After quite a long time, I'm back! Apologies for the very long delay - a combination of busy beta-ing schedule as well as IRL things kept me from writing more than a few dozen words at a time, which was like 10x slower than my usual pace. I can't really promise anything better in the near future, either - which was a real bummer because I want to give the best to you all. Don't worry, I'll never drop this story before I finish it (unlike most writers - BAM! There's your veiled shot!).
Now, seeing as there's always... enthusiastic responses for M-rated chapters like the previous one, I'm sensing a trend here... Regardless, here's yet another one! This won't be as long as the first few chapters of this story - more like snippets than a full-blown M-rated chapter. Hope you guys enjoy!
Here's the mailbag! Not much in it other than my gratitude for your lips licking at the adult scenes.
Dasgun: I've been receiving nothing but dots from your reviews so far. Is there a problem with your keyboard settings? I'm assuming whatever you're sending doesn't make it. And yes, it's for both your review for Ch. 29 & 30.
Royal Freshness12345: Just the way you like it!
The first thing a shinobi must perform in any environment, familiar or not, was gather information. More than combat or assassination or sabotage, this was the currency they're operating and living off with. Unlike those who operated in the open, they didn't have the official backing to, at the very least, erase their mistakes or at worst, save their necks from execution. Additionally, owing to their low numbers, each and every one was quantitatively more precious, as well as the effects of their deeds proportionally more impactful.
This was the teachings the first Fūma Kōtarō left behind to his successor, once he felt his health was failing him. According to clan history, he simply disappeared into thin air in moksha, partially deifying him as per the usual cultural habit. After all, it wouldn't do for it to be known the patriarch succumbed to disease much like everyone else.
And that's the point.
Shinobi shouldn't be like everyone else. Blend in with them, live among them, yes, but they should know they inherently lived in a different world. Ironically, this was right at the time when humans and yōkais were finalizing their mutual pact to inhabit the same space and ease transition between realms, yet Fūma Kōtarō was among the pioneers in this field of [Separation].
And now, in the modern age, his teachings seemingly had become so successful he had no idea who was shinobi and who wasn't.
Back when he first established his clan after landing in Nihon from Jurchen, escaping the unfavourable living conditions at the time, it's obvious who were members of rival families infiltrating the Hōjō lands he'd become responsible for. It's natural, since the level of professionalism and training was comparatively lower in the past… or it should have been advancing since then.
'But hasn't it advanced too fast?!' He screamed internally, barely managing to contain his disguise in his frustration.
When he came to, this new body of his was already running towards a set vague destination in his mind… of an unknown name. A quick ask-around in this town gave him something to work with: Harima. Straight west from the capital… and nothing. Obviously, what he knew of this place had long been outdated, nor did he know the reason this body compulsively ran all the way here. He wasn't even sure whether he passed the capital or ran around it, or his location when his spirit first descended into this body.
He attributed this short-term amnesia to that process, because to his knowledge – passively attained from hanging around one of the premier magi of his generation, Kashin Koji – it's neither a gentle nor quick process.
Was he remorseful or apologetic to the original owner of this body? No. Fūma Kōtarō was here, and he's not going to waste time wallowing in guilt or regret.
What was odd was the fact the summoning process didn't grant him any relevant information – not even its purpose. Who did it? Why chose him – or, rather, how did this summoner come across a catalyst powerful and personal enough to pull his spirit from the afterlife?
As he strolled the streets of Harima, seemingly at random, he tried his best to process this tumult in his mind.
Such was the life of a time-traveller… or, to be more precise, a person displaced through time like him.
Even the language felt alien to him, and this was coming from someone who drove himself to learn every single nearby dialect so to aid him in his shinobi duties. New words, accents, and meaning… but delivered in the same language he knew made it extremely confusing. The trend in clothes and food carried a semblance of familiarity, yet the evolution in both caused his brain to overload in trying to follow each strand of information, giving him the sense he was nearly there – to come to a grand conclusion – yet consistently fall short owing to lack of clues.
His brain then attempted to fill in those blanks instinctually, forming inconsistent images which then automatically overlayed themselves with the reality playing out before him, short-circuiting his cognition and sending him back to square one.
Who knew learning something completely new would be easier than adapting to changes in the same culture?
He attempted to lift a few clothing items just now, and was nearly caught by automated magical security which didn't exist when he was alive. It's fortunate his instincts and reflexes translated well to this new body even with this little time for adjustment, which enabled him to try several more times and lucked into a house unequipped with this measure. Given how heavy his body felt, it's a given the clothing he's wearing when he first gained consciousness wasn't the most practical – perhaps even all the way to the other side of the scale – so securing some disguise to aid in his blending-in was crucial.
