Kanbe'e’s stratagem had swallowed the years of resentment and fear harbored by various factions toward Nobunaga, as well as Mitsuhide Akechi’s precarious ambition to revive the Ashikaga Shogunate. It had grown into a snowballing force—no longer subject to any single human will, but a massive iron sphere rolling down the slope of history, transformed into an overwhelming energy of destruction.
Mitsuhide sat firmly in the land of Toba, two ri (about eight kilometers) south of Honno-ji. His gaze was fixed on the Kyoto sky, awaiting the rising flames.
"So, Hideyoshi meant for me and Toshimitsu to rise in arms over the matter of Shikoku... Those years of endurance were all for this night. Hideyosh... I am counting on you."
June 2, the 10th year of Tensho, before dawn.
The eastern sky began to pale, and the first crow of a rooster broke the silence. Nobunaga, who had been asleep after a night of golden conviviality, was awakened by the sound of thousands of footsteps shaking the earth.
"What is this? Are the servants brawling?"
At first, he thought it was a mere quarrel among the underlings. But the thunder of matchlocks and the smell of gunpowder stinging his nostrils told him this was no small skirmish. The moment he sat up, a war cry ripped through the night air.
"Is this a rebellion? Whose plot is this! Speak at once!"
Ranmaru Mori rushed in, his face pale as he shouted.
"It is... the forces of Mitsuhide Akechi, my lord!"
Nobunaga could not believe his ears. Why was Mitsuhide, whom he had ordered away to Bitchu, still in Kyoto? It was precisely because he had sent the Kyoto Magistrate Mitsuhide away that he had entered Honno-ji with so few men, hoping to remain inconspicuous.
But reasons and logic mattered not now.
"It is beyond help—Zehi ni oyobazu!"
The cruel truth was simple: the army before him was Mitsuhide Akechi’s. Nobunaga was instantly consumed by rage. Grabbing his bow, he kicked open the sliding doors.
The temple grounds were filled with armored warriors. When he saw the bellflower crest fluttering in the depths of the ranks, something snapped violently within him.
"So! Even Mitsuhide has betrayed me!"
From the rear, Saito Toshimitsu shouted:
"There he is! The man in the small-sleeved robe!"
With that cry, countless warriors raised a roar that pierced the heavens and charged all at once. Some among them likely did not realize the man in the white robe was Nobunaga Oda. Others surely did, but to them, caught in the momentum, he was merely a target—the "Greatest Glory" to be claimed.
Outnumbered, Nobunaga began picking off enemies with his arrows. At close range, his shafts pierced helmets and split brows. But there was no stopping the deluge. Flaming arrows began to set Honno-ji ablaze.
As he fought back, the names of potential "masterminds" flashed through his mind like a revolving lantern. Was it Mitsuhide alone? The Jesuits? The exiled Yoshiaki Ashikaga? Or perhaps Tokugawa? Yet, no matter how much he pondered, only death awaited if he did not strike down the foes before him.
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Finally, the bowstring, unable to withstand the fierce exchange, snapped with an ominous crack.
"Ranmaru! My spear!"
Amidst the unending roars, Nobunaga gripped the cold steel of the spear. The sensation evoked memories of his youth as "Kipposhi," the one they called the "Great Fool."
The days he walked the town with his hair tied like a tea whisk, sleeves rolled up, and tiger skin wrapped around his waist. The innate genius that realized, even as a child, that longer spears were the key to winning wars. That rogue soul had sprinted through the wilderness of the warring states, eventually becoming the Demon King of the Sixth Heaven.
He recalled the Atsumori, the kowaka-mai dance he had performed so many times it had become part of his flesh and blood.
"A man’s life of fifty years, compared to the life of those in the lower heaven, is but a fleeting dream, an illusion..."
Fifty years in the human world is but a dream that vanishes in the blink of an eye compared to a single day in the celestial realm. Ironically, at forty-nine, he was one year short of fifty. Trading thrusts with the encroaching Akechi forces, piercing throats and swinging his blade through the grime, Nobunaga fought through his final moments as if performing a dance.
At the same hour, in the camp at Bitchu.
Kanbe'e looked up at the Kyoto sky, quietly crossed himself, and as he ran his fingers over his rosary (contas), he began to chant the Oratio in a low, clear voice.
"Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum... (Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come...)"
The voice seemed to coldly envelop the agonizing cries of Honno-ji, dissolving into the midnight darkness.
Finally, an enemy spear pierced Nobunaga’s left elbow deeply.
A jolt of intense pain ran through him. Dropping his spear, Nobunaga realized the end had come.
"The women and children... let them escape at once!"
As a final act of mercy, he ordered the women to flee and turned his back on the approaching Mitsuhide Akechi forces. Sparks danced and crimson flames swirled as his white back vanished into the depths of the inner chambers.
But what awaited him in the inner room was not a peaceful end, but the "despair" prepared by Kanbe'e.
The moment he entered, Nobunaga was seized from behind by powerful arms reaching out from the darkness, stripping him of his freedom. It was Hyakuhachi, one of the Senryu.
"One of... Mitsuhide’s men?"
In front of him stood a silent, mechanical shadow. It was Genbu, the leader of the Senryu.
"No...
I bring a message from my lord."
Genbu leaned in close to Nobunaga’s ear and whispered in a voice cold enough to freeze blood.
"The heir of Kuroda, who received a character for his name from your lordship... His name is 'Nagamasa'."
Nobunaga’s eyes widened in a shudder of terror he had never felt before.
"Nagamasa? Kuroda... and Azai...? You... it couldn't be... from the very beginning...!"
His own arrogant paternal heart, which had given the character "Naga" to Kanbe'e’s son years ago. The horror that the ghost of Nagamasa Azai, whom he thought he had destroyed, was now tearing at his throat.
Nobunaga understood. The face that flashed through his mind was that man with the cane, the one who had returned from the death trap of Arioka.
"Damn you... Kan...!"
Before he could scream Kanbe'e’s name, Genbu slit Nobunaga’s throat in an instant. Blood sprayed, and the Demon King’s consciousness plunged rapidly into darkness.
During those few minutes, Kanbe'e in Bitchu was still quietly offering his prayer.
"Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum... (Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee...) Amen."
Amidst the roaring inferno, the blood spilling from Nobunaga’s throat was darkly absorbed into the scorched tatami mats. Immediately after, two other Senryu appeared, carrying a sturdy wooden box to hide the body.
Devoid of any emotion, as if putting away a broken tool, they swiftly placed Nobunaga’s remains into the box. Barely five minutes had passed since Nobunaga vanished into the back room. The corpse of the Demon King disappeared behind a curtain of fire, never to be seen by anyone in Mitsuhide Akechi’s army.
Honno-ji had once been designed as a "fortress" for emergencies, equipped with secret escape routes. Those paths, which should have allowed Nobunaga to escape, now served as perfect transport routes for the Senryu to carry out his silent remains.
The four Senryu carried the box from darkness to darkness, the collapsing temple ablaze behind them. Left behind was the scorched ruins of Honno-ji and the confusion of Mitsuhide Akechi, who would search in vain for the head that was no longer there.
At the moment the fires of Honno-ji scorched the night sky and the sun that was Nobunaga set, all traces of his death were eternally erased from the stage of history by the hand of Kanbe'e.
Produced and written by a Japanese author, rooted in authentic Japanese history. Translated with the assistance of Gemini (AI).

