The sound reached Osaka Castle like a ghost in the early dawn—a distant, rhythmic thudding that wormed its way into the bones of every Toyotomi soldier. It wasn't the crash of cannon fire or the roar of an oncoming charge. No, this was different. Worse. The deliberate bite of axes into wood, the scrape of picks against stone—a methodical destruction that carried with it a grim finality.
In the castle's main hall, Hideyori stood motionless, his breath visible in the icy air. The maps and battle plans before him lay scattered and forgotten, their lines and markings now meaningless. His heart thudded in his chest, each beat slower, heavier, as if it were struggling to match the relentless rhythm of the sounds outside.
The noises grew louder, closer, no longer distant echoes but the sharp, undeniable reality of betrayal. They seeped through the stone walls of the castle, rising over the low murmur of wounded men and the occasional cry of pain from the infirmary.
The heavy doors to the hall burst open with a crash, and a commander stumbled in, his face pale, his armor hastily thrown over his robes. His eyes were wide, panic and anger battling for control.
"My lord!" Sanada Yukimura burst into the hall like a storm, his crimson armor dusted with frost and streaked with mud. His voice, raw with fury, reverberated off the stone walls. "They're tearing it all down—those cowards!"
The intensity in Yukimura's tone shattered the tension-laden silence, each word like a spark threatening to ignite the room. His fists were clenched so tightly at his sides that his knuckles had gone white, veins bulging beneath his skin. He took a shuddering breath, his anger barely contained. "The walls, the gates—the moats! They're dismantling everything!"
Hideyori, seated at the head of the hall, rose slowly to his feet. His gaze fixed on Yukimura, cold and searching, though the faintest tremor in his hands betrayed the composure he fought to maintain. "What do you mean?" His voice, low and measured, cut through Yukimura's storm of rage.
"They've taken axes to the gates and picks to the stonework," Yukimura spat, his voice trembling with both fury and disbelief. "The moats—they're filling them in! It's treachery, plain and simple."
For a moment, Hideyori didn't move, the weight of the words sinking in. "Call the men. We will stop them."
Yukimura hesitated, his fiery defiance flickering as uncertainty crept into his voice. "My lord, they're armed—and not lightly. The Tokugawa soldiers have come prepared for a fight. If we resist, they'll cut us down without hesitation."
Hideyori's jaw clenched, his teeth grinding audibly. Without a word, he turned on his heel and strode to the window, Yukimura trailing behind him. The faint sounds of destruction from outside grew louder as they neared, and when Hideyori pulled the shutters open, the sight below made his stomach turn.
The proud walls of Osaka Castle, the fortress that had withstood the test of time and countless sieges, were now under assault from within. Tokugawa soldiers, like a relentless tide, swarmed over the battlements, their axes biting into the stone, their picks tearing at the very foundation. The once-impregnable gates, the symbol of the Toyotomi legacy, were now being dismantled with chilling precision. The deep, protective moats—the lifeline of the castle, the defense that had stood for generations—were slowly being filled with dirt, rubble, and broken timber.
Hideyori stood at the window, his gaze fixed on the scene unfolding before him. The sound of destruction filled the air, a sickening rhythm of axes and hammers. His father's castle—his father's legacy—was being torn asunder before his very eyes.
His knuckles went white, gripping the windowsill with a force that made his fingers ache. His breath caught in his throat, his chest tightening as the full weight of the situation settled over him. His father had built this castle—had made it a symbol of strength, a beacon for their clan's future. And now, it was being reduced to rubble.
"This… this was not part of the truce," Hideyori whispered, his voice cold and hollow, a mixture of disbelief and fury. His heart pounded, but the anger he felt was tempered by a deep, gnawing sorrow. They were stripping away everything his father had fought for, everything the Toyotomi had built. What was left for him now? What was left to protect?
"This… this was not part of the truce," Hideyori muttered, his voice trembling as disbelief gave way to simmering fury. His hands gripped the windowsill so tightly that his knuckles turned white, his nails digging into the wood as though he could crush the betrayal in his grasp. His chest heaved, each breath shallow and ragged, his pulse pounding in his ears like a war drum.