Pilfering some money was even more difficult, though he's fortunate the person he's inhabiting was in possession of quite the sum. Secretly playing with it in his coat pockets, he frowned when the number he perceived from the sound didn't match the supposed weight in his hand. Quietly shuffling to one side, he checked whether it's actually foreign currency or not, comparing it with the glances he shot at customers he passed by.
'Is this a different material composition? Hmm…'
He was used to Yuan coin knockoffs, which proliferated the era he was active in through piracy – ironically, the channel he smuggled himself on to arrive at this land in the first place – but though it was still prevalent, there were obvious evolutions on the markings and shapes. Natural, really, considering nearly 500 years had passed since his 'death'. Additionally, the closer to the capital, the more new, original gold coins were available to the common folk, newly minted owing to recent monetary policies by the royal family, seeking to re-balance the power between them and the monopolizing merchant guilds.
As such, at hand, he had a healthy mix of both – none of which contained a design he recognized – and had to be careful in spending them lest he got ripped off.
Since earlier, he felt inconsistent surveillance on his being, both before and after he changed his several disguises. He made the conscious decision to attribute this to local well-trained security and not his chasers, from whom his original body was running away in the first place. There's no sense in overly worrying about something that might or might not be true… because now, he only held responsibility over himself and not his underlings or clan members or lords. His energy was more efficiently attributed somewhere else.
…such as finding the lodgings for the night.
Unfortunately, his physical features were relatively eye-catching, as he never glimpsed upon another person who had hair as red as his. His face was unremarkable – reasonably attractive, he wanted to believe – because of the mix of nationalities and races now prowling Harima's streets compared to the Heian Period, when people from Nihon, Yuan, and Goryeo were easily distinguishable. Now, he couldn't even tell whether someone had yōkai blood or not – a testament of their current shapeshifting skills and infusion in human society.
Picking a middle-class inn at random near the border to ease escape, he breathed a sigh of relief when the common eating area was deserted by the time he settled into this new place. Sitting down and mindlessly ordering from among the waitress's babbling, he was just beginning to observe the traffic flow outside when somebody suddenly sat across him.
'Has my perception gotten that loose?' He cursed himself internally, deliberately not showing his surprise and displeasure as he slowly turned towards the offending person. 'Is my ninjutsu rusty now?'
However, before he could act upon it, he found himself tongue-tied in front of the first familiar face he saw since his 'resurrection'.
"You look like shit, Kashin Koji." The magus still featured the same face from all those centuries ago… only considerably drier and more wrinkled. Kōtarō's trained eyes immediately picked up on the static hard points to identify this person in front of him, finding a match when comparing these inorganic lines to his former best friend. "Were you the one who-"
"Yes," a gravelly voice grumbled out, before a spell cloaked them both non-verbally, preventing anyone here to pass out in shock when looking at the magus's horrific condition. "An automated summoning circle was enacted when one of my… benefactors was threatened. It chose the most compatible person to deal with the situation, unlike my other… colleagues."
The series of pauses interrupting his otherwise fluent explanation indicated the fates of the people mentioned weren't kind, Kōtarō concluded.
"Is that what you think of me?"
The living mummy-lookalike harrumphed. "Are you being serious right now? Only a few hours, and you have already doubted the decades of our friendship?"
The revived shinobi, meanwhile, didn't back down. "Given the fact I assumed my soul is automatically off-limits into whatever new techniques you devise, yes. I don't doubt this method is beyond you, no?"
Kashin Koji grimaced. From this expression, Kōtarō could tell he's weakened considerably when compared to his heyday. "In fact, yes. If you haven't noticed, Nihon's leylines have considerably evolved and modified throughout the years you… went under. With each iteration, my work becomes harder and harder. I'm sorry if this goes right over your recently-born head."
The redhead's eyes narrowed in irritation. When they were young, this could pass off as a mutual opening joke – that was, insulting each other. Right now, with both of them far from their primes, tolerating each other's behaviour was growing harder and harder. "Then, I presume whoever was responsible for this condition of yours to be incomparably weak against our past opponents? I'm sure all they did was take advantage of the current situation and triumphed unfairly, no?"
Across the near-empty dining hall, the tension solidified into an awkward mutual irritation.
Since Kashin Koji was silent, Kōtarō continued, "Regardless of what you're planning, don't expect me to follow it. I'm not looking forward to go along your ride for this second lifetime in a row." Noticing his orders were arriving, he added quietly, "I'll live this chance my own way, thank you very much."
In front of the waitress, the magus's torrid look was transformed into a regular, forgettable face, though a sign of his dwindling power was his inability to wholly disguise his own ancient onmyōji outfit simultaneously, earning a curious glance from the nondescript woman.
