Their first incursion into hostile territory was mostly uneventful. Melati reported a few scouts that spotted their advancing army, but that much was to be expected—one didn’t move even an army as small as theirs without anybody noticing.
Once they arrived at the expected battlefield, they began setting up camp at the edge of the forest. By the time they’d finished fortifying their position, Kurokawa’s army appeared on a distant hill to the south and began to do the same.
The opposing army was roughly three times the size of theirs—still relatively small by Yamato’s standards. They were just the vanguard, however—a mobile force sent to intercept and delay them while the main army prepared for a larger confrontation, if it came to that. Neither side did much more than scout the other out while they set up their camps.
Kaede had always thought there was a sort of beauty to the conventions of war. It was as if there was an unspoken agreement that neither side would fight until they were ready. Like a polite duel, scaled up into a larger conflict.
She knew that it was only superficial. If she’d tried to push any further, then her army would have been intercepted while on the march. And if Kurokawa had simply attacked them on sight, then his soldiers would be at a disadvantage, fighting fresh from the march while Kaede’s were better rested. The choice of location and timing was simply a matter of strategic convenience.
That didn’t stop some warlords from leaning into the guise of polite and sophisticated combat, though, and Kaede had to admit that she found the notion appealing, even as an illusion.
Kurokawa’s lieutenant sent a messenger in the evening, almost precisely the moment they’d finished setting up their camp.
“On behalf of Lord Kurokawa, you are commanded to send your army out of his land and surrender yourself at once! This incursion will not stand.”
Kaede met with the messenger in person, fixing him with a withering glare.
“I am Hayakawa Kaede, rightful heir to Shogun Hayakawa. Tell your commander to stand down and let us pass.”
The soldier grimaced, obviously not relishing the idea of bringing that response back, but he bowed curtly and turned to flee. Less than ten minutes later, a small contingent broke away from the opposing camp, carrying Kurokawa’s banners. They stopped in the middle of the field and waited.
Kaede marched out to meet them by herself. She identified the commander right away as she approached—a man mounted on a horse wearing the same kind of ornate red armor that Ienaga Yumi favored.
She stopped a respectable distance away. It was much farther than was normal for conversation, but even by herself it would be considered aggressive to approach too closely. Rather than shout, she elected to use the ventriloquism technique she’d developed—inspired by Elder Qin Zhao—to throw her voice.
“May I approach in peace?”
The commander started, glancing around himself in confusion before settling his gaze back on her. After a moment of hesitation, he made a beckoning gesture to indicate his assent.
Kaede approached slowly, keeping her hands away from her weapon—a regular mundane blade, since she’d left Jianmo behind in camp. It was important that she remain armed, but it was effectively decorative.
When she was within earshot, the commander held up a hand.
“That’s far enough, Lady Hayakawa. I am Commander Kuba Tetsuo, retainer to Lord Kurokawa.”
“Well met, Commander Kuba. You don’t question my identity?”
He shook his head.
“Whether you are who you claim to be isn’t for me to determine. Your army goes no further.”
“As vassals of Hayakawa you cannot deny my passage. There is a disturbance to the south which I intend to quell—is it your lord's intention to oppose me in this?”
“My lord’s oath is to your father, not to you. Turn your army back and leave. Out of respect for your status, I’ll concede to allow you to leave with them.”
Kuba was quite a rigid sort of soldier. He brooked very little compromise, but Kaede had already expected a fight. As simple as it might have been to just kill him then and there, it wouldn’t be right to do so after declaring peaceful intentions.
“And if I demand an audience with your lord?”
There was a glint in Kuba’s eyes as he responded, and his response felt prepared.
“It could take as much as three days to send a runner with the request and establish a line of communication with Lord Kurokawa.”
No good. He was stalling for reinforcements. No doubt he really would send a runner—he seemed like the straight-laced type—but by the time that entire process was finished, Kurokawa’s main army would have assembled and allied reinforcements would come in from the east.
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“No. We’ll continue south and I will visit him myself to speak in person.”
“I cannot let you pass—you’ll have to go through me.”
“So be it.”
The commander sighed tiredly and gave her a curt nod.
“So be it. Well met, my lady. May the kami guide us in the battle to come.”
He bowed and Kaede returned it politely.
“I’ll see you on the battlefield.”
He directed his mount to turn away before calling out over his shoulder.
“With respect, my lady, if you really are who you claim—I hope not.”
With the negotiations successfully failed, Kuba and his contingent departed back for their camp while Kaede did the same. By unspoken agreement, they both knew that the battle would take place at first light.
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As Yang Qiu waited for the sun to rise, it was hard to quell her excitement. She’d never been a particularly violent person before, but between her traumatic awakening and the time she’d spent in the demonic enclave under the sadistic rule of Longyan and Yu Meiren, it had become an acquired taste.
