The Sanctuary of Plum Blossoms, once a symbol of beauty and peace in the Oda plains, has now transformed into a silent graveyard. The plum blossoms outside the walls are falling more rapidly than usual, mourning each life lost that night. The sanctuary walls are stained black with smoke and blood, yet there are no wails of grief—only a stillness and bravery frozen in the air. In the distance, the sound of rain begins to emerge, drenching the place with its soft melody. Its damp, fiery aroma mingles with the blood that has dried.
Among the trees, a gentle breeze carries muted voices from the crowd preparing to face death. No more vibrant colors exist in this world, only shadowy hues draping the sky as if nature itself is in mourning.
The cries of birds flying low serve as a prelude to sorrow, while the dark shadows of the Iron Blossom Division separate hope from reality. Young soldiers, their eyes filled with determination yet shrouded in panic, prepare their weapons, a stark reminder of the sacrifices they must soon make.
Hayate, the old commander with flowing white hair, stood atop the crumbled tower, surveying the crowd of the Division Iron Blossom encircling from three sides. Wrapped in bandages and with hands still stained with blood, he knew that Oda's strength remained only in the dozens—mostly young samurai, alongside some protective women and a few elderly servants. Their hearts trembled, yet their spirit remained unbroken; they were the seeds of the past, ready to grow even in the soil filled with weakness and ruin.
He descended to the main hall, where Nobuzan sat upright on the throne altar, her cold gaze piercing through the mist. There was no tremor in her hands, no wavering in her lips.
"How many are still able to fight?"
"Twenty-four, including me, Your Highness. Four of them are severely injured, but they refuse to back down," Hayate replied. His voice was firm, despite a heavy, unspoken burden weighing in his chest. Each word was a reminder of the dark loyalty, of the sacrifices that had been chosen.
Nobuzan nodded confidently, her voice low yet firm, cutting through the murky silence like thick fog enveloping the altar. The strong scent of blood mingled with the damp aroma of the wet soil after the night's rain. Sadness and determination seemed to cloak the space, as if this altar bore witness to the silent struggles of the impending battle.
"Thus, the twenty-four names will inscribe the final chapter of Oda tonight. Ensure that every enemy who steps onto this altar brings two corpses with them."
She gazed at the altar's walls, now marked with the blood oaths, the scratches resembling a painting of suffering that depicted their long journey of sacrifice. A distant explosion echoed, the wave of noise like the heartbeat signaling the approach of death, yet Nobuzan remained still, as if listening to the rhythm of her own demise drawing closer. In her heart, she felt each beat, each breath, and every potential loss.
"Close all western routes, set fire traps in the south. If the traitor is still hiding, kill them before dawn. I want this sanctuary to become a terrifying grave, not just a fallen fortress." Oda Nobuzan's voice resonated softly yet sharply, reflecting her determination to protect what remained. Dark shadows wandered in her mind, faces lost to the unforgivable battles and betrayals haunted her as the leaves trembled violently against the chill of the night wind.
Fitran bowed deeply, feeling the weight of responsibility and sacrifice he bore before the princess he loved. The wind whispered as if carrying hopes and longings, and within his heart, he prayed that their sacrifices would not be in vain.
"As you wish, Princess."
The glyph traps had been placed at all main doors, inscribing ancient lines imbued with latent power. The altar room was now surrounded by barricades of stone and shattered shields, every corner doused in kerosene and adorned with igniting talismans that appeared proud and unyielding. The young samurai sat cross-legged before the door, each holding a family sword, reciting sacrificial mantras in hushed whispers, their voices blending with the rustling wind entering the altar, creating a haunting symphony of sorrow.
The sky outside had turned pitch black, as if weeping for every soul that would fall. Cold dew dripped from the leaves, producing a gentle sound amid the night's stillness, pressing further on the anxiety that enveloped the hearts of every protector. Oda Nobuzan summoned the five strongest female protectors to her private chamber; their voices served as a glimmer of hope in the darkness of night. There, she distributed five small vials filled with poison, her unwavering gaze reflecting her conviction that only death could free them from the enemy's grasp:
"If I fall, do not let my body be touched by the enemy. Use this before surrendering. None shall live as prisoners. I trust your deaths more than the enemy's promise of mercy."
Each protector stared at the vial with eyes full of resolve, and not a single sound escaped their lips. Some recalled the faces of family, friends, and beautiful memories they might never have in this world. Cold sweat trickled at their temples, yet their loyalty resonated within them like a hammer striking sharp metal, firm and unwavering.
They nodded without protest, swallowing their fears like the bitter taste of bile, each word sticking in their throats, creating an inescapable heaviness. The room was filled with dim, muted light, shadows moving as if reflecting their inner turmoil and anger. One of the guardians, Akiko, the most loyal among them, knelt before Oda Nobuzan, kissing the cold floor with deep gratitude and sincerity, clinging to hope amidst the darkness surrounding them.
"Princess, never doubt our sacrifice. If the sanctuary falls, let the world remember Oda as a name that never surrendered, even when life hangs by a thread," she spoke with a voice that trembled yet remained firm, delivering each word with clarity like thunder rumbling before a storm.
