[ Main Quest: The Battle of Okehazama
Role: Oda Nobunaga
✱Background:
Imagawa Yoshimoto's army (2,300 soldiers) aims to advance towards Kyoto. To do so, it must pass through your land, "Owari."
Your clan consists of only 50 soldiers.
✱Main objective:
Eliminate Yoshimoto or break his command by surprise.
✱ Failure:
Elimination of the Oda clan and failure to solve the puzzle ]
I widened my eyes after reading the information displayed on the notification.
All of this was completely at odds with my initial goal: to remain discreet, avoid unnecessary confrontations, and proceed methodically.
But as I reread each line, something became clear to me.
This was not a simple puzzle.
We were not free to act as we pleased.
Each of us had been assigned a role.
Oda Nobunaga... it wasn't just a name. It was a function, an imposed destiny. We were forced to replay the Sengoku period, as in a life-size role-playing game, with its battles, strategies, and sacrifices. History became a rule, and any attempt to deviate from it was tantamount to condemnation.
Not following the script meant failing the puzzle.
Failing the puzzle meant death.
At that moment, any illusion of freedom collapsed. My ideals and my desire for peace didn't matter: the system demanded that I behave like the character I had been forced to play.
I could see only one way out.
If we were to survive in this imposed role, I had to understand the story we were replaying. I had to know its events, its pitfalls, its possible outcomes.
I had to find someone among my clan who knew enough about the history of the Sengoku period to guide us.
Without that, we were just fifty men blindly marching toward a war that was already written.
So I stepped forward and addressed my clan.
"To have any chance of solving this puzzle, we absolutely need someone with a solid knowledge of history, specifically the Sengoku period."
No sooner had I finished than several voices rose up. Some asked me why such a thing was necessary, while others insisted that we should instead focus on developing an immediate military strategy.
A doubt crossed my mind.
Was it possible that I was the only one who had been given a role?
Was it because I was the marshal?
Faced with their incomprehension, I tried to convince them further.
"As you must have noticed from the beginning of the mystery, the names of the clans directly referred to iconic figures from the Sengoku period. This was surely no coincidence. Everything points to this puzzle being linked to this historical period and that our decisions must comply with it."
But despite my explanations and insistent remarks, no one came forward.
No one confessed.
Was there really no one in my group who met these criteria?
Normally, there should have been at least one. Like in that other puzzle I witnessed during my spotlight, with that former architect who was able to provide the missing dimensions in Réo's solution. In reality, the chances of such a person being present are purely coincidental, almost impossible.
But our reality had changed.
It now followed the logic of a movie script.
And in a movie, nothing is left to chance. Every element exists for a specific reason, to avoid any unnecessary plot complications.
What's more, I was close to Ryo Kanjo.
A major character in this story.
If I followed this logic, then all the important events, all the pieces essential to solving the mystery, had to revolve around him.
That's when someone finally decided to speak up and said:
"If the mystery really follows the events of the Sengoku period... then we all know how it's going to end. "
His statement took me aback.
What was he implying?
Before I could ask him to clarify his thoughts, another person spoke up:
"I don't know that much about history, but I do know one thing... in the end, Oda Nobunaga dies. "
His words resonated heavily within the group.
At that moment, doubt set in: if we were really forced to replay history as it had unfolded, then this puzzle was not just a game of strategy or discretion... but a forced march toward an already written ending.
I moved closer to Sae, Edano, and Shun, making sure I was out of earshot of prying ears before asking them the question.
"If we want to survive together, we have to stop lying to each other. You too... you were given a role, weren't you?"
They exchanged a brief glance. There was no surprise or attempt to evade the question. As I expected, they nodded.
Saé was the first to speak.
"I was given the role of Oichi no Kata." "
Her voice remained calm, but her gaze betrayed a certain gravity. "Nobunaga's sister."
Edano followed suit, almost mechanically.
