"It is Akechi's rebellion! What will you do, my lord!" Ranmaru cried out again. His voice was thick with tears.
The flames were already crawling across the ceiling. The whole temple was burning like a giant torch. The war cries outside drew closer, then fell away.
Not a single one of them could get past this wall of fire and come in.
Of course not, I thought.
No one could come near. All those years, all those decades of making them believe I was a "Demon King" had paid off. Everyone was afraid of me. So there was no one who would walk into these flames to make sure.
This sign that had tormented me all along.
Here, at last, it had come in handy.
Being feared. Means no one comes near.
No one coming near. Means.
Even if I just vanish. No one can follow me.
Even if a charred body turns up in the ruins. There's no fool brave enough to come all the way to check, "Is this really Nobunaga?"
Everyone will shake, and convince themselves, "The Demon King is dead." And that'll be the end of it.
When you think about it, it's a funny story.
I trained because I was a coward. Because I was a coward, I collected guns, wore a nanban cuirass, kept everyone at a distance.
All that cowardice was taken as proof that I was a "Demon King."
And that "Demon King" sign is, right this moment, letting me escape from the flames.
Cowardice, saving a coward.
That was fine.
That was what I needed.
"Your orders..."
I looked up at the burning beams. My throat ached as if the smoke were scorching it. My heart was still thrashing, frighteningly hard. Even knowing it was an act, this heat was real. This smoke, these sparks, all of it was real.
So I was scared.
But this was no time to be scared. The words I had to say, I'd decided years ago.
I parted my trembling lips.
"It cannot be helped."
It cannot be helped.
Ranmaru caught his breath.
I was sure the boy heard those words as a declaration of resolve.
The fierce final decision of a Demon King who would neither flee nor regret. Later ages would surely write it down that way too.
That's not it.
This is a signal.
The final signal of the world's most ridiculous plan, put together over years by just a precious few of us.
Oh well. Let's do this. We're running.
—That's what it meant.
From the inner room came the rustle of silk once more.
Kicho had understood everything, and was waiting.
I reached out, past the burning sliding door.
From the darkness, a slender, warm hand took my fingers and held them back, firmly.
Ah.
This hand.
In all the long, long years I'd lived in fear of people.
The hand of the one person who had taken mine, straight and true.
"Let's go, Kicho."
"Yes."
Just that. Just those few words.
Someone I could reach with only that.
I had someone like that.
But.
That signal.
Was also the signal that would take.
The life of one loyal retainer.