Nobuzan fixed her gaze sharply, the tension in the air palpable and adding a pressure that could almost be felt by everyone in the room. Cold sweat trickled down her temples, creating a creeping sense of anxiety among her fingers, which gripped her family's sword tightly, as if it were the only link between her and her true beliefs.
"Akiko, I believe in hatred and love in equal measure. The world recognizes only winners and corpses. Ensure that Oda dies as a legend, not as a victim," Nobuzan declared, her tone firm and heavy like iron heated in fire. The words flowed from her mouth like a promise bound by blood and loyalty.
Outside, the sky had darkened, painted with ominous clouds that obscured the moonlight, as if mourning the fate that awaited them. The wind whispered softly, roaring gently through the gaps of the sanctuary walls, carrying the cold, damp scent that served as a reminder of death lurking at the doorstep. Time moved slowly, flowing like a waterfall that had come to a standstill, enveloped by the melancholic cries of distant swans. Beyond, the Earth army awaited the final command, surrounding the sanctuary like a pack of wolves waiting for wounded prey, as precious moments slipped away meaningless before them, filled only with an intimidating silence.
Inside, Oda Nobuzan called all the generals and protectors to gather in the altar room, summoning the last remnants of strength and spirit before the storm struck. She stood at the center, her silhouette tall and powerful, the family sword in hand, her eyes casting a determined gaze across the room.
"Tonight, I don't want a long speech. I don't believe in hope. I only believe in the strength of your hands and swords. If anyone wishes to retreat, take your own life now before I do it for you," she continued, her voice creating a chilling resonance that pierced the heart of each listener. The dark reverie within the sanctuary trembled with uncertainty, leaving them with only one choice to make—to step forward, even though they knew what awaited them.
No one moved, and the silence became a mute witness to the decision made. The evening meal felt insignificant in the face of such a profound commitment, a cause that would destroy everything. The wind blew stronger, carrying a chill that touched their skin, as if affirming how close they were to the cusp of their entire existence. A decision had been made, and that night would bear witness to the sacrifice that shone brightly in the darkness of the world.
"Alright. Tonight, our blood will write the final legend of Oda Nobuzan. Prepare everything. Hayate, begin the closing spell of the sanctuary. If I scream the password 'Yoru no Shizuku,' burn it all. Do not wait for my body to grow cold."
As those words slipped from her lips, the cold night wind whipped fiercely, carrying the scent of the dark forest. The rustling leaves seemed to warn of the danger approaching. The flickering campfire dimmed, blending with the tension enveloping the room.
Each warrior stood firm with expressions full of determination, yet sadness flickered in their eyes, as if aware of the sacrifice they must make. The gentle sound of the heavy rain beginning to fall added to the ominous atmosphere, deepening the darkness of that night.
Moments before the final assault, a young samurai named Yuki was caught attempting to escape towards the western route. He was dragged to the altar, his body trembling, a bitter reminder of a loyalty that had been lost. The distant rumble of thunder heightened the tension, as if the sky was praying for a soul about to be severed.
Oda Nobuzan didn't ask for reasons. She simply drew her sword and severed Yuki's neck in front of all the soldiers. Blood soaked the altar stones, flowing like an unavoidable dark river, creating a crimson splash that clung to the sanctuary walls.
"Let the blood of the traitor flow first. This is the final warning for anyone who hesitates."
Nobuzan's words echoed among the soldiers, binding them in an unspoken agreement. Hayate closed her eyes, stifling her pity. Soft sobs gradually filled the room, creating a melancholic harmony that was sorrowful. The guardians wiped the blood from the floor, their lips trembling as they recited the protective prayer of Oda, their voices barely audible, drowned in the depths of sorrow as night deepened.
The rain began to fall more heavily, adding a quiet sorrow to those final moments. Each drop seemed to pierce their hearts, evoking the pain and loyalty etched within their souls. They knew that tonight, there would be no turning back, and every drop of blood and tear would become part of the final legend.
At midnight, the Iron Blossom Division detonated three main doors of the sanctuary. Fire, smoke, and the Void Eater mantra shattered the external defenses, releasing explosion sounds that echoed like the cries of trapped souls. Samurai Oda retaliated with a sudden assault, employing the Kage Utsushi and Mugen no Hana techniques—an illusion of a thousand plum blossoms blinding the enemy for an instant before they were silently cut down. Amidst the chaos, the scent of blood and smoke intertwined, creating a suffocating atmosphere. The cold night wind howled mournfully, as if lamenting the unavoidable death.
Hayate himself led the fight in the main corridor. Though aged and wounded, he felled three Earth warriors in a single breath, their blood staining his already tattered armor. Each movement felt slower than during his prime, yet his bravery remained unyielding, etched in every strike. When an arrow whizzed past, nearly grazing his neck, he felt his heartbeat resonate, strong and bold, as if reflecting the love and loyalty he held for the protectors depending on him. Hayate fixed his sharp gaze on the enemy, his voice booming as he shouted, "For Oda, we must not retreat!"