When she left, Kashin Koji finally found his voice. "Even though you have the chance to see and meet your descendants?"
The shinobi's eyes narrowed, barely restraining his rising killing intent lest he induced heart failures for the innocent inn workers around him. "I will do that in my own terms as well. Not yours."
The veiled threat was clear: Stay away from the Fūma Clan.
"Unfortunately, it's not my call."
"What do you mean?!" He growled, snapping his chopsticks in half. Fortunately, his hands were fast enough to grab another pair as to avoid drawing further attention to the two. "Shifting responsibility like this… How far have you fallen, old friend?"
"Enough for you to stop calling me that," the magus readily admitted. "Tell me… this anger of yours, was it due to hatred? If not, then…" As Kashin Koji bravely met Kōtarō's gaze, he continued, "…then we may as well end our relationship right here."
Facing an unyielding resistance, as this decrepit near-corpse wouldn't grant him any more information, he relented, "I was angry! Is this unjustified?! Tell me, great magus, what do you think I should feel?! Without my permission, without your information… I am now here. Fix it."
A sigh escaped the other man's lips. "Do I look like having that much power remaining for you? That dream of ours… I haven't forgotten and given up on it. I'm stockpiling and guarding my strength as to achieve that, after several setbacks. Don't let yourself be one of them, good friend."
Standing up, he left several coins on the table. "Let this be my parting money. For the two of us – both dead men – we no longer have a place in this era. The only question is… what will you do?" His cape fluttering, he tilted his wide farmer's hat to obscure his eyes. "For me, I'll make it happen, even if it's the last thing I'll do."
To his old friend's departing back, Kōtarō could only mumble pessimistically, remembering what little his reconnaissance had revealed, "Then you'll fail and die a villain…"
It's fortunate one of the perks of being a successful and renowned Princess General was the availability of public privacy, as ironic and hypocritical as that sounded due to Nobunaga's own push to endear herself with the masses more than her original self. This manifested in a luxurious travel carriage where not only could several people sit inside comfortably – partly from Muramasa's adaptation of Nanban suspension designs – but also somewhat soundproof.
At the very least, it's quiet enough people crowding and strolling and gossiping alongside the wide roads around the capital wouldn't be able to hear her moans as her lover stirred her insides gently, in accordance with the vehicle's sway.
Additionally, Mitsuhide was diligently nibbling on her exposed clitoris, pushed outwards from the girth stretching her mound upwards, as well as occasionally licking and prodding her urethra with the tongue's tip. Through her tear-stained eyes, Nobunaga could barely observe the playful and mischievous smirk her so-called retainer maintained throughout this ordeal, seemingly enjoying her reactions more than Muramasa.
"Ah! Wa~ W-Wait~ ! Ahn~ ! Oh~ !"
"You know, Kippōshi… I'm vvvvveeeeeeeeeerrrrrrryyyyyyy jealous of Bontenmaru's relationship with you. Have you forgotten about us and decided to find new love, hm?" Muramasa uttered those clearly wrong things directly into her ear, mildly nibbling on the cartilage there after every few words, disregarding her protesting moans. "Jūbei, what do you think? Do we have a reason to worry?"
"Oh, so very much!" The young girl, kneeling on the carriage floor, exclaimed, smoothly interchanging her cunnilingus with gentle pressure from her thumb. "I, for a fact, have personally witnessed countless night tryst behind our backs!"
"Ih~ ! Ih~ ! Ih~ !"
From his elevated position, he could see how much juices had stained Mitsuhide's lips, and it made her akin to a child speaking right after eating a messy dessert – only this one had Nobunaga's distinctive smoky and fiery scent emanating from the area around her cheeks and jaw. The blue-clad girl clearly realized this, licking around to not only clean up, but also enjoy the remaining taste of her lord, now that the drooling pussy was discharging its fluid to her fingers instead.
Initially, those dexterous fingers which had taken countless lives on the battlefield played around with the same gentility her tongue did earlier, but with every word, her movements grew more rigorous and stronger, eliciting louder, lewder cries from Nobunaga.
The Owari Princess General tried to squirm around and escape from the increasingly unbearable assaults, but with Muramasa's muscular arms folding and locking her knee joints in place, in effect forcing her to sit down permanently upon his raging cock – still agonizingly slowly teasing and prodding her sensitive flesh around her womb's mouth – she had nowhere to go apart from wiggling sensually, drawing more effort from her loving retainers.
"OOOOOHN~ ! Ooh… Ngh~ ! Oh! Oogh~ !"
