Chapter 112: Master of the Night Parade
The bone forest was an eerie sight. The lightning that had scoured the earth had long since died, leaving only the chilling, metallic scent of charred remains hanging in the twilight air.
Kobe Hikaru stood motionless, his crimson oni mask appearing exceptionally ferocious in the fading light. He looked down at the lord of Suruga Province, who was dressed in an opulent twelve-layered kimono, her expression alight with expectation.
Imagawa Yoshimoto's words were nothing short of sincere, a grand promise of worldly offerings. If he were some ordinary ronin, or perhaps an ignorant wild demon, he would have likely prostrated himself on the spot, ready to tear out his own heart to repay her for such recognition.
But Hikaru was not so easily moved. He understood perfectly well that this so-called "half of the world" was just a castle in the sky, a promise painted on paper.
Although Yoshimoto possessed the three most prosperous provinces of the Tōkaidō region, her control was not absolute. Still, in terms of pure military might, she held a distinct advantage. Even if the Takeda or Uesugi clans possessed Princess-Warriors wielding the power of divine artifacts, they could not overwhelm her on an open battlefield.
However, her enemies could employ a different strategy: a decapitation strike. A single, elite soldier could infiltrate her ranks and capture the king. And without a divine artifact of her own, Yoshimoto had no means to counter such a threat. Her situation, Hikaru realized, was even more precarious than he had first imagined.
She was missing the crucial 'one'that gave all the subsequent'zeros' their value. Without it, her vast army was meaningless. Thus, in this regard…
Yoshimoto opened her mouth, about to repeat her grand rhetoric. But Hikaru cut her off.
"The 'world' you speak of is far too distant," his voice remained calm. "I have no interest in such ethereal things, nor do I need you to paint me a pretty picture."
Yoshimoto's smile stiffened.
"I won't beat around the bush; I'll be direct," Hikaru continued, holding up two fingers. "I can agree to become the protector of your Imagawa Clan, but I have two conditions."
Hearing this, Yoshimoto quickly composed herself. She tilted her head slightly, the folding fan painted with pines and cranes sliding from her sleeve. She rested it gently against her chin, her eyes shifting as a brilliant—and utterly fake—smile bloomed on her face.
"Lord Hikaru, please speak. As long as it is within my power, even if you want…"
"First," Hikaru interrupted her meaningless pleasantries, his tone crisp and decisive. "The Imagawa Clan's army, whether it be the two thousand men you have now or the troops you raise in the future, must unconditionally follow my command whenever a battle involves 'demons'or'gods'."
He hadn't forgotten the threat of the demon-slaying legion from Echigo Province, the force under Uesugi Kenshin's command. They would undoubtedly return. When that day came, he would need a unit like this to 'support' him.
"You want military authority?" Yoshimoto's eyes narrowed. The flirtatious demeanor from moments ago receded like a tide, replaced by the shrewd vigilance of a daimyo who ruled over three provinces. Worshipping a god was one thing; handing over the hilt of her sword was another entirely. The former cost money; the latter could cost her life.
"Not entirely," Hikaru replied, unyielding. "I will only command in wars against non-humans. I will not interfere in your conflicts with other human daimyos—unless, of course, your opponent also employs non-human power, such as those so-called divine artifacts or their specially empowered Princess-Warriors."
"I can guarantee that," Yoshimoto pursed her lips, clearly weighing the pros and cons.
"Second," Hikaru didn't give her time to ruminate. He pointed to the huddle of small demons shivering in the blood mist behind him. "Them."
"I want you to take them back to Suruga and settle them throughout your territory."
"And I don't mean just tossing them onto some random mountain."
"I want you to build shrines for them in an official capacity. Fabricate legends, let your subjects know of their existence, and have them revere and worship them—whether as guardian deities or as malevolent spirits."
"I want them to become the legitimate 'Hundred Demons' of Suruga."
As he spoke these words, Yoshimoto was stunned. Even the Tanuki Spirit behind Hikaru was dumbfounded, clutching its tattered flag, its mouth agape wide enough to fit an egg. They were just a band of the lowest-level, trash-tier demons! To have shrines built for them? To receive worship? This was a level of treatment they had never dared to dream of.
"This…" Yoshimoto's brow furrowed, a look of genuine difficulty appearing on her exquisite face.
"The matter of military power is negotiable, but this group of… filthy things?" She glanced with undisguised disgust at a Hitotsume-kozō wearing a broken umbrella and a drooling Kappa. "Lord Hikaru, are you serious? These are shameful creatures that can't be brought into the light. If they received the Imagawa Clan's official recognition, the other daimyos would laugh themselves to death. If you insist on settling them, I can assign them a few barren mountains…"
"Then there is nothing to discuss." Hikaru withdrew his finger. There was no hesitation in his voice, no room for bargaining.
He turned, his gray robes billowing in the wind like spreading wings, as if he intended to leave that very instant.
"Let's go," he said to the small demons behind him.
The blood mist surged, parting for him as its master, and instantly swallowed his silhouette along with the twenty-three demons.
Yoshimoto remained silent, covering her face with her paper fan, her eyes darting back and forth. One second, two seconds…
Hikaru's footsteps didn't slow in the slightest. He knew what she was thinking. She was gambling—gambling that he wouldn't actually leave, that he needed the Imagawa Clan's resources too much.
But she was wrong about one thing. While Hikaru did need a power base, it didn't have to be the Imagawa Clan. Although Hōjō Ujiyasu had been captured, the Hōjō Clan remained a viable option if he was willing to wait, or even stage a rescue.
