They were the sounds of a city dying.
My generals clustered around me like carrion, each competing for my attention.
“Daimyo, should we reinforce the eastern assault?”
“The southern approach needs additional archers to—”
“Artillery should target the inner keep before—”
“If we redirect the fifth battalion through—”
“Quiet.” I didn’t raise my voice, but they all fell silent. “The city is ours. They simply haven’t accepted it yet.”
As if the gods wished to prove my point, a new sound rose from within the walls. It wasn’t the screaming of steel, but cheering, triumphant voices raised in celebration.
Every head on the hill turned toward the sound.
On the ramparts, visible even from this distance, the Toshi banner wavered. The elegant swan on its blue silk, a symbol of grace and beauty, trembled like a living thing in its death throes.
For a moment it held, defiant against the wind.
Then it fell.
The swan tumbled from the wall, its silk catching air and floating like the bird it represented, trying one last time to fly. The banner crumpled as it hit the ground, lost among the bodies and blood and rubble.
Another cheer, louder, from a different section of wall.
Another swan fell.
Then another.
Like dominoes, every Toshi banner along the walls dropped or was torn down. Some were cast into the fires. Others were ripped apart by eager hands. One soldier used a fallen banner bearing a bloody swan to wipe his blade.
Then, starting from the eastern breach where my forces had first entered, crimson bloomed along the walls. The open fan ofthe Asami—my symbol, my declaration—rose where the swans had fallen.
One banner, then five, then a dozen.
My soldiers scrambled up the battlements, pushing bodies aside to make room for more flags. Within minutes, the city wore my colors like a conquered bride forced into a new dress.
And there, raising one of the largest banners from the central tower, Katsumi had claimed the highest point in the city, marking our victory for all to see.
The roar from my army was primal.
Thousands of throats opened in victory, the sound rolling across the valley like thunder. Soldiers raised whatever they held—katanastill dripping blood, pikes with heads impaled on their points, bows with no arrows left to shoot. Even the wounded cheered, those who could still draw breath adding their voices to the chorus.
“The gates!” I commanded, spurring my horse forward. “Open the gates! I want to see what we’ve bought with our blood.”
My mount picked its way down the hillside, avoiding the wounded and dead that littered the approach. The smell grew worse as we neared the city—not just smoke and blood now, but excrement and fear-sweat and that particular stench of opened bowels.
War stripped away all dignity of men, left only the meat and its various fluids.
The massive gates groaned open, my engineers working the mechanism from inside; but before I could enter, before I could ride in triumph through the city I’d conquered, a commotion erupted from within. A swarm of my soldiers poured out, at least thirty of them, dragging something—no,someone—between them. They parted like a sea, faces flushed with excitement and bloodlust.
Then they hurled their prize at my horse’s feet.
Toshi DaikiDaimyolanded in the mud with a splash that spoke of broken things.
For a moment, I could hardly reconcile this ruin with the man I’d last seen at court two years ago. Then, he’d stood tall and proud, his broad shoulders filling his formal robes, his thick arms speaking of a youth spent working with the sword. He’d been fifty then but looked forty, with sharp eyes and a carefully waxed beard that he’d stroke while making his points in council.