"I am Sakuma Nobumori."
Then it was Shun's turn. He hesitated for a second, as if weighing the importance of what he was about to say, before blurting out:
"I got the role of Tokichirō Kinoshita."
When he said those names, a heavy silence fell between us. They weren't just titles. They were historical figures, pieces already placed on a centuries-old chessboard.
Edano finally broke the silence.
"Even if we share our roles... it won't do us much good if we don't know what these people actually did in history."
Although Edano was right about one thing, I felt that something was still missing. A lead we hadn't tested. I then spoke up, aware that what I was about to say could call everything into question.
"You're right... our destinies seem to be already written. But there's one thing we haven't considered. We don't know what would happen if it were simply impossible for us to accomplish our quest." "
Saé frowned slightly and turned to me.
"What exactly are you thinking?"
I took a short breath before revealing what had been on my mind for a while.
"My quest is to eliminate Imagawa Yoshimoto. The problem is that we are clearly outnumbered by his clan. Under these conditions, the battle is almost lost before it begins."
I paused, letting my words sink in, then added:
"But if we could make this battle impossible... then perhaps the quest itself would become unachievable. And if that were the case, it could free us from the role that has been imposed on us."
Lost in thought, Sae finally replied, her voice hesitant.
"But how could we make this war impossible? Imagawa Yoshimoto is already marching towards our lands..."
It was then that I looked up and replied bluntly.
"There is only one person among us who can do that. Ryo Kanjo. "
Edano reacted immediately, visibly skeptical.
"Even if it were possible, Ryo would refuse. Especially if it means solving the riddle. He would never willingly take that risk."
I nodded slowly before replying, an almost disturbing calm in my voice:
"Exactly. We're not going to tell him. "
They looked at me, surprised.
"We're going to make him believe it."...
...
The sky was low, heavy with a blue that seemed to weigh down on the entire plain. The air smelled of damp earth, iron, and that dull tension that always precedes a massacre. Facing the pale green banners bearing the Imagawa emblem, the small opposing clan had hastily lined up their ranks: tired men, mismatched armor, eyes still searching for courage where there was none left.
Then the drums sounded.
A slow beat. Deep. Steady.
Like the very heart of war.
The ranks of the Imagawa clan advanced in unison, impeccable, disciplined, each step crushing the enemy's hope a little more. The ground vibrated under the weight of this army, and already, even before the blades clashed, the battle was decided.
In the center, mounted on his horse, Imagawa Yoshimoto advanced without haste.
His richly adorned armor caught the faint light of day, not ostentatiously, but with overwhelming confidence. He did not look at the battlefield as a man who feared the outcome, but as a lord contemplating a necessary formality. His face was calm, almost detached, but in his eyes burned an absolute certainty: that of victory.
A brief order was given.
The archers knelt.
The first volley rose into the sky like a black cloud, before falling back with a deadly whistle. Cries immediately erupted from the opposing camp. Men fell before they had even seen the enemy up close, their bodies slumping into the mud, pierced, mowed down without glory.
Then came the charge.
Imagawa's spearmen rushed forward, their yari forming a moving forest. The clash was brutal, inelegant, purely destructive. The lines of the small clan broke almost instantly. Where they tried to resist, they were surrounded. Where they retreated, they were cut down.
The noise was deafening:
the clash of metal,
the screams of pain,
the gasps of the dying,
and above it all, the clear and relentless orders of Imagawa's officers.
Yoshimoto advanced further.
He dismounted.
Around him, his men redoubled their ferocity, as if his mere presence was enough to galvanize their bodies and souls. Wherever he went, resistance collapsed. An enemy samurai tried to fight his way to him, shouting the name of his clan in a final burst of bravery.
A single movement.
Imagawa Yoshimoto's blade described a sharp, precise arc.
The cry was cut short.
The body collapsed.
Yoshimoto did not stop. He did not even look at the man he had just killed.