Mitsuhide crawled up, her thumb and index fingers still massaging the now-swollen clitoris and lips, placing kisses and strong suctions across Nobunaga's lean frame through her thin clothing, before ending up eye level with both the lord and Muramasa. Nobunaga's entranced state meant she couldn't see what's glinting from those frighteningly intelligent eyes, speaking silently to the man behind her of Mitsuhide's devious plan.
Capturing Nobunaga's lips and immediately suckling on the stiff, surprised tongue, she threw her arms past her lord's head and around her beloved senpai's neck, anchoring her position when she lifted her legs mirroring Nobunaga's own and partially onto their seat. Muramasa, with an amused smile, leaned his jaw onto one of Nobunaga's shoulders to both enjoy the girl-on-girl French kiss and Mitsuhide's new technique.
'So she's not just a genius at martial and literature arts, huh…' he thought, before remembering one of her fondest piece to read and study was an original-spec, imported Kama Sutra – an expensive endeavour considering there's no established trade route yet between Nihon and Mughal – before she, as usual, proclaimed she's going to master its contents and knock him off his feet.
Even without actively pleasuring him, the sight of her slim, lightly-sweaty figure posing in front of Nobunaga was already on the way there. Perhaps she picked up some tips from his wives? Hmm…
Certainly, the two of them were growing at a nice rate. Nobunaga, being older, naturally filled out first, but Mitsuhide wasn't far behind – though both of them were already well within Nihon's average size, much to Chiyome's frustrations. Against the limp Nobunaga, Mitsuhide knew just enough curvature and angle to capture a man's – in this case, Muramasa's – imagination and desire.
Then, she slowly began to gyrate her hips, generating moist, squelching noises he'd gotten so used to when watching Chiyome and Danzō pleasure each other for his entertainment.
"N-No… Oh~ ! Ooooh~ ! Oho~ ! Hnooh~ !"
He palpably felt Nobunaga tense and tremble dangerously, as well as the sharp increase of pressure squeezing his cock, signalling she'd just orgasmed… then again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again… continuously without pause. Since her clitoris was now squished against Mitsuhide's own, and his rhythmic movement inside her, along with the girl's constant kiss, it's no wonder her senses had now gone haywire owing to the extreme stimulations all around her.
A low, guttural sound erupted from deep within Nobunaga's belly, having no other way out due to her breathlessness from her diaphragm contracting and spasming constantly and Mitsuhide's perfect French kissing technique. To be frank, this was low enough the carriage's natural suspension sound would be able to disguise it without any Alteration, though to the other two this was loud enough to enjoy and worry about.
"HNGIIIH~ !"
While there's no secret about Princess Generals enjoying amorous relationships with multiple individuals, being found out by animals or other incidental things which was able to listen to various frequencies inaudible to man would be some scandal. Any misstep wouldn't do, now they were this close to having Nobunaga officially instated to, if not the very top, a position so close to Himiko she essentially replaced Sakihisa as kanpaku.
With the man in a trouble political situation, the eyes now turned towards the Empress to see which way she'd go, and the masses generally predicted two outcomes: side with her family, the Minamoto Clan, and absorb the unavoidable criticisms and accusations of nepotism; or appoint someone more neutral and removed from nobility than Sakihisa.
Whether they considered Nobunaga as a member of which camp or a new one was the question.
Konoe Sakihisa was a brilliant politician, whose defeat at Nobunaga's hands in another reality tarnished his reputation and skill, portraying him as no more than a persistent and hateful antagonist. Yet, to the people in his camp, there was no person more competent and reliable in fulfilling their requests and needs than him – who were generally the nobles descended from disgraced royalties displaced by the Minamoto Clan's journey to the top.
Was he a second-rate human being? Yes. However, that didn't deny he's a first-rate statesman. An opponent as troublesome they'd meet anywhere, regardless of his actual physical combat capability.
Still, this worry instantly evaporated once unreleased sexual tension was gathered inside a cramped, private carriage, placed aside once each other's beloved face came into and prying eyes out of view.
They didn't know who really started it.
After the recent battles with Nanban and Azai forces, the Oda retainers and generals were stretched thin maintaining their burgeoning territory. While the news of Yasakani-no-Magatama's retrieval had been kept perfectly under wraps, for fear of extreme anti-Nanban uprisings destroying what economic and political foundation Nihon's rulers had established over the most recent decades. Publicly, it was yet another 'justified' victory for Owari when the Sengo shinobis' efforts to control the narrative were finished.
Win or lose, it brought another set of paperwork and political wrangling for them all to resolve. As such, mental exhaustion had generally set into their daily lives.
An innocent touch of the fingers. An incidental bump of knees. A brush of thick, fragrant locks of hair. A waft of musky, acrid scent of freshly-oiled steel. The slight shifting of collars and sleeves, each revealing flesh and emanating irresistible aroma.
