The gunfire was unceasing. It was a desperate battle in a place hemmed in by hills, and the whinnying of horses and the clanging of long swords and spears echoed back and forth. The voices of the warriors calling out their names to their opponents shook heaven and earth.

Soon there was not a single position unengaged throughout the narrow confines of the area, not a single commander or soldier who was not fighting for his life. Just as some troops appeared to be victorious, they crumbled; and just as others seemed to be defeated, they struck through. No one knew who had won, and for a while it was a battle in the dark.

Some men were struck down and killed, while others were victorious and called out their own names. Of those who received wounds, some were called cowards, while others were praised as brave men. If an observer looked carefully, however, he could see that each individual was hurrying along toward eternity, creating his own unique fate.

Shame was the one thing that would not let Nagayoshi think about returning alive to the everyday world. It was the reason he had put on his death robes today.

"I will meet Ieyasu!" Nagayoshi vowed.

As the battle became more and more chaotic, Nagayoshi called together forty or fifty warriors and started out for the commander's standard of the golden fan.

"I'm going to meet Ieyasu. Now!" and he started to whip his horse toward the opposite hill.

"Stop! You're not going anywhere!" a Tokugawa soldier shouted.

"Get Nagayoshi!"

"He's the man with the white hood, riding at a gallop!"

The waves of armored men that tried to stop him ran up to his side and were trampled or, approaching him, were wrapped in sprays of blood.

But then, one bullet from the driving rain of musket fire, shot from a gun that was aimed at the warrior in the white brocade coat, hit him directly between the eyes.

The white hood around Nagayoshi's head suddenly turned red. Falling back on his horse, he had one last glimpse of the sky in the Fourth Month, and in that valley, the heroic young man of twenty-six years fell to the ground, still holding the reins. Hyakudan, Nagayoshi's favorite horse, reared up and whinnied in grief.

A shout like a great sob rose up from his men as they quickly rushed to his side. Carrying his corpse on their shoulders, they withdrew to the top of Gifugadake. Men from the Tokugawa forces ran after them, fighting for the symbol of their deed, shoutin "Take his head!"

The warriors who had lost their leader were close to tears. Wheeling around with frightening expressions, they turned their spears back on their pursuers. Somehow they were able to hide Nagayoshi's body. But the news that Nagayoshi had been struck down blew like a chill wind across the entire battlefield. Along with the other tides of war that had been turning against their position, yet another disaster had befallen Shonyu's forces.

It was as though boiling water had been poured onto a hill of ants: everywhere warriors were fleeing in confusion.

“They're hardly worth calling allies!" Shonyu shouted as he climbed toward higher ground and, in contrast to the peaceful surroundings, sputtered in rage at the few soldiers he encountered. "I'm right here! Don't make a disgraceful retreat! Have you forgotten what you learned every day? Go back! Go back and fight!"

But the group of black-hooded men around him did not stop their own flight in the general collapse. On the contrary, only a pitiful young page of fifteen or sixteen approached him falteringly.

Leading up a stray horse, he offered it to his lord.

In the battle at the bottom of the hill, Shonyu's horse had been shot and he had fallen to the ground. He had been surrounded by the enemy, but had desperately cut open a path and climbed up.

“I don't need a horse anymore. Set up my camp stool here."

The page set up the camp stool behind him, and Shonyu sat down.

“Forty-eight years end here," he muttered to himself. Still looking at the page, he talked on. "You're Shirai Tango's son, aren't you? I imagine your father and mother are waiting.  Run as quickly as you can to Inuyama. Look, the bullets are coming! Get out of here fast! Now!"

Having chased the teary-eyed page away, he was alone and felt free from care. Calmly he took his last look at the world.

Very soon he could hear a noise like the fighting of wild animals, and the trees shook in the crags directly beneath him. It appeared that some of his black-hooded warriors still remained and were brandishing their weapons in mortal combat.

Shonyu felt numb. It was no longer a matter of victory or defeat. The sorrow of parting from the world made him reflect on the faraway past, tinged with the scent of his mother’s milk.

Suddenly the shrubs directly in front of him began to shake.

“Who is it!" Shonyu's eyes shone with rage. "Is it the enemy?" he called out. His voice was so calm that the approaching Tokugawa warrior unconsciously stepped back in shock.

Shonyu called out again, pressing the man further. "Are you one of the enemy? If you are, take my head and you'll achieve a great deed. The man who is speaking now is Ikeda Shonyu.”

Tle warrior crouching down in the thick undergrowth raised his head and looked at Shonyu sitting there. He shuddered for a moment and then spoke in an arrogant voice as he stood up.

“Well, I've encountered a good one here. I am Nagai Denpachiro of the Tokugawa clan.  Prepare yourself!" he shouted, and thrust out his spear.

In response to his shout, quick resistance from the sword of the famous fierce general have been expected, but Denpachiro's spear slid deeply into his opponent's side without any trouble at all. Rather than Shonyu, whose side had been pierced through, it was Denpachiro who tumbled forward from the momentum of his excessive force.

Shonyu fell over, the spearpoint protruding from his back.

"Take my head!" he yelled again.

He did not have his long sword in his hand even now. On his own he had invited his death, on his own he was offering his head. Denpachiro had been in an arrogant trance, but when he was suddenly aware of the feelings of this enemy general and the way he was meeting his final moments, he was struck with a violent emotion that made him want to weep.

"Ah!" he cried out, but then was so beside himself with joy at his unexpected great achievement that he forgot what to do next.

Just then he heard the rustling sounds of his allies fighting to be the first to climb up from beneath the crags.

"I'm Ando Hikobei! Prepare yourself."

"My name is Uemura Denemon!"

"I'm Hachiya Shichibei of the Tokugawa clan!"

Each announced his name as they competed to be the one to take Shonyu's head.

By whose sword had the head been taken? Their bloody hands grabbed the topknot and swung it around.

"I took the head of Ikeda Shonyu!" yelled Nagai Denpachiro.

"No, I took it!" cried Ando Hikobei.

"Shonyu's head is mine!" Uemura Denemon shouted.

A storm of blood, a storm of violent voices, a storm of selfish desire for fame. Four men, five men—a growing cluster of warriors, with the single head at its center, set off the direction of Ieyasu's campstool.

"Shonyu has been killed!"

That shout became a wave that went from the peaks to the marsh and caused the Tokugawa forces all over the battlefield to bellow with joy.

The men of the Ikeda forces who had managed to escape did not shout at all. In a moment, those men had lost both heaven and earth, and like dry leaves they now searched for a place to go where their lives might be spared.

"Don't let one of them return alive!"

"Chase after them! Run them down!"

The victors, driven by an insatiable bloodlust, slaughtered the Ikeda wherever they found them.

For men who had already forgotten about their own lives, violently taking other lives very likely felt like nothing more than playing with fallen flowers. Shonyu had been finished off, Nagayoshi had been killed in battle, and now the remaining Ikeda formations at Tanojiri were scattered by the Tokugawa.