The Hanzo castle loomed ahead, its imposing stone walls reaching toward the sky. Sengoku's remaining wives followed closely behind him, their scaled bodies glistening in the sunlight.
The army marched forward with determination, the unconscious form of Ron left behind on the battlefield.
As they approached the castle, a figure appeared atop the walls. The old man Yamato stood watching their advance, his white beard flowing in the wind, while his crimson eyes spelled blood. Below him stood another figure, obscured by shadow of castle gates.
"Go kill him my son," yelled old man Yamato.
The son of Yamato stepped ahead, and Sengoku immediately noticed something wrong with him.
The boy was a towering figure draped in flowing black robes, rich with intricate patterns of swirling gold filigree. The fabric carried delicate, almost hidden floral and cloud motifs, like whispers of an ancient culture woven into every thread. Elegant golden trims ran along the edges of the sleeves and down the front, framing the dark garment with a regal brilliance. Around the waist, a pristine white sash was tied into a refined knot, the soft fabric providing a striking contrast against the deep blacks and shimmering golds of the attire.
Where the face should be, there was only a void—an endless, inky darkness that seemed to swallow light itself. From this abyss, wild, shadowy tendrils flowed outward, twisting and curling as if caught in an unseen current. The figure's hair, or perhaps extensions of their very essence, moved like living smoke, giving them an ethereal, untouchable quality.
Bathed in the amber glow of a setting sun, the golden embellishments of the robes caught the light, casting a warm, otherworldly radiance around the figure. Their entire presence felt both regal and haunting, a silhouette of shadow and splendor against the backdrop of a fading sky.
Sengoku's scaled face twisted with disgust as he beheld the transformation. "What an abomination you are boy, have you slain the dark dragon thanks to my betraying wife?"
"Yes," Hiroshi replied, his voice echoing from the void where his face should have been, "and tell that to me after going to your grave."
"Big mouth you've got boy!" Sengoku retorted, his claws flexing in anticipation.
Hiroshi didn't respond with words. Instead, he struck with incredible speed, moving faster than anyone present could track. Before Sengoku could mount a defense, Hiroshi's attack connected with devastating force, sending the dragonslayer flying backward. His wives screamed as their husband was thrown through the air like a ragdoll.
Sengoku recovered quickly, his draconic body absorbing much of the impact. He flew forward with swift speed, his rage evident in his glowing eyes. "How dare you ya piece of shit!"
Opening his mouth wide, Sengoku unleashed his dragon breath—a torrent of flame that engulfed Hiroshi completely. The attack landed as a clean hit, bathing the void-faced figure in dragonfire. Yet when the flames dissipated, Hiroshi stood unscathed, his black robes not even singed by the assault.
"Is that all you got geezer?" Hiroshi yelled, his voice carrying a note of mockery.
"Geezer me!?" Sengoku's scales bristled with anger. His transformation advanced further, spikes erupting along his spine as he channeled his power.
Once again, he unleashed his dragon breath, but this time the breath was different—a sickly green-black mist that decayed whatever it touched. The ground withered beneath its influence, rocks crumbling to dust and plants blackening instantly.
Hiroshi dodged the deadly breath with supernatural agility, his smoky tendrils flowing behind him as he moved. "You're losing your touch," he taunted.
Sengoku turned to his wives, who watched the battle with trepidation. "Throw me a single sword," he commanded.
Without hesitation, Kuzu unsheathed her blade and tossed it to her husband. The sword spun through the air, catching the light as it rotated. Sengoku caught it by the hilt and immediately channeled his power.
"Swordgod," he whispered, activating one of his most devastating talents.
The blade began to glow with an unearthly light, power crackling along its edge as Sengoku prepared to cut that bastard Hiroshi in two halves. He lunged forward, the empowered blade cutting through the air with deadly precision.
Hiroshi produced a sword of his own, seemingly drawing it from the void of his non-face. The blade was black as night, absorbing light rather than reflecting it. The two weapons clashed with a thunderous impact, sending shockwaves across the battlefield.
What followed was an intense display of swordsmanship. Sengoku moved with preternatural speed, his centuries of experience evident in every slash and parry. His blade danced through the air, leaving trails of light in its wake. Each strike was calculated, designed to probe Hiroshi's defenses and exploit any weakness.
