我们高清在线看免费观看

"ISHIYAMA!"

Jikouji cried out, attacking desperately, trying to cut him free.

The cry awoke a weakened Nakatane, who was barely hanging onto his life. His eyes opened by the tiniest of fractions, just in time to see Ishiyama being pulled toward Ochi’s open mouth.

This was war. And war was bloody. But there was a line that very few dared to cross. Helplessly, they watched their fallen comrade being raised up, as though he were some tender chicken leg.

Feeling a violent sickness rise within their stomachs, they could do nought but watch as the giant opened his mouth wide, aiming his sharp teeth toward the soft flesh of Ishiyama’s neck.

He tore open through the skin with great delight, not because he wished to pursue a finer flavour, but merely because he relished the fear such an act inspired in those around him. And who could blame them for being frightened? Who could look into the eyes of a man that could commit cannibalism so easily without feeling even the slightest chill of fear?

Jikouji fell to his knees, horrified, watching as his dear friend met his end by the mouth of a giant who’s lips were stained with his blood.

Yoritomo was no better. Unable to stomach such a sickly sight, he heaved up the entire contents of his stomach, not stopping even when all that came up was but a thin clear liquid.

Aritada stood shivering, struggling to comprehend such devilism.

And their lord, Nakatane, let out of the faintest of whispers.

"Ishiyama... fight..."

SPLURT

A deadened arm once more regained life, forcing the point of carefully sharpened wakizashi through the unguarded eye of a feasting mammoth.

It slid in with such ease, and so quietly. The only thing that made a noise was the pressured stream of blood that spurted out.

A man once thought to be a monster let out a very human cry, his muscles twitching reflexively as he cast away his prisoner with force, sending him hurtling into a tree. His fingers reached for the hilt of the blade, grasping it tentatively, before pulling it from his eye with a roar.

He whirled around widely, like a wounded bear, struggling to see. But his efforts were cut short, as the bloodied point of Aritada’s spear made its way through his chest.

He turned his head to face the boy, who was still quivering in fear, white as a sheet. His body convulsed violently, before he let out a mouthful of blood, the thick droplets sliding across the smooth wood, before making their way to the ground.

His hands made their way toward the spear, grasping it firmly. Dismayed, Aritada dropped the spear, overcome by a deep fear, watching the man slowly slide himself off the thick wood.

He grunted slightly from the exertion, wiping the blood from his mouth.

SWISH

With a gentle sound, the air flashed, and a chunk was cut out of the big man’s neck.

Despite his head being half severed, Ochi’s eyes still flickered behind him, looking toward the old man that had struck at him – a testament to his incredible will.

But even as he attempted to struggle with the spear once more, the next strike was already on its way, and with a clean slice, his head was cut away from his body. It rolled off, hitting the ground with a resounding thunk, whilst his body remained skewered on the spear, before life left his legs, and he fell crashing to the floor.

"AH!"

Yoritomo shouted as the head rolled near his feet, looking up at him, and blinked one final time before life was completely snuffed out.

Jikouji – who could barely remain standing – ran over to the fallen Ishiyama, searching for any signs of life. There was no movement within the body, but there was a sickening depression visible in the back of his skull where it had fractured upon smashing against the tree root.

A tear ran down the old man’s cheek as he came to the realization that he would never hear his friend speak again. But despite his horrific injuries, the man – who in life had shown very little emotion – had a satisfied smile etched upon his face.

"You did it Ishiyama... You really did it..."

He spoke mournfully. Even Aritada and Yoritomo who had not known the man nearly as well as him were greatly saddened by his death, for he was undoubtedly a courageous man.

Nakatane barely clung on to his consciousness, his hand still struggling to stem the flow of blood that was leaking from his side. It had slowed down considerably, but he was still in no state to move. Yet he pulled himself to his feet regardless, much to the dismay of Jikouji, who ran to his side, supporting his shoulder.

"Nakatane! You musn’t walk! You should remain there, and allow us to bring your doctors to you."

"And when might that be?"

He asked in a thin voice that was all but a whisper.

There was nothing the old man could say.

"The battle is far from over, Jikouji."

In front of them the last few stragglers were still battling it out. Many corpses littered the forest, and a stench of blood hung on the air. It was difficult to walk without someone’s innards clinging to the soles of your feet.

