PROLOGUE
“We will now commence a full frontal assault on Glaðsheimr,” Nobunaga declared the moment he appeared in front of the commanders assembled for the war council.
The announcement that they were about to conduct a full-scale assault caught even the battle-hardened generals of the Flame Clan by surprise. It had only been a day since the Flame Clan had lost two of the Five Division Commanders: Vassarfall the Fáfnir, and Ran, the most loyal of Nobunaga’s retainers. Although they briefly thought he was joking, a single glance at Nobunaga’s expression made it clear he was serious, and the color drained from their faces.
“P-Please, hold but a moment, Great Lord! Based on the battles to date, it’s clear that Glaðsheimr is an impregnable fortress worthy of the name of the Steel Clan. To force the matter and continue our advance upon that city would vastly increase our casualties. No doubt you have a masterful plan prepared?” one of the generals stepped forward and boldly asked.
Up until this point, Nobunaga, though bold, had always been extremely cautious and had always waited until he had prepared the table for victory before fighting. Given his rank, the general knew of this firsthand. Ordinarily, the general would not have doubted that Nobunaga had a plan. However, at this very moment, it seemed that Nobunaga was fueled by anger.
“A plan?” Nobunaga asked.
“Y-Yes. I thought it prudent to confirm,” the general replied, his voice trembling. Nobunaga’s reply had contained a clear edge of annoyance.
“There’s nothing of the sort. We’ll simply force our way in using sheer strength,” Nobunaga pronounced with conviction.
“Wha?!”
This time, the general was struck mute with shock. As he had noted himself, trying to capture Glaðsheimr through brute force was a fool’s plan. He wasn’t even able to imagine how great the losses would be. Then there was the fact that the Flame Clan had rapidly expanded its territories over the past few years. It was difficult to confidently state that the new territories had been fully assimilated into the Flame Clan. The reality was that they were held in check by the clan’s overwhelming military superiority. If the Flame Clan were to lose too many of their men, supporters of the former rulers might very well rise in rebellion, threatening to seriously erode the Flame Clan’s territory. It was far too risky. He needed to warn Nobunaga against this plan and convince him to reconsider.
“Urkh... Gasp...!”
Despite his reservations, however, he wasn’t able to raise his head. His mouth wouldn’t move. It took a great deal of effort even to breathe. While the general was a veteran who had served Nobunaga for a decade, he had never seen his liege express this much rage. Nobunaga’s ordinary aura was that of a wild predator—the conqueror’s aura he gave off now made that seem like a gentle summer breeze. The general could do nothing but cower like a frog facing a cobra, sweat pouring from his brow. It was a humiliating display, but he was still one of the better ones.
There were several thuds from around the general as several of the commanders collapsed despite being in the presence of the patriarch. They all clutched at their chests, and their faces were purple from a lack of oxygen. Terror had caused them to start hyperventilating, despite the fact that everyone present was a grizzled warrior who had fought on countless deadly battlefields.
“Not enough sleep? Tch. Such weakness.” Nobunaga clicked his tongue and drew the sword on his hip. Nobunaga hated idleness and a lack of effort more than anything else. To him, for the commanders to collapse in front of their patriarch showed that they were simply lacking in a sense of urgency.
No, that wasn’t it—or so the general wanted to say, but the only sounds that came from his mouth were wheezes. The general’s consciousness was slipping away. The aura Nobunaga radiated was no longer that of a man. The figure that stood there was a god—no, a demon lord—driven by flames of hatred.
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