~~~


    ‘That belt looks a bit simple, how about a new one?’


    ‘Mystical rocks, blessed by ancient monks, two for four mon.’


    ‘Haircut?’


    ‘Bit flabby around the waist there. What you need is a personal trainer. Mentored at the most prestigious shugendo training centre in this here Kai Province.’


    ‘Magical rocks, bargain price, can make any woman your slave.’


    Pushing her way through the mass of schemers and scam artists, Atta Noe, who was still costumed in the increasingly pale skin of Chef Amo, focused on the gate just ahead.


    Shingen’s compound. The prettiest place in all of Kōfu. In all of Kai Province too, if you ignored all the mountain scenery.


    ‘Come on, big man,’ tried the rock seller again, following behind, ‘three magical rocks, one whole year of nightly sexual conquests, guaranteed.’


    ‘Go away, cockroach.’


    ‘Cheap as it gets, no hidden pockets.’


    Her hand flinched as the scam artist touched it, trying to pull her back…or pull Chef Amo back…but her vessel’s large size made it easy to shrug him off.


    Compound gate. Compound gate. Compound gate…


    Of course, the urge to murder every human that spoke to her, offered her ridiculous things, tutted audibly when she refused was incredibly strong, but that would be a distraction and she couldn’t afford any more of those.


    Not on this level of energy.


    She stopped by a stall selling bamboo shoots and slowed down her vessel’s already laboured breaths.


    Part of her regretted not taking a detour to her box, recharging for a couple of hours. That would’ve made her less likely to collapse on the street, which she felt was pretty close to happening already.


    Gods, it’d been a long walk.


    Almost forty kilometres. Twenty if she hadn’t been in the mood for extreme hyperbole. In smoke form, she could’ve made it in less than half an hour. In this lump of a body, running on fumes of reserve power, it had taken all night and half the morning.


    ‘Bamboo shoot?’ asked the elderly stall woman, holding out a sample in her hand.


    Chef Amo glared at her, then softened a little when he saw the bamboo shoots being offered were actually quite good quality.


    ‘I may come back later,’ he said, nodding at the stall woman, who responded by putting the shoots in her hand safely to the side.


    Shouts came from further down the street.


    The guards at the gate to the path that would lead him back into the haven of Shingen’s residential complex were doing what guards liked to do; abuse commoners. Which in this case meant kicking a drunk who’d wandered too close.


    He was fairly certain that was the reason as they were shouting while kicking, ‘don’t wander so close.’


    Pushing his decaying wreck of a body away from the stall, Chef Amo swatted away another magical rock seller, straightened up to almost full height and presented himself in front of the guards, who were now ordering bystanders to take away the guy they’d just kicked into a coma.


    ‘What do you want?’ barked the fatter of the two.


    ‘I’m here to see Shingen. Let me through.’


    ‘Another drunk, huh?’ The slimmer guard stepped up to Chef Amo and breathed morning swamp right into his face. ‘Did you not see what just happened?’


    ‘Shingen. Call him. Now.’


    ‘Wah, look at this one. Too special to bother with full sentences.’


    ‘Thinks he’s better than us,’ added the fatter one.


    ‘Maybe we should give him a lesson in etikut.’


    Chef Amo closed his pink, watery eyes, too tired to even glare at them. Instead, he counted to four then re-opened and…promptly fell to the ground.


    ‘… … … …’ he slurred, lifting up his arm, willing it into smoke form.


    It did not obey.


    The street behind was sideways, and the people were vibrating out of their own skins, and the sky…was a spiral becoming a nebula that was eating up the entire-…


    ‘How’s the view down there?’ shouted the slimmer guard, giving him a kick to the gut.


    Chef Amo took it as best he could then rotated slowly onto his back.


    ‘Gods in heat! What’s that on your throat?’


    ‘Looks like a hole…’


    ‘Several holes. Blood too.’


    The two guards retreated to the wall of the gate, as Chef Amo completed the epic struggle back to his feet and stared past them. The collar of his dōbuku had clearly fallen down and the wound was visible…but that didn’t really matter anymore.


    All he cared about was getting past these idiots and inside the gate.


    ‘What’s going on here?’ slurred a familiar female voice from the street behind.


    The two guards perked up a bit, pointing at the swaying figure of Chef Amo. Or, from their new perspective, the swaying, re-animated corpse of Chef Amo.