Anger surged within him, hotter with every swing of an axe and crash of falling stone outside. The walls his father had fortified with blood and sweat, the symbol of the Toyotomi's strength and resilience, were being desecrated by the very men who had feigned peace. His legacy—his father's legacy—was being torn down piece by piece, reduced to rubble under the pretense of victory.
"They dare…" Hideyori hissed, his voice rising, laced with venom. "They dare defile this castle, this sacred ground my father entrusted to me!" His fists slammed against the windowsill, the sharp sound echoing in the room. His eyes burned with a fierce intensity as he watched the destruction unfold. Each stone wrenched from the walls felt like a blade to his chest, a relentless assault on his very identity.
Yagi stood among the Tokugawa troops, his hands gripping the handle of a shovel as dirt and debris poured into what remained of Osaka Castle's once-imposing moats. The clamor of axes biting into wood and picks striking stone filled the air, mingling with the low murmur of men working tirelessly to dismantle the fortress. Overhead, the cold winter sun cast long shadows over the chaos, the air heavy with dust and smoke.
Atop a nearby rise, Hidetada Tokugawa stood surrounded by his officers, his arms crossed as he watched the systematic destruction with an air of detached authority. His gaze swept over the scene until a commotion drew his attention. From one of the castle's upper battlements, Hideyori Toyotomi appeared, flanked by a handful of his retainers. Their voices rang out, cutting through the din of labor.
"This was not part of the agreement!" Hideyori shouted, his voice strained as he leaned over the parapet, his figure framed by the crumbling stone. "You dishonor yourselves and your word! Is this how the Tokugawa treat peace? With lies and treachery?"
Hidetada's lips curled into a disdainful smirk. He stepped forward, cupping his hands around his mouth to amplify his voice. "Peace?" he roared back, his tone dripping with mockery. "You speak of peace as if you ever understood it! These walls—this castle—are nothing but symbols of your arrogance! If you want peace, it starts with tearing down your delusions of power!"
Hideyori's face twisted with anger, his hands gripping the edge of the battlement as if he could physically hurl his fury at the man below. "Symbols of arrogance? This castle is my father's legacy! A legacy of honor and strength, something you and your kind could never understand!"
Hidetada's eyes narrowed, his voice rising to meet the challenge. "Your father's legacy is one of rebellion and ruin! If this castle stands, it stands only as a reminder of your family's failures! We tear it down because it has no place in the Tokugawa's vision of order!"
Hideyori's face flushed with fury, his chest heaving as the words left his mouth like an accusation, each syllable weighted with years of resentment. "Then bring me Ieyasu!" he bellowed, his voice carrying over the battlefield, cutting through the noise of destruction. "Bring me your so-called shogun! Let him face me if he has any honor left!"
Hidetada's expression remained impassive, his gaze cold and calculating as he watched Hideyori's outburst with a mixture of disdain and amusement. The Tokugawa leader slowly shook his head, a mocking smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
"Ieyasu?" Hidetada repeated, his voice dripping with condescension. "He's already left for Kyoto. Your pleas are wasted, Hideyori. There's no one left to speak with you."
As Hideyori and Hidetada continued their exchange of barbed insults, Yagi could feel the tension crackling in the air. But Mayumi, standing beside him, didn't seem to share his interest in their verbal sparring. Her focus was fixed on the task at hand, her sharp eyes scanning the perimeter as she worked alongside the Tokugawa soldiers. The noise of the bickering rulers barely seemed to register with her.
Her voice was calm, almost detached, as she spoke without looking away from her work. "Let them shout," she muttered, her tone matter-of-fact. "It doesn't change what's happening here. We've got our orders."
Her hands were steady as she lifted another shovel full of dirt, her movements precise, almost mechanical. She didn't need to be told to stay alert; it was a natural instinct for her to be vigilant, watching for any signs of danger or trouble. She'd been assigned to the task, and she'd carry it out with the same discipline she showed in every other mission.