They were discussing something close to the aforementioned topic, yet they themselves had grown unsure what they'd been talking about once the kissing started.
The way Mitsuhide leaned forwards to speak with Nobunaga exposed her collarbone and the gentle swelling of her growing breasts, and when a slight jostle dislodged a piece of fabric further, showing the pink nubile tips, Muramasa couldn't help himself but lean forwards and kiss her, much to Nobunaga's shock who was still sitting beside him. When he pulled away slightly, revealing Mitsuhide's adorably blushing face, he noticed her eyes drifting to the side to gauge her lord's reaction… before repeating what he did and captured Nobunaga's lips with her own.
From that moment, weeks of exhaustion and forced focus blew up.
His hand slipped through Mitsuhide's gi and fondled her breast, while the girl started feeling up Nobunaga's shirt and down around her hips. The lord herself, lightly dizzy from the kiss, traced her male lover's muscular arm and thigh playfully from the side, feeling herself palpably growing moist from most orifices.
"Hn~ ! Hnoh~ ! Oh! Oh! Ho~ !"
Further rustling filled the carriage, ending with a scrapheap of expensive clothing and thin armours piled to one corner of the spacious transport, leaving the occupants with but their underwear – incomplete and dishevelled ones, at that.
…which eventually led to their current situation, where nothing but wet noises and inhuman groans fought against the carriage's natural and magical soundproofing.
"Oho~ ! Ohn~ ! OOHOOOOO~ !"
With a final masculine pleasurable moan, Muramasa drove deep into Nobunaga and ejaculated fiercely inside her, not particularly caring or careful to aim at the mouth of her womb he's been teasing so constantly since earlier. The girl herself was bent down, crouching over the seats with him ploughing behind her with renewed speed, after spending the first hour or so relatively passive under her. Nobunaga squealed loudly, though muffled by Mitsuhide's persistent hand behind her head, pushing her mouth into keeping a constant cunnilingus repayment on the younger girl's pussy.
"N-Nobunaga-samaaaaaaaaaa… I-I love you…!" She incoherently mumbled out every now and then, stealing a few kisses with Muramasa when Nobunaga was occupied on both ends. The most recent vibrations from the lord's orgasmic groan pushed Mitsuhide over the edge, squirting thick white liquid shortly forwards and all over Nobunaga's face. "A-Ah… I-I'm cumming…"
Still, compared to her lord, the pleasure she just experienced was no more than her usual mild climax when she frolicked with her senpai – still without the chance to take her virginity in the way she long desired, both from military and political point of view.
Enjoying the sight of her usually-composed senpai flushed and trembling from pleasure – an understandable reaction, since Mitsuhide also knew the structure of Nobunaga's vaginal walls quite well – she languidly reached out with both arms around his head, bending her body forward and locking her lord's head in by folding both her legs to engage in another round of kissing.
From the corners of her eyes, she observed him removing his girth from the still-shivering pussy, leaking with a mixture of fluids and lovingly sticking to the withdrawing movement, stretching out slightly before letting go with a squelching 'pop'. Then, without warning Nobunaga, he slightly adjusted his angel and aligned his cock's tip with the budding red hole above said genital.
"MMMMMMMMNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
The sheer amount of liquid not only staining Nobunaga's crotch, but also covering Muramasa's cock, meant the entire girth slid smoothly and quickly into the asshole and rectal track – perhaps too quickly, considering her sudden muffled shriek. Hilted completely, he became lost in the difference of pleasure his dick was receiving. Compared to her pussy's scalding temperature and gentle undulations, this hole was nearly smooth all the way, slightly cooler but with greater pressure all around. From the entrance all the way to her depths, past the backside of her womb, everything was consistently tight.
Compared to the other assholes he'd tried, this felt the most natural, as Chiyome's transformed cloaca was an exotic, mind-blowing thrill exclusive to herself, while Danzō's was superhumanly good to the point he nearly lost his mind. Compared to them, the time he spent on Nobunaga's side was lesser, and the girl herself didn't have any supernatural enhancements, comparatively speaking.
With a curtain of crimson, flaming hair splayed before him, he thoughtlessly grabbed her slender hips to anchor his thrusts further in, sliding out nearly all the way each time before plunging in hard enough he could've been fucking Mitsuhide at the same time.
"A-Ahahaha… W-Wow, Senpai… N-Nobunaga-sama's face i-is amazing…!" She chuckled in-between deep breaths of momentary small climax from the bellowing scream into her pussy depths from Nobunaga's constant scream. She made sure to keep her lord's face forcibly pressed into her lower lips, because she's sure Nobunaga's magic energy would run even more out of control if she was let to properly breathe and process some of the ambient Mana. "W-Will you fuck me the same way?"
