Call of War

The first light of dawn had yet to break over the rugged hills of Owari. Beneath a sky still shrouded in the remnants of night, the sound of drums echoed through the camp, low and rhythmic, like the heartbeat of an ancient creature stirring from slumber. The firelight flickered weakly as soldiers clad in tattered armor sharpened their blades, prepared their bows, and whispered prayers for the battle ahead.

Among them was a figure who stood apart—his armor dull but worn with pride, his sword sheathed at his side, eyes scanning the horizon. His name was Kageyoshi, a common soldier from the farming villages of Owari, though few would have guessed his origins today. His back was straight, his posture commanding, though the dirt and blood of a dozen skirmishes marred his skin. He was not yet a man of great power—no, not yet—but there was something in the way he carried himself, something that set him apart from the others.

He had spent most of his life in the fields, planting rice, tilling the earth. But war had a way of claiming men from every walk of life, and now the weight of a sword felt more natural to him than a plow. Kageyoshi had heard the call—no, the demand—of battle many times before. And yet, this time was different.

Today would be the day that would carve his name into the pages of history.

The sound of hooves grew louder, and a shadow fell over him as a tall figure, draped in the colors of a general, approached. It was Nobunaga Oda, the man who had set fire to the land of Owari and united the fractured clans under his iron fist. Though Kageyoshi had earned little more than the rank of a foot soldier, the general’s attention was something few could ignore. Nobunaga was a master of cruelty, of cunning, and of ambition—a man who would stop at nothing to see his vision of a unified Japan realized.

The general dismounted and approached him, his black lacquered armor glistening even in the dim light.

“You look like a man who has seen war before, Kageyoshi,” Nobunaga remarked, his voice as sharp as the blade he carried. His gaze was piercing, calculating, as though he were looking not at the man before him, but into the future. “Tell me, do you fear what lies ahead?”

The question hung in the air. The other soldiers paused, eyes flicking nervously to Kageyoshi. To answer the general was no simple task. Fear was a weakness—one that could lead to death. But to deny it was to lie.

Kageyoshi met the general’s gaze and bowed slightly, his voice steady, but his heart quickening in his chest.

“Fear is a companion in war, my lord,” he said, his voice thick with the weight of truth. “But it will not hold me back.”

Nobunaga studied him for a moment, as if weighing his words. Then, with a slight nod, he turned away. “Good. Then you may prove yourself soon enough. The Imagawa forces gather at Okehazama. We shall strike before they realize we are even there. If you wish to earn your place in history, Kageyoshi, you’ll need to be prepared for what’s to come.”

The general’s words were harsh, but they carried a weight of conviction that filled the men with an electric charge. This would be the battle that could change the course of history. Kageyoshi felt it deep within his bones. Today, he would fight not just for his life, but for something greater.

As the soldiers gathered and began to move into position, Kageyoshi's mind raced. Okehazama. The name had been whispered around camp for days, a shadow looming over their every move. He had heard the rumors—that the Imagawa were vast in number and believed themselves invincible. The Oda forces were outnumbered, outgunned, and yet they were striking first, hidden in the dense forests and waiting for the right moment.

Kageyoshi felt his pulse quicken, the tension in the air almost tangible. His heart was full of uncertainty, yet he could not ignore the fire that burned in his chest. A deep desire to prove himself, to show that even a man born from nothing could make his mark.

With a deep breath, he fell into formation with the other soldiers. They moved in silence, their steps muffled by the soft earth beneath them. The battle—when it came—would be fast and brutal. And Kageyoshi knew that he had but one chance to rise from the ashes of defeat and earn the respect of his comrades.

...

The soldiers of the Oda clan moved swiftly through the woods, their steps light and measured. The Imagawa had made the grave mistake of underestimating Nobunaga’s forces, believing them to be scattered and weak. But the Oda army was like a hidden storm, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Kageyoshi crouched low, his fingers tightening around his blade, feeling the anticipation build. The dense woods parted, and the Imagawa’s camp appeared in the distance—lazy, unsuspecting, as the morning fog still clung to the ground.

The general’s orders came swiftly. With a series of precise gestures, Nobunaga’s commanders directed their men into position. The battle would begin in moments, and Kageyoshi knew that he was about to be thrust into a maelstrom of chaos and bloodshed. His pulse raced, but his body was already reacting without thought.

As the first arrow flew, time seemed to slow. The clash of steel, the cries of men, and the thunder of hooves filled the air. The Oda forces surged forward with deadly precision, overwhelming the Imagawa before they could even mount a proper defense.

Kageyoshi fought with all the fury of a man who had nothing left to lose. His blade danced in the light, striking down enemies with ruthless efficiency. His body moved almost instinctively, each swing calculated, each step purposeful.

But amid the chaos, a single thought burned in his mind: This is just the beginning.