    ‘Dead…’ one of them stammered.


    The owner of the voice, a tall woman in a Shingen-issue ash grey yukata, eyes glazed, hair chaotic, walked round the side of Chef Amo, holding back a yawn for about half a second then just running with it. After looking her target up and down, back and front, she grabbed his chin and asked within a second yawn, ‘drunk?’


    Still running on the last sparks of adrenaline, Atta Noe filtered some light into Chef Amo’s eyes and replied, ‘annoyed.’


    The woman let go of his chin and stepped back, tilting her head and doing a second examination. ‘Wah…Noe?’


    ‘Stop gawping, Miso, and take me inside.’


    ‘Where’s your box?’


    ‘In my side pocket.’


    Misora glanced down at the yukata, then closed her eyes in embarrassment. ‘You mean you lost it?’


    Chef Amo looked at the two guards, who were so bewildered that their hands were reaching to the wrong side of their waists for their katanas, then stretched out a hand towards Misora’s face.


    With an almost fox-like reflex, Misora blocked the initial grab…then messed up completely when she tried to seize his wrist.


    ‘Hungover again, Miso?’ Chef Amo asked, taking hold of her comrade’s cheeks and studying her pupil status.


    ‘Work fatigue,’ Misora replied, shrugging off the cheek seizure and giving a hand signal to the guards. Then repeating it when they gazed back at her like a pair of constipated koi. Finally, they pulled their hands away from their belts, shifted to the side, and gave the signal to open the gate.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Draping an arm around Chef Amo’s shoulder, Misora used her spare hand to poke him in the stomach. ‘You’re telling me this was the best one you could find?’


    ‘… … … …’ Atta Noe cursed back in her own language.


    Misora laughed. ‘I accept your praise.’


    ~~~


    Unlike those of the weaker, pat-down-every-guest warlords, Takeda Shingen’s base of operations wasn’t a mountain castle, or a moat castle, or even a little mound of earth next to a village castle; it was an old-fashioned mansion complex on the fringes of Kōfu, the capital of Kai Province.


    Of course, it was still fortified to some extent, and guarded by thugs who liked to kick random drunks into comas, but if you really wanted to attack, it wouldn’t be a hard thing to do. And perhaps even less so now, since the new leader of the clan, Shingen, was a twenty-one year old upstart who’d had the temerity to usurp his own father.


    Fortunately, the neighbouring warlords in Shinano Province remained both cautious and intimidated by the Takeda name, and had decided not to dip their toes into the muddy waters of aggression…yet.


    But that wouldn’t last forever.


    Especially if there were blood in that water.


    ~~~


    A moderately grand chamber, panels drawn, eight strategically placed okiandon the only source of light.


    Standing before a giant, hinoki-carved table, both hands palm down on the map of Shinano Province laid upon it, the lithe and lightly dressed figure of Takeda Shingen cleared his throat with a hacking cough and asked if there were any more seaweed strips.


    ‘Another bowl is imminent,’ replied the totem pole disguised as a man slightly to his rear, stroking the white beard growth on his left cheek.


    ‘Tell them to hurry, Yukio Ka. My poor father looks hungry.’


    Atta Ka Yukio glanced over at the man in the corner of the room, sitting on what looked like a child’s throne. On the wall to his right, a wide canvas depicting the Battle of Un No Kuchi, his son’s greatest success. To his left, nothing. In truth, he didn’t resemble Shingen in most aspects, with the notable exception of the eyes; they had the same tigerish ferocity as his youngest son. Or they did. Now that he’d been deposed, the middle-aged man’s pupils looked smaller, tamed, as if the tiger inside had found a vending machine with unlimited refills and growled, ‘okay, nice.’


    ‘Back to the Shinano issue,’ continued Shingen, running his hand along the edge of the table as he moved left. ‘In my estimation, none of the northern clans have the courage or political will to attack. They will wait to see how I act first. Which, in turn, gives me a clear advantage.’


    ‘I suggest the Suwa as the first target,’ replied Atta Ka Yukio, floating a vague finger towards a lake on the map close to the border of Kai.


    ‘Agreed.’


    ‘Diplomacy to begin with, an alliance perhaps…use them to get a foothold in the province. Then, when our base is secure, we move down the highway here and into the Ina Valley.’


    ‘And by the time we take the whole province, my hip won’t function and my teeth will be falling out. No, no, far too slow. What we need to do is attack. Find an excuse, and annihilate those superstitious fools.’