The female protector, with the spell Kaminari Shizuku, detonated the last barricade as the Earth forces approached the altar. The explosion consumed dozens of enemies at once, engulfing the entire corridor in a blaze of blue and purple flames. It resembled a fireworks display in the thick of midnight, yet far darker; each flash of light revealed faces filled with terror. The sounds of screams and the whistling of arrows created a symphony of death, and as the smoke began to clear, the scent of burning filled the air, serving as a bitter reminder of the sacrifices made for protection.
Outside the altar, the sky darkened with ominous clouds; lightning occasionally struck, casting terrifying shadows over this war-torn land. The night grew colder; the temperature dropped with every passing minute, as if nature itself was honoring the heroism unfolding. And amid that despair, a flicker of hope emerged; hope for a rebirth after darkness. However, every victory comes at a cost, and only time would reveal who would endure.
Oda Nobuzan sat at the altar, her hands gripping the sword tightly as her sharp gaze pierced through the flames and darkness. The contractions in her abdomen grew more frequent, cold sweat trickling down her temples, yet she held back every whimper. The sound of the fire devouring the wooden altar heightened the tension, as if nature itself sensed the pressing fear that filled the air.
She whispered to Akiko,
"If I die, finish me yourself. Don't give the world a reason to pity Oda."
Akiko nodded, tears falling silently. Each drop was like morning dew soaking into parched earth, signifying hope that had faded. She felt the weight of the decision, the only choice left in these final moments. The atmosphere grew increasingly oppressive; the scent of charred materials filled the air, racing against the odors of sweat and blood that had become second nature.
From a distance, the sound of drums and enemy shouts grew louder. Flames began to engulf the main door of the altar, casting shadows of Oda Nobuzan that danced on the stone walls. These walls, once silent witnesses to many rituals, now absorbed the wickedness drawing near. The sound of the drums echoed like hope being struck fiercely, signaling that the days ahead might very well be their last.
One by one, Oda soldiers fell. Hayate staggered toward the altar, his body riddled with wounds, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His face was smeared with blood and panic, but a steadfast determination shone through. He was a loyal guardian, bound by an unwavering fidelity. "Princess… they have reached the altar's corridor. I… I implore you… be the last shadow of Oda they see tonight."
Nobuzan stood, her face pale, yet her eyes remained icy. Within her heart, pain and betrayal swirled, creating a storm that was hard to fight against.
"I will die as Nobuzan Oda. No more, no less."
As she spoke, it was as if the silence around them registered the weight of her vow. The altar trembled; the sounds of screams and shouts echoing outside were like a death knell, each note carrying a chill in the air, as if even nature did not wish to witness this battle.
In these difficult moments, Oda Nobuzan felt a profound sense of gratitude for the time she had experienced. Every precious second spent with those around her fueled her spirit even more. She gazed at Akiko, vowing to protect her with every drop of blood flowing through her veins, recalling the moments they had shared laughter and fought against the injustices of the world. As the fire cast shadows against the light, she promised to safeguard not only herself but also the remaining hope for everyone who believed in their struggle.
As the flames consumed the altar, the guardians began their final incantation. Akiko and two other guardians stood in formation in front of Nobuzan, their bodies glowing faintly with the glyph of sacrifice. The whisper of the night wind seemed to carry words of hope, yet the atmosphere was thick with the acrid scent of burning from the fire that licked at the altar.
When the Earth forces finally breached the altar door, they were met with a blaze of flames, the bodies of samurai leaning against each other with faint smiles on their lips, and Oda Nobuzan sitting upright on the altar—her sword still drawn, her eyes wide open, brimming with hatred and honor. Shadows of fallen bodies were cast upon the altar walls, creating a haunting moment frozen in time, revealing faces full of courage. The night air bore a profound sadness, punctuated only by the soft whispers of the wind that carried a sense of loss.
Captain of the Iron Blossom Division approached, gazing at the lifeless form of Nobuzan. He knelt in respect, feeling the weight of history that lay before him.
"This one… deserves to be recorded in history. She never yielded, even when death was inevitable." His voice trembled, as if the night wind carried his words to the souls that had departed. Gently, he touched the surface of the altar, hoping to feel the last remnants of courage that lingered there, a life intertwined with unwavering loyalty. The chill of the night hid among the foliage and the sharp rays of the moon, painting a scene that was both terrifying and beautiful.
The night in the sanctuary was utterly silent. There were no prayers, no cries, only the scent of ashes and blood. Oda fell not as a victim but as a bastion of silence, burying hope and anger alongside her own name. Outside, the distant rumble of thunder echoed, as if nature lamented this surrender. Slowly, the rain began to descend, its gentle droplets creating puddles that reflected the flickering flames still alive. Each drop carried a message of mourning, cleansing the filth from the unending battle. The sound of the rain became a complementary rhythm to the stillness. With her selfless sacrifice, Oda had become a symbol of all that she left behind—a timeless loyalty etched in the memories and souls of those who stood upon the remnants of the altar. There was nothing left to hope for, only sadness carved into their hearts, like scars that would never fade.