Yoshimoto, on the other hand, had no other choice. That hammer strike from the Takeda's red-haired woman had shattered her pride and confidence. Without a divine artifact, without a god to call her own, she was nothing but a piece of meat waiting to be carved up in the coming war, where incarnations of gods and buddhas would run rampant. She knew this better than anyone.
Hikaru was exploiting her fear, her desperation. It was an exorbitant demand, and an undisguised power play.
One step, two steps, three steps. Half of Hikaru's figure had already vanished into the thick fog.
Yoshimoto's expression finally broke. She stood frozen, gripping her folding fan so tightly her knuckles turned white. She watched that back, which was receding without a single hint of reluctance.
She could see it now. He was truly leaving.
Flashes of the misery under the iron hooves of the Takeda's Red Demon Corps tore through her mind, followed by the reports from her scouts describing the unstoppable advance of Uesugi Kenshin's banner, emblazoned with the character for 'Bishamon'. Then came the image of herself, sitting in a magnificent palanquin, as powerless as a clown.
She refused to accept it.
Truly, she was unwilling.
She, Imagawa Yoshimoto, was destined to march on the capital and unite the world. How could she fall here?
"Wait—!"
Yoshimoto's voice finally rang out, laced with an obvious note of panic. "I… I can agree to your terms."
Though her voice wasn't loud, she had used almost all her strength to shout those words. All the practiced elegance of a court noble was gone, stripped away in an instant.
Hikaru's footsteps stopped.
He didn't turn back, merely angled his body slightly. Beneath the demon mask, the corner of his mouth curled into a triumphant, arrogant smirk that made Yoshimoto grit her teeth in frustration.
"Everything?"
"Everything!" Yoshimoto spat the word out, her pretty face flushed red with a mixture of anger and humiliation. Yet her voice was firm, as if she were afraid she would regret her decision if she hesitated. "The military command is yours, and this group… this group of little monsters, I will support them. I agree to all of your conditions!"
The wind swept across the battlefield, lifting the hem of her complex and magnificent twelve-layered kimono.
After a deliberate pause, Hikaru turned around. The blood mist dissipated, and he stood before her once more.
He looked at the young woman, who was trembling with suppressed rage. The afternoon sun beat down on her. The layered collars of her kimono seemed to constrict her slender neck, and her chest heaved with heavy breaths. Beneath the luxurious fabric, her petite frame looked as if it might snap under the immense pressure.
She was disheveled, but she was real.
Hikaru's smile remained unchanged. The manipulation was a success.
Yoshimoto let out a long breath, as if her spine had been pulled out. Her body swayed, and she nearly collapsed. She glared fiercely at Hikaru, a look that held both the urge to bite him and the deep relief of having survived a catastrophe.
"...You bastard demon god," she cursed softly. She turned her back to him, unwilling to let him see her current expression.
"Back to camp!" she roared at the surrounding samurai and ashigaru, who had long been stunned into silence. "What are you all standing around for? Prepare to return to Suruga!"
"And prepare offerings for me, to be made in all four directions! Begin construction of the 'shrines' throughout Suruga!"
That night, on a small hill near the battlefield, moonlight spilled like water onto a forest clearing.
The twenty-three demons formed a circle, kneeling on the ground. Hikaru sat on a large bluestone in the center, his demon mask removed to reveal a pale, handsome, and heroic face.
In his hand, he held the dark purple poison jiao scale, but his gaze was fixed upon the creatures before him. They seemed more spirited than before, buoyed by the knowledge that they now had a place to belong, a powerful backer, and were about to receive a 'status' they had never dared to imagine.
The Tanuki Spirit, their leader, knelt at the very front. It held the tattered banner with both paws, its head bowed to the ground and its rear end stuck high in the air, its tail flicking with excitement.
"My Lord… no, Master!" the Tanuki's voice trembled with a fervor that bordered on worship. "Are you really… really going to let us become those humans'… gods?"
"Not gods. You will not receive true faith," Hikaru corrected, his voice clear in the night air. "You will only receive 'awe'—the combination of respect and fear."
He stood up and walked over to the Tanuki Spirit.
"I have found you a place and given you an identity. The Imagawa Clan will build your legends; humans will respect and fear you because of those stories and will offer you sacrifices."
"That 'awe' will become your source of power."
"You will grow stronger."
"But this is not a gift."
His gaze swept over every demon present: the Hitotsume-kozō, the fox-eared girl, the giant rat with a broken leg… all of them met his eyes with a mixture of fear and adoration.
"In exchange, your lives belong to me."
"Your eyes will watch this world for me, and your ears will listen to its movements for me."
"When I command you to kill, you will not hesitate, even if the target is a believer who offers you sacrifices."
"Do you understand?"
"Understood!" the twenty-three demons answered in unison.
Their voices were not loud, and their chorus was uneven, but in the silent forest, it carried an unmatched firmness they had never before possessed. They were the dregs abandoned by the world, the bottom feeders of this era, the weakest of the weak. It was Hikaru who had given them a way to live, and more, a dignity they had never imagined.
For that, sacrificing everything was only natural.
Following their oath, Hikaru felt a strange aura begin to rise. It was a faint, grayish-white demonic energy, emanating from the twenty-three small demons. It was incredibly weak, like a candle flame flickering in the wind.
But as they gathered together, they formed a thin stream that flowed slowly but surely toward Hikaru, merging into his body.
He closed his eyes, sensing this new power. Though it was still feeble, its nature was entirely different from any power he had possessed before. It felt like the 'core' of a collective force field, formed by the twenty-three demons before him.
It was also like a title, a rank.
A Ruler.
From this day forth, he was no longer a wandering ghost.
He was the true master of the Night Parade of Twenty-three Demons.
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