    ‘That would undoubtedly provoke the other clans, the Murakami, possibly even the Nagao up in Echigo.’


    ‘Good. Then they will know my name.’


    Atta Ka Yukio pulled his hands behind his back and dug nails into the skin. The young man with dark green hair to his left, who had been kneeling and staring at the floor for some time, looked over at his twin on the right hand side and nodded. That young man took a tissue from his sleeve and wiped the yellow liquid seeping out of Atta Ka Yukio’s hand, as well as the residue stains still on his nail.


    On the far side of the room, the door panel slid open and a guard came in, swiftly followed by an utterly wrecked-looking Chef Amo.


    ‘What is it?’


    ‘This man insists on seeing you, daimyō.’ The guard looked back beyond the door, grimacing when he saw Misora [hair still a mess] miming a clapping motion with her hands. ‘On the word of ōsugi Misora, Kunoichi 1^st rank.’


    Shingen squinted at Chef Amo, and then switched instantly to tiger mode when the man marched with no fear whatsoever to the other side of the map table.


    ‘Name!’ Shingen shouted, eyes half on the bizarre figure of the melting oaf, half on the guard, whose right arm was now visibly trembling.


    ‘Your most loyal advisor, Atta Noe’, replied Chef Amo, scanning the map and then putting a finger down hard on a forested area about fifteen kilometres from Kōfu. ‘Whose box is stuck right here.’


    Shingen leaned across the map and grabbed the intruder by the collar, staring with great concentration into the corpse’s eyes.


    ‘You’re fingering one of my stab holes,’ said Chef Amo, monotone.


    Shingen frowned in confusion then looked down at his hand. The aggressiveness of his action had dislodged a pocket reserve of blood in Chef Amo’s throat, and now it was all over his fingers.


    ‘Kuso…’ he yelled, letting go and wiping the blood on the intruder’s dōbuku.


    ‘You have been gone a long while,’ said Atta Ka Yukio, stepping forward to the map table, with both green-haired twins immediately filling the space behind. ‘We were growing concerned.’


    ‘I’m sure you were.’ The purple spiral in Chef Amo’s eyes intensified, for a brief moment, then powered back down into coy, little dots. ‘The two ashigaru you sent to retrieve the box never turned up.’


    ‘That is odd.’


    ‘And one of the six slabs of meat fled to a nearby ryokan. Along with an idiot boy who helped him escape.’


    ‘You were not successful in your mission?’ asked Shingen, glaring at the guard still standing near the door. Taking the hint, the man retreated fast, the door sliding shut with a loud knock behind him.


    ‘They were out of range, I couldn’t get to them. Until I found a reserve body.’


    ‘You killed this…man?’


    ‘No, a different one, some ditzy kitchen girl. Ah, it’s too much to go into. The key point is, I’m very frustrated, and tired, and the only way to fix it is for me to go back to that ryokan, along with my box, and eviscerate them.’


    ‘The ashigaru and the idiot boy?’


    ‘And a few other degenerates. But we’ll have to leave immediately, before they move on. Six soldiers to carry the box and assist, ōsugi Misora to entertain me on the way there and the way back. That should be sufficient.’


    Chef Amo turned to the door panel, taking a few steps forward before spinning back and performing the most basic of bowing motions. As he did so, some more blood spilled out of his neck wound.


    ‘Your plan is not satisfactory,’ said Shingen, waiting for Chef Amo to lift his head back up.


    ‘Which part?’


    ‘Which part, daimyō,’ corrected Atta Ka Yukio, tone austere, eyes glowing a cold shade of yellow.


    Chef Amo glanced at him, then at the two green-haired twins at the sides, his right hand making a triangle shape that, in Atta Noe’s natural form, would’ve enacted a seamless transition to purple mist.


    ‘Yukio Ka is right, your manner is disturbingly informal today.’


    ‘Sorry, daimyō, it is just…difficult…in this body.’


    ‘Excuses are irrelevant. You will stay here, in your chambers, to rest. In the meantime, I will send four men to retrieve your box, and four in addition to that to deal with the ryokan situation.’


    ‘I’m sorry, but that will not be adequate…daimyō.’


    ‘Nonsense. Four is more than enough.’


    ‘Not in this case. There is another presence, at the ryokan. A Gos Ussu.’


    ‘Gos who?’