"F-For sure!" He vowed through gritted teeth, his breath only uneven from holding back his own orgasm to save face, managing to let out a small assuring smile. "L-Let's get t-together soon after this… Just the t-two of us!"
"That's a p-promise!" She flashed him an uneven grin, half her face twisted to force a cheerful, casual reply while the other half was naturally expanded slovenly into a lewd gape, still enjoying the sensation of her lord's tongue drilling deep into her own pussy. "I'll hold you to i-it later!"
"Of course."
They kissed chastely, their upper bodies leaning in while their lower part inadvertently squashing Nobunaga even more between them, bending her uncomfortably yet oh-so-pleasurably. Her legs shot out straight in concert with her nth orgasm, her entire being bucking in desire to follow suit but was prevented by both of her beloved ones' crotches.
Mitsuhide smiled through the kiss when she felt Muramasa groaning into her mouth, Nobunaga's movement never escaping her sharp eyes – as well as a newly-formed small geyser of white liquid spurting out of the hole he's ploughing, joining the copious puddle already pooling on the carriage floor.
In contrast to Owari's seemingly never-ending expansion, the Tripartite grew more restless by the day, despite not having the responsibility to quell new cultures and areas typical of a shift in governmental power.
Echigo was reeling from Kenshin's injury, her retainers fighting on all fronts to prevent the paranoid elders, fearful of Nobunaga's apparent invincibility, taking control of both Nagao and Uesugi Clans' armies to march to Owari regardless of any permission from either Takeda or Hōjō, whose lands they should cross. The latter two were held back due to different reasons altogether – Shingen owing to her nostalgia and hesitance against Chiyome, who gained tremendous merit in expelling Nanban forces and showcasing her control over one of Nihon's Three Great Calamities; Ujiyasu due to her inherent laziness and the fact her 'hands and feet', the Fūma Clan, suffered humiliating defeat during the Battle of Okehazama.
As such, here they were, mobilizing independently to regain some manner of honour and footing in this ever-changing scene in the shadows, where most shinobis lived. Like most places, reputation – instead of actual, hard-earned skills – went a long way, and theirs were tarnished.
It was a coincidental yet joint decision from both parties – that was, Oda and Hōjo – not to disclose the identity of the individual who so thoroughly defeated and sent them back humiliatingly like parcels. To be more precise, Muramasa and Kōtarō each had their own reasons not to do so… because Danzō just couldn't be bothered. After all, she was supposedly dead, and most mentions of her name in this era would've been assumed to be impostors or hearsay.
- Fuuuhhh…
Kōtarō frowned at the constant smoke deliberately blown to his face, originating from the pipe of this place's owner.
The fair-skinned single-horned oni, showcasing plenty of cleavage amidst the several layers of her kimono, smirked at his irritation. She continued smoking non-stop, its contents of no interest to Kōtarō – only what she could give to him today. He's spent a good several minutes siting across her table, paid a hefty sum, yet she still held her tongue back apart from some initial barbed mockeries and condescending sultriness.
"Do you mock all of your customers this way?" The impatient redheaded boy snarled, allowing just a simmer of phantom horn appear on his forehead, mimicking a smaller version of the storeowner's own. "I can raze your store to the ground, if you still hold your tongue-"
"Do it, then," she countered unafraid, blowing yet another puff of irritating smoke to the shinobi's face. "People who witnessed your last battle called you weak and unworthy. Those two adjectives will never topple this store."
"Are you willing to bet your life on that?"
- Fuuuhhh…
Only amused eyes replied to him. "What do you think?"
- Clack.
Kōtarō stopped gathering more magic energy at the sound of the door suddenly opening. Observing the glassware behind the female oni, he saw one of his subordinates – Momochi – stepping in without hesitation and standing at attention.
"I'll bet on her life. How about that?" The storeowner mocked, shooing the two of them away lazily. "Owari is at this place's doorstep. Besides, you have no authority so far from home, Fūma boy."
The kunoichi glared so intensely Kōtarō thought she was about to use a dōjutsu, only to remember Momochi didn't have one. Regrettably, much as he shared her sentiment, the female oni's words were right: If they made a scene here, it's not impossible the entire team would've been compromised and round up.
And this time, there wouldn't be their mother to bail them out.
"What news do you have?"
"There was an inn where its keeper served Shodaime-sama nearby. Apart from that, I got nothing from him," she muttered. "Likely mindwiped, though by someone so incompetent I couldn't believe it to be him."
"Multiple parties at play? I don't like this…" he hissed, several permutations already forming in his head. "What of Mother?"
Momochi shook her head. "No one has ever glimpsed her visage after that day, though she's been making moves behind the scene. The Owari contingent's bolstering its forces by the day… and the royal family appears to be backing them more openly this time."