For him, this fight was not a feat. It was a demonstration.
The last survivors of the small clan were already trying to flee, throwing down their weapons, stumbling in the mud, pursued relentlessly. The enemy banners were torn down, trampled, stained with blood. In less time than it took for the sky to clear, the battle was over.
A heavy silence fell over the plain.
Imagawa Yoshimoto raised his head slightly and looked at the field of ruins he had left behind. Corpses littered the ground, and the blood-soaked earth itself seemed marked by his passage.
He sheathed his blade.
It was only a small clan. One more obstacle on the road to Kyoto. A name that would soon be forgotten.
Before him, the path seemed clear.
No one, it was thought, could stop the Imagawa clan.
No one...
Not even Oda Nobunaga.
And yet, somewhere, history was already holding its breath.
That's good, but can you add some dialogue too?
Of course, I'll keep the same intensity, but I'll add short, powerful lines that reinforce Imagawa Yoshimoto's charisma and the feeling of total domination. The words will be few and measured, as befits a lord confident of victory.
The sky was low, heavy with an oppressive gray that seemed to crush the entire plain. The air smelled of damp earth, iron, and that dull tension that settles in just before blood is shed.
Facing the pale green banners bearing the emblem of the Imagawa clan, the small opposing clan formed its ranks in feverish agitation.
"Hold the line... don't break!" shouted one of their officers, his voice trembling despite himself.
"They are not demons... they are men like us!"
But his own words rang hollow.
The drums of Imagawa sounded.
A slow beat. Deep. Steady.
"Advance."
The order was given without raising his voice.
Imagawa Yoshimoto's ranks began to move, perfectly synchronized. The ground vibrated beneath their feet. As they approached, fear spread across the faces of their opponents.
In the center, mounted on his horse, Imagawa Yoshimoto watched the scene with absolute calm.
"How many are there?" he asked.
One of his generals bowed immediately.
"Barely a third of our forces, Yoshimoto-sama. Their formation is fragile."
Yoshimoto nodded slightly.
"Then there's no need to prolong this. Let them understand who they have challenged."
"Archers!" shouted one of Imagawa's officers.
"Kneel! Aim!"
The soldiers obeyed in unison.
"Fire."
The first volley rose into the sky, black and whistling, before falling back down with relentless violence. Cries immediately erupted from the opposing camp.
"Take cover!"
"Aaargh!"
"They're shooting too fast!"
Men collapsed, pierced before they could even raise their blades.
Yoshimoto did not look away.
"Spearmen. Forward."
The charge was brutal.
The yari pierced the enemy ranks, breaking the line like a wave crashing into a sandcastle. The small clan tried to resist, but every step backward turned into a deadly trap.
"Don't run!" shouted an enemy leader.
"Stay together!"
Too late.
The Imagawa warriors struck with terrifying precision. Where one enemy fell, two others took his place. Panic spread.
Imagawa Yoshimoto dismounted.
"Let me through."
His men immediately stepped aside.
An enemy samurai, covered in blood, recognized him and gritted his teeth.
"Imagawa Yoshimoto..." he spat.
"Even if I die, I..."
He didn't have time to finish his sentence.
Yoshimoto's blade sliced through the air, clean and silent. The body fell heavily into the mud.
Yoshimoto slowly sheathed his sword.
"You died before you even understood why."
Around him, the last survivors were already trying to flee.
"They're retreating!" announced an officer.
"Should we pursue them?"
Yoshimoto raised his hand.
"Yes. But without haste.
Let them carry the story of their defeat to those who would still dare to stand against us."
The enemy banners were torn down, trampled, and stained with blood. In a few moments, the battle was over.
A heavy silence fell over the plain.
Imagawa Yoshimoto looked impassively at the field of corpses before him.
"Another small clan wiped off the map," murmured a general.
Yoshimoto had already turned away.
"It was only a detour. The road to Kyoto remains open."