Through it all, I caught glimpses of Katsumi, always at the front, always pressing forward. She had inherited my hunger for victory and my refusal to yield even an inch once taken.
I forced my attention back to the wider battle.
A commander who watched only one soldier, even her own blood, lost sight of the greater battle.
“The western assault is in position,Daimyo.” Another messenger, this one a boy who couldn’t have been older than fourteen, his voice steady despite the arrow shaft protruding from his shoulder. “General Saito awaits your signal.”
I raised my fan, its red silk catching the morning light, held it high so Saito could see from his position. Then I snapped it down.
The western gate erupted in flame as my engineers detonated hidden charges they’d placed during the night. The massive doors, reinforced with iron and blessed by priests, vanished in a cloud of splinters and smoke. Through the gap, defenders staggered, deafened and blinded by the explosion.
“Second and third battalions, western gate! Fourth battalion, maintain pressure on the south!” My generals relayed the orders, flags and drums communicating across the battlefield in a language of war I’d spent a lifetime perfecting.
The city was being eaten alive from three directions.
An hour passed.
Then another.
The sun climbed higher, turning the battlefield into a furnace. My armor, lacquered in dark red, absorbed the heat until it felt like wearing an oven. Sweat poured down my back, pooling at my waist, but I didn’t dare move from my position.
A commander who showed discomfort showed weakness.
“Daimyo!” General Kitano pointed toward the southern wall. “Look!”
A group of defenders were fleeing—not toward the keep for a last stand, but toward the northern gate, the only gate we hadn’t attacked.
They were abandoning the city.
“So, Daiki’s famous loyalty inspires men to run.” I smiled. “Let them go. Terrified refugees spread fear better than any army.”
But even as some fled, others fought with incredible fury.
Through my looking glass, I watched as individual combats played out on the walls.
A Toshi Samurai, his armor half melted from oil, still swung hisnaginatain great arcs that kept three of my soldiers at bay.
A young boy struggled to load and fire a crossbow, each bolt seeking a gap in armor.
An old woman pushed a ladder away from the wall with a boat hook, sending five of my men tumbling to their deaths.
And there, now inside the city, was Katsumi again, her unit forming a spear point that drove deeper into the Toshi defenses. A massive Samurai, easily twice her size, charged with histetsuboraised high. She flowed aside, hernaginatataking his leg at the knee. As he fell, she reversed the weapon and drove the butt spike through his throat.
That’s my girl.
Efficient. Brutal. Perfect.
The thought came with pride this time, not fear. She was proving herself, showing all these men that Asami women were worth any three of their warriors.
“The inner wall has been breached!” A messenger, this one missing an eye, the socket a weeping red ruin. “General Yamada is pushing toward the central square!”
“And the granaries?”
“Secured,Daimyo. Minor fire damage to the eastern warehouse, but the grain stores are intact.”
Good. Burned grain feeds no army, and I had many more cities to take.
The cacophony from within the walls had changed. It sounded of less organized resistance and more chaotic slaughter. The disciplined clash of shields had given way to the scatteredviolence of street fighting. I could hear it even from here—doors being kicked in, pottery smashing, women screaming.