Hiroshi matched him blow for blow initially, his youth and dark dragon power providing raw strength and speed. But as the duel continued, Sengoku's superior skill became increasingly apparent. Where Hiroshi relied on power and unpredictability, Sengoku employed precision and technique honed over countless battles.
A particularly vicious exchange left Hiroshi's sword with a visible crack. Sengoku pressed his advantage, delivering a series of rapid strikes that forced his opponent to retreat. With each clash, the crack in Hiroshi's blade grew larger, spreading like a spider's web across the dark metal.
Sensing victory, Sengoku executed a complex maneuver—feinting to the left before spinning to deliver a powerful overhead strike. The blow connected with Hiroshi's damaged blade, and the black sword shattered into countless fragments that dissolved into shadow before hitting the ground.
Disarmed and vulnerable, Hiroshi leapt backward to create distance between himself and the dragonslayer. Sengoku struck his sword on the ground, embedding it partway into the earth as he regarded his opponent.
"Join me and I'll forgive you," Sengoku proposed, his voice surprisingly calm after such an intense battle.
Hiroshi's void-face seemed to ripple with contempt. "In your dreams ya old bastard."
With those words, Hiroshi activated some hidden technique. A thick smokescreen erupted around him, obscuring him completely from view. When the smoke cleared seconds later, he was nowhere to be found.
"Bastard ran away!" Sengoku spat, pulling his sword from the ground.
From atop the castle wall, old man Yamato called down once more. "Well done Sengoku! Your dragon arts are indeed impressive, but my boy needs more training to defeat you it seems. But thanks to you, he learned a lot."
"Ya all running away is what he learned the best," Sengoku replied scornfully.
Yamato's weathered face showed no sign of concern despite his son's defeat. "You may siege this castle if you can, but it's not one of my strongholds, and besides, I've got more regions to look after than you."
Nickan observed the exchange with interest, noting how massive the castle was. Its walls stretched high above them, and water canals surrounded it on all sides, making a ground assault nearly impossible. That left only an aerial approach, but Sengoku had already exhausted much of his magical power helping his soldiers fly from his castle to the valley of whispers. A direct assault seemed out of the question.
"Alright then old man, I take up your challenge," Sengoku declared confidently.
Nickan's thoughts raced: the castle walls were so big, and with water canals surrounding it, attacking by land seemed impossible. That left only air, but Sengoku had already exhausted his magic powers helping his soldiers fly earlier.
Undeterred by these obstacles, Sengoku ordered his men to bring shields, which they promptly did. Looking around, he noted the tall trees surrounding the castle and formulated a plan. He ordered his men to lower several trees by rope, and once ten or more soldiers were positioned on each with their shields equipped, Sengoku informed them of his strategy.
On his signal, the soldiers cut the ropes. The trees, released from their bent positions, snapped back upright with tremendous force. Sengoku and his men were launched into the air, propelled above the castle walls. They arranged themselves in a circle formation as they flew, shields positioned to protect them from any projectiles the defenders might launch.
They landed directly on the wall where enemy soldiers were stationed. The defenders, taken completely by surprise by this unconventional assault, had little time to react. Sengoku and his men immediately began attacking, cutting down enemies with ruthless efficiency.
Meanwhile, other groups of Sengoku's soldiers employed the same tactic, launching themselves over the walls using different trees. Soon, the full force of his army was in action, spreading across the castle's defenses like a plague.
The mountain tribes and shadow clans that Yamato had stationed as reinforcements watched the battle unfold from their positions.
Seeing the ferocity and effectiveness of Sengoku's forces, they quickly realized that resistance would be futile. One by one, they conceded and raised their hands in surrender.
With the defenders either defeated or surrendered, the castle fell to Sengoku and his men in remarkably short order.
Standing atop the main wall, blood-spattered but victorious, Sengoku raised his sword high.
"The castle is won!" he yelled, his voice echoing across the battlefield.
His men screamed in victory, their voices joining together in a chorus of triumph. The Hanzo castle, once a symbol of Yamato's power in this region, now belonged to Sengoku.
It was the first significant victory in what promised to be a long and bloody war for dragon supremacy, but for now, Sengoku would savor this moment of conquest.