The current Fūma Kage commented hesitantly, "That… doesn't sound like having much to do with Mother… Unless she's the head of this burgeoning organization?"
"…you're right, Kōtarō-sama," she concurred after a few more seconds. "They have Sengo-dono; Mother shouldn't be the one tasked to lead and delegate like a proper Kage. It's not her speciality."
"Which 'Sengo-dono'? The husband or the wife?"
"Does it make a difference?"
Kōtarō grunted. "Fair point."
It's fair to say now most people in power considered Sengo Muramasa as the person moving Owari's strings, including Nobunaga's, to the point anything she did regardless of intentions and results were attributed to him, rightfully or not. At times, Kōtarō even shared their sentiment because most, if not all steps done by Owari was too… perfect.
And no one's perfect.
No matter how powerful an ancient dynasty or all-conquering overlord was, there were always times historians and their followers could pinpoint their mistakes, both before and after they attained their status. Of course, most were minor enough their dignities and legacies were mostly untarnished, leaving these black marks to slowly fade away with the passage of time – untouched, yes, but also unnoticed.
But Oda Nobunaga seemed different. Not only did she attain victory after victory with very minimal casualties, but she also managed to follow through the unspoken creed of the human-yōkai pact: Whatever the culture, everyone mutually benefitted. Nanban, Ming, Nihon, Goryeo, and the various localized differences were made to exist side-by-side without conflict.
It was easy to say, because this form of real utopia had been preached since time immemorial as the ultimate goal of the human race, even during the Age of Gods whose members this theory also included, but in practice…
It required extreme holistic understanding of each and every religion, culture, and race, down to the intangibles such as Nihon's concept of [Honour], which might not translate well to others despite sharing the same word.
Still, up until now, Nobunaga hadn't missed a step. This was practically impossible, considering there were no daimyō had experience with so many different people and ideas given Nihon's geographical place in life. It wasn't the Ottoman Empire with its Constantinople, a gateway between two worlds. It wasn't the old Yuan Dynasty with its mastery and rule over the Silk Road. It wasn't the British Empire with its endless arrival of merchant ships and foreign goods – sapient or otherwise.
All of its existence, Nihon had only known of Oriental, Mongolian, and Siberian influences. Even this, throughout its long, stable history, all its primordial cultures had been blended so perfectly together they become one: Nihon, and only that. Its current people and leaders only knew of it, and nothing else.
So how was Nobunaga able to play the game so above the rest?
'Unless…'
Kōtarō really didn't want to finish the thought which had just surfaced in his mind.
'…she wants the world as well?!'
He eyed Momochi, gauging whether she'd read his expression or not. Fortunately, she was particularly taken by a small commotion by the streetside – a small band of urchins being beaten for what he presumed was pilfering. Seeing that, he sympathized with her momentary lapse of judgement – after all, those in the Fūma Clan from the 'outside' were mostly recruited when they're no different than these brats right in front of them.
"I think it's the wife," he finally shared his answer to the earlier hanging question. "Chiyome-dono does not only come from a more storied family, but she also has the most opportunities to reign. Her husband has too much on his plate to lead a shinobi clan, despite having his name on the door."
"Regardless, they haven't made a move on us yet," Momochi continued. "Do you think Mother is preventing them…?"
They had subconsciously moved towards one of their safehouses and current rendezvous point while talking, while also blending perfectly in the crowd. People always related the shinobi occupation as 'in-uniform' with their all-black or -grey body-covering outfits, when in reality, shinobis spent most of their mission time in other disguises, as Sengo Chiyome – née Mochizuki – had amply demonstrated in her youth as an Ibuki miko. Naturally, Kōtarō and Momochi were also in disguise, which wasn't difficult to do considering Harima's position as one of Nihon's premier trade hub, with its variety of fashion and trends.
Within the safe confines of this nondescript inn, they continued their chat. "Do you think someone powerful enough to control her will take any objections? Much as I'd like it to be true, it's likely sparing us was her maximum. Any more, and she'll be compromised."
His kunoichi companion drew a sharp breath. "…let's not lose her again this time."
"You have my word. That's for sure."
Going in deeper and performing the silent exchanges of secret codes to the innkeeper – an ally of the Fūma and a male nekomata – the two 'descended' through the back door into the basement. In effect, all they did was step into a seemingly blank wall, and their body weight activated a magic circle prior to them slamming their faces into said obstacle and warped the dimension around them, allowing safe passage through into the gathering spot.