    ‘A demon, daimyō. A notoriously itinerant one.’


    ‘Territorial?’ interrupted Atta Ka Yukio, giving a quick apologetic bow to Shingen, who waved the insult away with a swish of his hand.


    ‘In this case, yes. It will expect attack.’


    ‘Does it have a talisman?’ asked Shingen, trailing a fingernail along his own throat. ‘Something my men can destroy?’


    The tall advisor coughed, breaking in ahead of Chef. ‘This kind of demon, Gos Ussu, typically choose jewellery as their talisman, daimyō. A ring or necklace perhaps.’


    ‘Breakable?’


    ‘On the spot, no, but here in this complex, with the right tools…’


    ‘Your men will die before they get a foot inside the front door,’ interrupted Chef Amo, wiping off some of the new blood that was still dribbling down his neck. ‘Daimyō.’


    ‘Not necessarily.’ Atta Ka Yukio took a pale blue rock from one of the apparently telepathic green-haired twins and held it out for Shingen to inspect. ‘This will offer temporary protection.’


    ‘A lump of rock?’ asked Shingen, confused.


    ‘It is a symbol of my kind. The Gos Usso will respect it.’


    ‘But it won’t kill the beast?’


    ‘In my experience, it is better not to make enemies if it can be avoided, daimyō. I’m sure this demon has no personal enmity towards you.’


    Chef Amo swished his right arm through the air and laughed, but lost glee quickly when he remembered it was a human arm and not the mist show he was used to.


    ‘It is settled then. Four men to the ryokan, four to the box. And they will all dress as merchants, with limited arms.’


    ‘I will see to it promptly, daimyō.’


    ‘… … … … … …’ muttered Chef Amo, watching Atta Ka Yukio and his two little disciples slide over to the door panel.


    As one of the twins reached for the frame, the panel drew open abruptly and another guard entered with a bowl of seaweed strips in both hands.


    ‘Over there,’ said Shingen, gesturing towards his father, who was still upright on his little throne, staring at the creases on his left hand.


    The guard walked carefully over, clearly terrified of dropping the bowl, and stopped in front of his ex-boss. Hand shaking, he picked up one of the longer seaweed strips and held it out over his lap.


    ‘Wretch…’ the ex-daimyō shouted and struck the guard with the back of his right hand, deftly using his other hand to retrieve the bowl before it dropped onto the floor.


    Observing the scene with blank indifference, Atta Noe checked that the door panel was closed and then moved round to the other side of the map table.


    Shingen was concentrating on shrine activity in Shinano province again, so she crept up behind and placed her vessel’s big clumsy paws on the daimyō’s shoulders. Feeling confident, she ran them in firm strokes down his back and then curved back outwards to his waist.


    ‘Not in that wreck,’ Shingen said curtly, refusing to look up from the map.


    ‘I can go and change,’ said the purple demon, ‘into something younger.’


    ‘No, leave it. I don’t have time for workmanlike massages. Go and rest. Wait for your box to come back.’


    ‘… … … … …’ she cursed, pupils on fire.


    ‘What was that?’


    ‘Of course, Lord Shingen,’ replied Atta Noe, shifting back to Japanese, the roughness of Chef Amo’s voice incongruous with her attempt at being polite. ‘I will go and rest.’


    ‘Hmm. I’ll have to get a translator for that language of yours one day. From Yukio Ka, perhaps.’


    Retracting the seduction hands before they turned into murder hands, Atta Noe looked again at Shingen’s father in the corner. He had just finished licking both sides of a seaweed strip and was now lowering it slowly into his mouth, his boot doing little jab kicks at the guard on the floor.


    The former lord of Kai Province.


    Existing.


    As his usurper son’s pet.


    Too disgusted to even shake her host body’s head, Atta Noe walked back over to the door panel and knocked on it until a guard opened up.


    ‘Too slow,’ she barked, clipping him on the ear as she passed, and then outright growling at Misora, who was leaning against the wall, a strip of seaweed hanging out of her mouth.


    ‘What?’ she mumbled, just managing to catch the strip before it dropped to the floor.


    ‘Human idiocy.'' Atta Noe continued on down the corridor, using some of the last remaining strength in Chef Amo’s sturdy legs to kick the guard at the end in the knee. ''Abject, no brain, human idiocy.''


    ‘Where?’


    There was no answer, except for a grumbled kuso from the guard.