Chapter 4: Bottom of the Bottom—Gegege
The wind passing through the veranda carried with it a faint scent of iron.
Perhaps the lingering traces of sweat and blood soaked into the armor still faintly mixed into the air of the residence.
But to Takemaru, even that was nothing more than a distant matter, hardly different from the spring breeze that brushed his cheek and passed by.
Beside Takemaru were his mother Koto and Atsumaru.
In the room just next to them, Yoshihisa and his uncle Yoshimitsu sat facing each other, discussing the recent battle.
Their voices were restrained, but the content was clear.
This clash had not been a full-scale invasion.
It was nothing more than the usual skirmish—pressuring neighboring lands before rice planting season.
The enemy had about ten mounted warriors and several dozen farmer-soldiers, while their side had five mounted warriors and a similar number of farmer-soldiers.
They threw stones, fired arrows, inflicted light injuries on each other, and then withdrew—that was the end of it.
Though, several farmhouses along the border had been burned.
It seemed the main topic now was how to deal with the aftermath and prepare for what came next.
Eventually, as if their discussion had reached a pause, a voice suddenly turned toward him.
“Takemaru, you were listening as well, were you not?
In a few years, you will face your first battle.
As the heir of this land, what do you think?”
The voice was low, a question that left no room for escape.
All eyes in the room gathered at once, and the air grew slightly tense.
As for Takemaru, he accepted even that tension as if watching someone else’s performance, remaining sprawled on the veranda as he lazily opened just one eye.
“Father—”
He called out in an almost absurdly calm voice, his lips curling slightly.
“Battles fought within one’s own territory are of the lowest of the low—‘Gegege,’ as it were.
One must attack before being attacked.”
It was far too casual.
Far too unrestrained.
Only his words remained sharply in the air.
The one speaking looked like he might resume picking his nose at any moment, yet here he was lecturing grown men fresh from battle.
“It is also written in Sun Tzu—‘Do not rely on the enemy not coming, but rely on having the means to await him.
Do not rely on the enemy not attacking, but rely on having a position that cannot be attacked.’”
He recited it smoothly, but those listening could only stare blankly.
Seeing his uncle Yoshimitsu tilt his head with a look that clearly said, “What is this boy talking about,” Takemaru added lazily,
“In other words, do not pray that they won’t come—prepare so that they can come.
Do not wish that they won’t attack—make it so they cannot attack.
That is what it means.”
He spoke as if it were something he had just thought of during a nap.
A ten-year-old sluggard who knew nothing of the battlefield, addressing men who had just finished risking their lives.
His father Yoshihisa’s brow twitched again.
But Takemaru continued, pretending not to notice.
“Therefore, battle should be taken into enemy territory.
If rewards are to be granted, then I, Takemaru, shall go forth and thoroughly crush them.”
His words alone were bold.
In reality, he was a shut-in slacker who spent his days napping.
At last, his uncle Yoshimitsu let out a deep sigh.
“You are as full of hot air as ever…
And what is this ‘Gegege’ supposed to mean?”
He was called out.
For a brief moment, Takemaru froze.
(…Ah, you’re picking that part?
I just said it randomly…)
His gaze wavered slightly.
But soon, as if nothing had happened, his lips relaxed into a faint smile.
“That is a type of spirit—”
Suddenly, he sounded convincing.
He even lowered his voice.
A breeze passed through the veranda.
“It wears a sleeveless coat striped in black over yellow cloth, sends wooden footwear flying to strike down enemies… and has a single strand of hair standing straight up toward the sky.”
He tapped his own head with his finger as he spoke, oddly specific.
“With its lone body, it wields mysterious powers, and before one realizes it, the opponent is struck down.
A truly strange child, indeed.”
The room fell silent.
Takemaru grew bolder.
“Ah, yes—that child is said to keep a tiny father within its hair.
And with a single eye, it glares at the world with a high-pitched voice…”
He imagined that famous “Oni no Taro” from a certain manga and anime.
Then, silence.
Beside him, Atsumaru had, at some point, grabbed onto Koto’s sleeve and was trembling.
(…Wait, is it that scary?)
Tilting his head inwardly, Takemaru looked toward his uncle Yoshimitsu.
Yoshimitsu slowly made a deeply displeased face.
“…That is no spirit or anything of the sort.
It is merely a story you made up.”
A complete dismissal.
Takemaru shrugged.
“Well then.
Whether you believe it or not is up to you, Uncle.”
He said it with a hint of amusement.
“…The one speaking of such things is far more strange.”
At that entirely reasonable response, Takemaru merely gave a loose shrug, as if to say, “That may be so.”
The sound of light footsteps came rushing down the corridor.
It cut through the heavy atmosphere with almost out-of-place energy.
“Father! Have you returned safely?!”
The one who appeared was Maremaru—Yoshimitsu’s son and Takemaru’s cousin, one year older.
Though only a year apart, his build was noticeably larger, clearly that of a child who ate well and moved often.
Yoshimitsu’s expression softened.
His large hand reached out and roughly, yet affectionately, ruffled Maremaru’s head.
“Mm, I have returned safely.”
With that brief exchange, the tension of battle eased slightly.
Watching from the side, Takemaru turned his gaze back to his father Yoshihisa.
“Now then, Father.”
He spoke in an offhand tone.
“If I were to bring some disgrace upon that Tomioka Yamato-whatever fellow—would there be some reward for me?”
It sounded like nothing more than casual banter.
Yet his words were oddly specific.
Yoshihisa snorted.
“Oh?
You speak boldly.
Very well—if you accomplish it, I shall grant you your own horse.”
At that response, Takemaru slightly furrowed his brow.
“…Horse sashimi?”
He muttered quietly, tilting his head.
“I would prefer beef or chicken…
Boar is… rather frightening…”
Then he looked up.
“I have no need for a horse.
Instead, a chicken.
And—one attendant.
Anyone will do.
I would like a sacrifice.”
He said it smoothly.
Yoshihisa openly frowned.
“Sacrifice…?
You already had an attendant before.
But you were so lazy and spoke such nonsense that he lost patience and left, did he not?”
Hearing that, Takemaru made a bitter face.
“That man… had no sense of humor.”
He muttered.
Yoshihisa snorted.
“It was no joking matter.
You spoke such strange things that he fled in fear, thinking you were possessed by a fox or cursed by a god.”
That was, in fact, true.
From Takemaru’s perspective, he had merely explained fragments of memories from his previous life.
Stories of vehicles that flew through the sky, iron boxes that ran across the ground, and massive structures that would one day generate lightning in this land—
All of it, by the logic of this era, appeared as madness.
As a result, he had been treated as a lunatic.
Takemaru averted his gaze slightly.
Yoshihisa let out a small sigh.
“…Very well.
If you truly accomplish it, I will find you an attendant or two.”
He said it as if tossing the matter aside.
“I am most grateful.”
Lowering his head only in form, Takemaru inwardly shrugged.
He had no intention of acting anytime soon.
But having more usable pieces was never a bad thing.
An attendant—in other words, a useful existence who could run errands, offer counsel, and at times take the blame.
Preferably someone flexible, obedient, and reasonably clever.
His gaze shifted toward Maremaru, who was laughing with his uncle.
His body was large, his personality straightforward.
If given instructions, he would move well.
(Maremaru… seems easy to handle too.)
The corner of his mouth twisted slightly.
“…Now then.”
He muttered to no one in particular.
The talk of battle had already faded.
Within Takemaru’s mind, another kind of “battle” had quietly begun.
…Or had it?