incomparable to the great nation across the sea. The idea of everyone donning heavy armor is unimaginable—not only could Japan not craft such armor, but even if they did, how many could bear the weight on the battlefield? The enemy’s horses would trample them before they could even strike a blow.

This explains why lacquered bamboo armor is prevalent here. But now? The soldiers of the Hojo raiding party that just came into view, though not all towering men, are noticeably more robust than Takeda’s usual foot soldiers. They wear heavy iron armor that covers everything but their eyes and wield swords and spears with ease.

This alone means that even without a night raid, if such troops appeared in daylight battle, the morale of Takeda’s allied forces would plummet.

“Both men and horses!” Takeda Shingen also contemplates what Nobushige is thinking. Under his command is a famed unit of red-armored cavalry, and he knows that the strength of a cavalry unit depends as much on the horses as on the men.

Here in Japan, horses are barely larger than donkeys, incapable of carrying a fully armored knight along with the horse’s own armor. Even with his red-armored cavalry, their mounts cannot bear such weight. Thus, forming armored cavalry is like chasing a mirage.

Yet now, the fabled Tang-style armored cavalry, once thought to exist only in dreams, have appeared in the enemy ranks—an impact that is nothing short of shocking.

“I heard that Hojo Akitoki adopted many orphans when he was young,” Nobushige recalls.

“He ate and slept with them, taught them martial arts and strategy.”

“When these orphans grew up, they became his trusted retainers.”

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“It’s precisely because of these men that Hojo Akitoki was able to overthrow his superiors and ascend as head of the Hojo clan.”

Amid their hasty retreat, Nobushige suddenly remembers this unofficial history. He had once dismissed it, thinking a mere boy like Hojo Akitoki couldn’t have had such foresight. After all, everyone had to start somewhere. When he was Akitoki’s age, he was just playing in the countryside causing mischief.

Upon hearing this, Takeda Shingen falls silent, then sighs deeply.

“Could it be that some are born knowing everything? Otherwise, how could one possess such ambition at such a young age?”

While the Takeda brothers discuss and marvel, Hojo Akitoki pays no mind. Eyes fixed on the chaotic battlefield within the camp, where the enemy’s shouts and cries fill the air, he sees all unfolding exactly as he anticipated.

Hojo Akitoki raises his iron spear and sweeps it through the air in a circle.

Don’t forget—the Takeda camp is surrounded by a moat-like trench. A cavalry charge directly into the enemy lines would be suicide.

Fortunately, Takeda Shingen, ever considerate, has already prepared for this.

Outside the camp, over dozens of miles, a sturdy wooden palisade painstakingly erected by Takeda Shingen stands firm.

This palisade becomes the perfect climbing ladder for the Hojo raiding party.

“Follow me!” Hojo Akitoki commands. Mitsuhide Akechi roars, spurring his horse and leading a dozen riders away from the main force.

Taking advantage of the internal chaos within the Takeda army, they ignore the small enemy units and approach the moat outside the camp.

At a chosen section of the wooden wall, they hurl oil-soaked fire bombs—once used against the yokai’s reverse-hair binding—with precise aim.

The fire catches on ropes binding the wooden boards.

Watching the flames lick the wooden walls, they don’t simply stand idle.

With claws in hand, they throw grappling hooks to the top of the wooden palisade, securing them tightly.

Then, shouting together, they urge their horses forward, knowing this is no time to spare their mounts.

Mitsuhide leads, whipping his horse mercilessly.

“Creak!”

Perhaps the Takeda soldiers skimped on their fortifications, or were too weak from hunger to dig deep foundations—the wooden wall collapses more easily than expected, crashing down with a rumble.

It instantly becomes a suspension bridge for the Hojo army’s path to victory.

Estimating the gap, Hojo Akitoki urges his troops forward.

“Three riders at a time, charge in sequence!”

Spotting the breach in the enemy camp, with no organized defense from the Takeda army, Akitoki leads the charge cautiously, ensuring his precious cavalry suffer no unnecessary losses while crossing the makeshift bridge.

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“I am the Kirin of Sagami, Hojo Akitoki! Takeda Shingen, come out and face me!”

Having crossed the bridge and surged into the enemy camp, Hojo Akitoki becomes a grim reaper on the battlefield.

Relying on the height advantage of his horse and the speed of his charge, he looks down with contempt on those who stand before him.

Mounted, he repeatedly plunges his iron spear into enemy soldiers clad in bamboo armor.

Sometimes he uses the spear as a club, smashing enemy heads into their abdomens.

Bloodied and fierce, Hojo Akitoki’s war cry echoes across the field as he leaps and thrusts.

“Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!”

“It’s the Kirin of Sagami! It’s the Kirin of Sagami!”

“Hojo Akitoki has broken through! Hojo Akitoki has broken through!”

The Takeda allied soldiers are thrown into panic, running aimlessly like headless flies.

They watch in hopeless despair as Hojo Akitoki cuts through them like a demon in unstoppable mowing mode.

They cannot summon the courage to resist. Instead, they flee, trampling over each other.

Their cries move onlookers to tears; the soldiers curse themselves for having only two legs, wishing for more to escape.

“Lord has slain a hundred men!” At this moment, Mitsuhide Akechi, Hojo Akitoki’s foremost herald, shouts loudly without bothering to verify the count.

“Oi!”

Instantly, the morale of the Hojo troops surges, joined by Akitoki’s raiders in a deafening roar.

Naturally, the already scarce morale of the Takeda forces plummets further, nearly evaporating.

Unfortunately, the Takeda army is not without reckless warriors.

Eyes fixed on Akitoki’s devastating rampage, some named samurai, driven by a desperate gamble, charge forward.

And so...

“Lord has slain Koizumi Baikuro!”

“Lord has slain Uesugi Kyoichisei!”

“Lord has slain Abe Ichigunsu!”

“Lord has slain Tojo Umeninsei!”

One after another, the cries of Takeda warriors being cut down ring out continuously.

The sound reaches the retreating Takeda Shingen, who covers his face and sighs.

“Are there no fierce warriors in our ranks?”