Beneath the floorboards of the inner room was a secret passage I'd had dug in secret.
A coward who built castles so he wouldn't be stabbed, dug moats so he wouldn't be stabbed, and kept madly collecting tools so he wouldn't be stabbed. At the end of all those countless measures to save his own skin, the very last one.
Was this one path, under the ground.
I'd had it dug believing that someday this path would save my life. I never imagined it would come in handy like this, though.
Leading Kicho by the hand, I went down into the darkness.
Behind us came the roar of Honno-ji burning and falling in.
Half my life was burning.
The sign of the Demon King of the Sixth Heaven, the realm I never even wanted. I'd left it all behind in those flames.
Down under the earth it was cool and dark, and only our footsteps echoed. The darkness I'd feared so much was now protecting me.
As I walked, I cried the whole way.
Not from the joy of having gotten away.
Ranmaru's last face, that face that smiled and said, "Please, flee," rose in the dark and faded, again and again, over and over.
The ones I'd cut down. The ones who died because of me. Masahide. The heads at Okehazama. The burned ruins of Mount Hiei. It was as if each and every one of their faces stood lined up along this dark path.
I would walk carrying all of them.
From now on, until the day I die.
Kicho didn't say a word, only kept holding my hand. The warmth of that hand alone was what kept me tied to this world.
Later ages will record it like this.
The second day of the sixth month, the tenth year of Tensho. The Demon King of the Sixth Heaven, Oda Nobunaga, met with the rebellion of his retainer Akechi Mitsuhide at Honno-ji in Kyoto, and perished in the flames.
His heir Nobutada also fell in battle, at Nijo Castle.
And—his body was never found.
That's fine.
The world will believe it.
That it was a real rebellion. That it was a real tragedy. That the Demon King was betrayed by his retainer and perished in bitter regret.
No one knows.
That it was the world's most ridiculous performance, put together by men who wanted to get down.
That the man is, even now, walking through the dark like this, leading his wife by the hand.
At the end of the long underground path, the small light of an exit came into view.
I stopped and turned back to Kicho.
Her face smudged with soot, Kicho smiled softly. When I saw that face, something in me that had been clenched tight all along suddenly came loose.
Forty-eight years. The invisible weight that had dug into my shoulders all that time.
Now, gently, came down to the ground.
And before I knew it, I was laughing as I cried.
Crying, thinking of Ranmaru. And still, laughing, because Kicho's sooty face was funny, so funny.
Ah.
This is the answer.
Why, in those flames, scared as I was, I could still stand there and smile.
Because I knew I could get down.
The Demon King of the Sixth Heaven died here.
And I, just a cowardly man who was only kind.
Led Kicho by the hand and set off walking, toward the far side of the night.