It was a popular [Space] manipulation among the underground community, and one which was making its way to public use as methods to increase warehouse space for commerce. It's surprisingly easy to police, since the approved, 'safe' version was integrated with arrays from the Minamoto Clan itself, and any misuse would sound a silent alarm in the related 'peacekeeping' department. Major shinobi clans, like the Fūma, had their own unsanctioned version, and the only thing preventing the royal guards to take issue to this was the lack of resources to replace these major families if they're exterminated to the ground – not from a lack of will and strength.
Having seen what a Minamoto heir was capable of first-hand, Kōtarō had little doubt just Muramasa himself would be able to raze his clan's compound to the ground, much less if he had reinforcements.
The more competitive an industry was, so long as a centralized government was able to monitor and control the guidelines, the better it's going to be for the livelihood of the people – who were eventually going to be the benefactors. The current Warring States period arose from the fact said competition got out of hand, to the point the Minamoto Clan had to finally interfere and support a Princess General to conquer all.
Foreign threats never paused or stopped in sympathy for a civil war, after all. The quicker this battle royale between daimyōs and Princess Generals ended, the faster Nihon could reconsolidate and resume the vengeful ambition Yoshitsune always harboured after the Mongols came and went relatively unpunished. Back then, Nihon lacked the capability to chase those nomads all the way back to their tents and strike their capital, just as they intended to do to Kyoto before she personally stopped them.
To her dying breath, she cast a longing gaze across the ocean, ensuring this last thought was passed down as a curse through the Minamoto Clan's Sorcery Trait to ensure it's never forgotten.
Of course, the Fūma Clan didn't know this up to its last detail, but scouring the records and matching them with the Minamoto Clan's and royal family's moves across the centuries painted a roughly complete picture nonetheless.
Greeting the lower-ranked shinobis gathered around the room – just a small team to avoid alarming the powers around Harima, especially their target – he stopped himself from mulling irrelevant things any further and focus on the mission at hand.
Whether the royal family would send out a decree and order them to fight to the death in the grasslands and forests of Ming, that's something to worry about in years to come. For now, they had to track down their founder and ensure nothing untoward happened to him… or worse, him doing untoward things to innocents.
As his descendants, that's their responsibility.
Several documents and unfinished snacks scattered about the table's surface, surrounded by mildly exhausted Fūma shinobis. They weren't the ones who battled Danzō at Okehazama, specializing more in datamining and information analysis than combat. Besides, most of those shinobis hadn't recovered enough to join them in this relatively insignificant sighting confirmation mission – there's no pressure for them to risk their unhealthy bodies yet.
When another massive battle arrived at their doorstep, not just the wounded and disabled, but the Fūma Clan was also willing to arm their immature members if it's to ensure the clan's survival. That's the way it had been for generations in other clans as well, because there's no sense in leaving behind children with no capability to defend themselves further, should they escape. If fortunate enough to grow to adulthood, no Fūma Clan culture or technique would be preserved or continued to the next generation in most cases – they simply died out.
"Any results?"
"Kage-sama… There's been several sightings around here, yes, but I'm afraid we're too late," one of them answered quickly.
The redhead nodded. "Then let's start packing up. We can't waste time here."
Despite all the security measures, hard experience taught them nothing was infallible. This safehouse could be compromised at this very moment, and they just didn't know it yet. The doubt was intensified given they hadn't used this place for a while, and chance was high an innocent tip-off sometime gave before they arrived revealed this place's true function.
True enough, the one thing they feared occurred.
- Clack.
The door opened behind Kōtarō.
It was a typical response when a supposedly-secret door suddenly opened uninvited. Of course, optimistic ones would first assume it's nothing more than a curious animal, only to be shot down when they remembered most unintelligent beasts had no opposable thumb to do exactly that: open doors.
Which meant only two things: allies rushing in emergencies, or enemies rushing in emergencies. Neither option was preferrable over the other – the first meant they're surrounded by overwhelming force, the second meant they're infiltrated by overwhelming force.
The difference was solely the time they'd die and the danger they'd experience.
Everyone present in the room smoothly slid out their preferred weapons – yes, even the supposed 'clerks' who weren't proficient in combat.
…still, despite this visible bravado, they all froze at the same time, much like that time in Okehazama.
Disregarding everyone's shocked gaze, Katō Danzō strolled to the middle of the room, took stock on the documents scattered across the table – some even fallen on the floor – and casually turned back to speak to someone waiting at the other side of the door.
"Nothing here. Let's search somewhere else."
A female voice spoke back, though the Fūma shinobis no longer had any spare brain capacity to actually tear their eyes away from the buxom woman who had just entered the room among them, "Understood, Kage-sama."
With that, amidst slightly agape eyes, Danzō walked back out as easily as she came in: unopposed.
It's only after a few seconds someone finally voiced out the thought which had gripped them so thoroughly earlier.
"MOTHER!"