"Kanbe'e, forgive me!"

  That cry echoed as a discordant scream, tearing through Kanbe'e’s ears.

  In the hall that was supposed to be silent, the sliding doors on all four sides were kicked open simultaneously. From the obsidian darkness, soldiers with bared blades surged inside like an avalanche.

  Kanbe'e reflexively reached for his waist, but found nothing. He had surrendered his swords at the castle gate. Against the unarmed strategist, the naked steel was thrust without mercy.

  "Kanbe'e... do not hate me."

  Murashige Araki’s voice rained down from above. It did not carry the tone of a man seeking forgiveness, but rather a dry, hollow sound, as if he were merely convincing himself.

  Pinned down, the pain of his twisted arms searing through him, Kanbe'e stared at Murashige’s feet. The hem of his magnificent hakama fluttered as he turned and walked away. That was the last glimpse of the 'World of Light' Kanbe'e would see.

  Given no chance to speak, Kanbe'e was seized by both arms and dragged away.

  The beautiful corridors, the ornate transoms, the sun-drenched gardens—all flowed backward and vanished. Gradually, the air grew damp and heavy, replaced by a chill that foretold death. The sensation of polished wood underfoot disappeared, replaced by the abrasive touch of raw earth. That threshold was the exact moment the light in Kanbe'e’s life flickered out.

  "Here! Throw him in!"

  He was violently hurled into a dirt dungeon deep underground.

  The floor, a mixture of stone and mud, was perpetually slick with a clammy moisture. Prostrate on the ground, Kanbe'e heard the heavy iron bars slam shut behind him. The inorganic metallic clank completely severed him from his previous life.

  (It was all... a battle to protect the House of Kodera...)

  At Mount Kawarake, he had crushed a Kodera army ten times his size with only three hundred men in a night raid. When five thousand Mori soldiers approached the sea of Aga, he had led a mere five hundred, making the local peasants hold banners to create the illusion of a vast army, driving the enemy back without yielding an inch.

  He had even borrowed the strength of farmers, swallowed mud, and exhausted every ounce of his ingenuity to ensure the peaceful sleep of his master, Lord Masamoto. He bore the name 'Kodera' as the pride of Harima, convinced that he had served with more loyalty than any other.

  (And is this... the reward?)

  The compensation for repeatedly rescuing his master from ruin was the stench of this hole and being cast out as a sacrificial lamb.

  Because his loyalty had been so great, the murderous intent swirling in Kanbe'e’s chest burned like a dark, turgid flame, scorching his very soul.

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  (So... you have discarded me, Kanbe'e...)

  In that instant, something shattered deep within his heart.

  His master, Masamoto Kodera. How much blood had he spilled, how many sleepless nights had he endured to protect that indecisive yet somehow likable man? To think the reward for all of it was such a cowardly betrayal—offering him to the enemy as a 'sacrifice.'

  (How... how hideous... Was the loyalty I offered merely a tool for your own survival? Damn you, Masamoto Kodera! Your shallow self-preservation has kicked me into the bottom of this pit!)

  A rage akin to a death wish against the Kodera scorched his marrow. Yet, what tortured him more than anger was his own 'blind faith.' He, who had foreseen the trends of the world and connected the two giants, Nobunaga and Hideyoshi, had failed to notice the 'poison' in the master closest to him. That fatal blind spot tore Kanbe'e’s pride to shreds. He, who called himself a 'Strategist' and prided himself on reading the hearts of others, had been danced around so pathetically. That fact made him despair more deeply than the darkness of this hole.

  Several days passed since his imprisonment.

  The concept of 'time' does not exist within a dirt dungeon. Only the faint light filtering through the barred window, crawling across the floor, indicated that the world outside was still moving.

  The unsanitary environment ruthlessly sapped his strength. The stench of excrement filled his nostrils, and an eerie rash began to spread across his skin.

  Kanbe'e’s mind, which once spun intricate webs of strategy, was now cut off from thought by the throbbing pain in his joints and a constant, shivering chill. He fell into frequent illusions that the damp earthen walls were slowly closing in on him, nearly driving him mad. He felt a strange sensation that his limbs no longer belonged to him. Losing even the will to scrape the mud from beneath his fingernails, Kanbe'e’s eyes did nothing but stare at a single point in the void.

  (Will I... rot here? Is my ambition destined to decay in this mud...)

  One evening, as his consciousness clouded and his body shook uncontrollably from the cold, a shadow fell across the bars.

  When Kanbe'e raised his head, a young girl stood there.

  She still possessed the innocence of youth, yet her bearing was dignified. She widened her eyes for a brief second at the sight of Kanbe'e’s misery, but quickly, with trembling hands, she reached through to offer a set of clean clothes.

  "Please... take these."

  It was a voice of such purity that it seemed out of place in this hell.

  With mud-stained hands, Kanbe'e touched the white cloth. It was dry and smelled of the sun. Its warmth seeped into him like a potent medicine.

  "I will turn my back until you have finished changing... Please..."

  With those words, the girl quietly turned around.

  Her slender back looked miraculously serene amidst the oppressive air of the dungeon. In silence, Kanbe'e stripped away the tattered rags that seemed stained with his own humiliation.

  Each time his trembling fingertips touched the new fabric, he felt his near-dead heart beat—faintly, but certainly. Was it a lingering attachment to 'life,' or was it confusion toward this nameless girl? In the darkness, he mocked himself, realizing how fragile and small his exposed body truly was.

  When he finished changing, he spoke briefly.

  "done..."

  Without turning around, she reached back and picked up the soiled garments he had discarded. She accepted those remains, soaked in his past as 'Kodera,' without a hint of hesitation or disgust.

  "I will come again... Please... take care of yourself..."

  Leaving only those words, she vanished into the darkness.

  Heavy footsteps receded, and the 'silence of death' returned to the dungeon. Yet, something was different. From the fabric surrounding Kanbe'e, a faint warmth like a sunlit meadow rose. It was like the sole, impossibly thin thread of hope cast into the bottom of the abyss.

  Relying on that faint, clean scent at his side, Kanbe'e drifted into a deep sleep.

  In that sleep, for the first time, he dreamed of strangling Masamoto Kodera.

  Produced and written by a Japanese author, rooted in authentic Japanese history. Translated with the assistance of Gemini (AI).