Chapter Seven: The Hōjō Legion and the Battle of the Reversed-Knot Warriors

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Speaking of which, although Akitoki Hojo successfully applied traditions brought from the Eastern University—namely, the black dog, the great rooster, and the ox—to forewarn of the impending attack by the Reverse-Haired Joro, it proved that certain universal truths do indeed transcend realms. Yet, this land remains Japan, and some distinctions persist. For instance, according to some doctrines from the Eastern University, in a military force brimming with youthful vigor, corporeal yokai such as dog spirits or spider spirits, when restrained from acting rashly, can be confronted head-on. However, yokai like the Reverse-Haired Joro, born from vengeful energy and more akin to ghosts, must never be taken lightly. Engaging such an entity in direct combat is out of the question; even approaching would be enough to disrupt the soldiers’ spirits, overwhelmed by the violent aura pervading the ranks.

“Perhaps that yokai possesses a physical form as well?” Akitoki Hojo mused to himself, watching his subordinates prepare for the Reverse-Haired Joro’s approach while casually munching on roasted soybeans. Swarms of vassal samurai poured oil into the ditches surrounding the encampment and swiftly ignited it. Instantly, a pungent odor filled the night air—like burning human hair. Beyond the blazing wall of fire that rose from the trenches, an invisible, wave-like force seemed to batter the flames relentlessly. Despite the fiery barrier, this intangible tide crashed against it wave after wave, causing the flames to flicker unpredictably and stalemating the confrontation, while the scent of scorched hair intensified.

“My hair?” The Reverse-Haired Joro, concealed in the shadows, stared in shock as her sea of hair was halted. Since her birth from vengeful energy, her unique nature had often granted her an advantage in battles against humans and yokai alike. While not invincible, she had always managed to escape unscathed except when facing renowned powerful yokai or those of noble lineage. Her signature ability to manipulate hair had easily overwhelmed many unsuspecting foes, especially humans. Yet today, a mere human army first detected her stealthy approach through animal scouts, and now employed this method to prevent her hair from even nearing them.

Her eyes, adorned with pink eyeshadow, gleamed in matching hues beneath the guise of a strikingly beautiful young woman—sweet and delicate in appearance. The Reverse-Haired Joro, embodying a charming, cute, and refined maiden, was taken aback.

“Still, mere mortal fire is too naive to truly stop my hair,” she said, her flawless skin and long legs wrapped in revealing black ninja attire trembling with anticipation. She coyly placed a delicate hand over her lips, unhurried and confident.

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Could mere mortal flames stop her hair forever? Beyond the seemingly boundless reach of her hair, the flames’ heat could only burn it briefly. Once her hair surged forward again, the fire in the trench would be extinguished! As this thought crossed her mind, the red ribbon tied in her short hair fluttered in the night breeze. Her body, clad in modern, scanty black ninja garb, shuddered with excitement. Her hands roamed her face and body restlessly, yearning for the moment her hair would break through the flames, and then infiltrate the camp to unfurl a blood-red lotus of destruction.

“Ah!” Her crimson lips parted, and she was lost in a trance.

However, the Reverse-Haired Joro’s plan was sound based on her past encounters with human warriors. The problem was that today she faced not an ordinary human force, but the Hojo army led by Akitoki Hojo himself, carrying gifts originally intended for the Takeda and Imagawa clans.

“Master, the flames are losing heat,” Akechi Mitsuhide observed from the command platform, noting the flickering fire wall faltering under pressure.

“Hm.” Hojo nodded, fingers toying with the roasted soybeans, his eyes gleaming with control over the situation.

“Order the vassal samurai to throw objects into the flames; over there,” he pointed to a spot, “don’t throw in anything else—just a small amount of what might be hair-like material to probe.”

“Then, attempt to reveal the form of these invisible entities by prepared means.”

“Once they appear, have the samurai try to strike them with weapons tainted with dog’s blood or other impure substances, or weapons infused with cinnabar’s blood-curse aura.”

“Yes, sir!”

Mitsuhide nodded emphatically, agreeing with Hojo’s judgment that the attacking force was indeed something akin to strands of hair. Filled with admiration for his lord, he methodically issued orders to the samurai below.

Following these commands, the vassal samurai guarding the trenches hurled treated paper packets into the weakening flames. To intensify the fire, some poured additional oil into the ditches.

Watching from afar the human warriors’ desperate struggle, the Reverse-Haired Joro sneered disdainfully.

“A futile attempt to stop me; my hair will never lose to you!”

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Yet, just a moment after mocking the warriors, the Reverse-Haired Joro’s beautiful eyes snapped wide open in disbelief.

“Impossible! How can this be?” she exclaimed.

Before her gaze, the flames in the trench, once seemingly on the verge of collapse beneath her hair’s assault, now stood firm and unyielding as if invigorated.

Her hair, rushing like melting March snow, was being consumed by the fire faster than she could command it.

“What is the cause? Are there monks or onmyoji among the troops?” she asked in alarm, quickly gathering information through her hair’s feedback.

The heat of these flames was unprecedented, astonishing even a yokai like her.

It was no wonder the human warriors within the camp looked sideways at each other in surprise. Those samurai closest to the fire hesitated, constrained only by strict military discipline from retreating.

Even Akechi Mitsuhide, standing some distance from the flames, felt the oppressive heat wave.

“Master!” he looked to the composed and smiling Akitoki Hojo, eager to learn how his lord had wrought such a marvel.

“Have the warriors step back slightly, to places with better airflow,” Hojo instructed.

“There will be some toxic fumes from the fire.”

Smiling approvingly at the scene he had orchestrated, Hojo reflected on the advantages of his modern memories, which allowed him to employ a dimensional advantage. A mixture of gasoline and sugar could reach temperatures of 4000 degrees Celsius in a small area.

Even without gasoline on hand, using ancient fire oil was sufficient to counter the hair of a mere yokai like the Reverse-Haired Joro.

If that proved inadequate, he had more than just sugar at his disposal.

What remained was to see if the blades could harm her hair and threaten her true form.

A mysterious smile curved coldly at the corners of Hojo’s mouth.

“Bastard,” the Reverse-Haired Joro hissed, glaring fiercely at the fiery barrier that stood like an impassable moat before her.

Her volatile eyes then shifted toward Maple Village, where many villagers lived—an ominous thought stirring within her.