The bodies of horses lay scattered everywhere, almost as frequently seen as humans, but a good few still hung around, riderless.

With a final swing Morohira claimed the life of the last man.

It was hard to cheer at their victory, for it had been most pyrrhic. A more dismal scene it would be hard to imagine. Of the 80 men who had started the war, barely twenty remained. Perhaps a colder man might call that a good amount, considering the amount of men they had to deal with. Yet every single life lost was something that could not be brought back, and so, with their victory, it was hard to wonder whether they had truly gained anything.

This should not be said to undermine their achievements, however. Every single one of them fought like winged lions, truly earning their place amongst the living. It was a feat that very few men could replicate. Those that survived were the best of the best. Even if they still quivered in fear. Even if their garb was still that of a peasant. I put it to you that these men had the blood of gods running through their veins, and it was to Japan’s eternal misfortune that their names were not better known.

...

...

The sound of approaching horses filled Gengyo’s men – who were busy arming themselves – with a painstaking nervousness. Who would they find mounted? If it was Ochi, they would die. If it was Nakatane... Well, they still might die.

"No... It’s not coming from the forest."

Kitajo commented fearfully, straining his ears.

What he claimed was proved to be true a moment later, as around the bend of the track that led into Tobishima, a group of galloping hors.e.m.e.n were revealed.

Gengyo’s heart sank as he wondered whether to give the order to retreat to his men. There were revealed to be ten armoured hors.e.m.e.n, wearing a garb that he was familiar with. It was the same style that the guards wore when they accompanied Toda on that day, five days prior.

And behind them, there was a fat old man seated on a small pony, and looking very confused as to what was going on.

They neared the two groups that were facing off, and snippets of conversation could be overheard.

"What’s all this? This isn’t what you promised when you brought me here!"

The old man exclaimed huffily, like some giant middle-aged child.

"Shut up fatty. Toda, the f.u.c.k’s going on sir?"

The odd mixture of respect and disrespect made their relationship seem complicated, and even more so still when his lord completely ignored his way of addressing him.

"Where’s all the men gone, sir? Don’t tell me you lost them to this rabble? Want us to kill them?"

Another man chimed in, shooting the guards who were surrounding Toda a condescending look.

"No. Get over here, and be quiet."

They obeyed his command, arriving by his side, but the second part of that order was a little more difficult.

"Sir. That fatty is the ’buisnessman’ you asked us to bring."

Toda shot him a look of annoyance.

"Yes – I’d guessed."

The rotund man took that moment to chime in, his chin wobbling as he did so, causing beads of sweat to flick onto the ground.

"You’re Toda? This is not at all what I had expected. Your men told me that you would have a business opportunity for me, but have not even won the battle yet!"

Toda watched him talk with disgust, his despise for the shape of the other’s body not very well hidden.

"The battle will be won very soon."

"In that case, I will come back later – you should have brought me along when you weren’t ready. The business I deal in is a ris-"

He was cut off by a drawn sword pointed toward his throat.

"If you continue talking, I will kill you."

The merchant gulped deeply, his Adam’s apple being caressed by the cold steel blade. One look into the other’s eyes, and he knew he was deadly serious. No matter how hard he looked, he could not find a trace of warmth.

One of the mounted guardsmen struggled to hold in a laugh, seeing the state the wobbling businessman had gotten himself into.

"Mmfhh... What are we doing about this lot boss?"

He stifled it, pretending it was merely the start of a question instead.

Toda sheathed his blade, and returned his gaze to the peasants before him, who had now armed themselves with the spears of his fallen men. He felt a degree of familiarity for the man on the black stallion, but struggle to place his face.

But he had decided on one thing: that man would suffer. This battle was not meant to be taxing in the least, and then this peasant had rolled along, seemingly on a whim – since the rest of his people had already fled – and was causing havoc amongst his troops.

"We wait. There is nothing they can do, and once that oaf Ochi comes back, they’ll be crushed like the ants they are."

"Hoh... If you say so. Hey, boss, is that a bow ashigaru unit?"

Toda went red with anger, as he sensed the contempt within that question.

"You shut up as well! Don’t think I won’t kill you too!"

He flailed around, throwing threats. The men did not take him seriously, and most barely managed to hold back their laughter. To lose more than half your men to a single unit of bow ashigaru was a joke. Sure, he was a man that had the money to spare, but this was just plain wasteful.