That excitement was somewhat dampened by the fact that unlike her fellow demons, she would not be lucky enough to feed the insatiable hunger constantly building within her. She only consumed souls to feed her core, and her core was no longer in her possession. In a fit of what could only be described as complete insanity, she’d seen fit to give it away to Yoshika—her new mistress. Mistresses? Whatever.
Hayakawa Kaede—and thus Yoshika in general—had agreed it would be both impractical and unfair to forbid demons from consuming souls in the heat of battle. It would essentially be setting them up for failure. Like shoving a fresh, juicy cut of steak into the jaws of a hound, then punishing it for daring to swallow.
But Yang Qiu was a hound without fangs. She couldn’t give in to the selfish desire to feed her hunger even if she wanted to. And that was the point.
While her demonic hunger was a constant distraction, the cold truth that there was nothing she could do about it gave her a strange sort of clarity. It was easier to think about other things, to search for other means of fulfillment, knowing that her foremost desires were out of reach.
Tennin’s meditation helped, too. Focusing on things outside of the impulses, remembering the things she’d enjoyed before her fall, the people she’d cared about, Tan Zhong—a name she’d never let herself forget again.
Sometimes, in the good days, Yang Qiu almost even felt like a person again.
So in a way that was both alien and familiar, her excitement wasn’t just for herself. Letting off steam would be nice, but she was happy for her people. That they’d finally get the chance to indulge, even though she wouldn’t.
And what a strange thought that was—her ‘people.’
Yang Qiu had never really identified with the other demons before. They were just monsters. There was no camaraderie among monsters, just the brutal hierarchy of force. They did as Longyan told them and put up with Meiren’s tortures because the alternative was death. Any one of them would have gladly killed the other and stolen their power if they could get away with it.
But over the last year, Yang Qiu had gotten to know her ‘prisoners.’ Not all of them were as sad and sympathetic as Beishang, of course—she was an outlier that Yang Qiu had specifically picked out to garner more sympathy. But none of them had fallen by choice, and a select few had even made strides towards controlling themselves, thanks to the help of Lady Tennin and the chance that Yoshika had given them.
She wasn’t sure if she’d call herself grateful—gratitude was hard to come by as a demon—but Yang Qiu recognized the importance of Yoshika and Lady Tennin. They were important. Her people needed them if they were ever going to be anything other than monsters.
It was all for her own sake. Yang Qiu couldn’t get what she wanted most for herself, but she could fight for her people. For their freedom, and by extension also her own. She was one of them, and by making life better for them, she made it better for herself.
That was another of Lady Tennin’s tricks. If you worked at it enough, you could find the ways in which helping others was really just helping yourself. The Tennin herself did it in reverse, but it worked either way. Internalizing that was trickier, but Yang Qiu had once been a proper cultivator in her own right—she was no stranger to meditating on complex subjects.
Yang Qiu’s musing was cut short as the sun cast its first rays over the eastern sky, and Hayakawa gave the order to march.
As much as she wanted to launch herself into the fray, Yang Qiu had a job to do—and it wasn’t an easy one. She had to keep the demons under her command in line. All of them had been hand-picked by her—and she’d had to personally reject more than a few volunteers—but the battle was going to seriously test their discipline, and it was up to Yang Qiu to help them keep it together.
She’d even begrudgingly gotten them to stop calling her ‘Xiao Chong.’ It was hard to command respect with a name that meant ‘Little Worm,’ and even when she did it was as a way of mocking those beneath her.
Yang Qiu’s unit was the vanguard, flanked on either side by soldiers from Yamato. One unit led by Long Ruiling, and the other by Jin Hu. Like herself, Yang Qiu’s fellow lieutenants led from the front, guiding their soldiers forward and controlling the pace directly.
The opening hours of the battle were shockingly boring. Even though they were outnumbered, the enemy was cautious—keeping the majority of their forces behind the fortifications they’d erected overnight while the deployed troops postured for position.
They would march forward, only to be commanded to halt, then shift to another position, move forward, and halt again. Yang Qiu didn’t understand any of it—strategy wasn’t her forte—but eventually some invisible threshold was crossed and the real battle began.
It started with a volley of arrows from behind the enemy fortifications. Yang Qiu wanted to laugh—what were a bunch of little sticks going to do against cultivators? But Hayakawa’s reaction was swift and urgent.
“Mages—barrier!”
Her voice boomed throughout the battlefield as the Goryeon mages assigned to each unit worked together to cast wide-area shield spells.
Yang Qiu expected the arrows to be deflected harmlessly by the magic, but each arrow struck with far greater force than expected, with many of them even exploding in bursts of fire or similar effects.
Of course the martial artists had ways of imbuing their weapons with ki. She cursed herself for not knowing better.
But there wasn’t any time to lament her ignorance—that volley had only been the first of many, and the enemy infantry was taking advantage of the distraction to mount their charge.
At last, the battle was joined.