Story:

Silence. Nobunaga was already staring at the war map—and found, when he glanced up, that Kenshin was staring at the exact same spot as he was.

Kyoto.

Their eyes met over the map, and again there was no need for words.

"Seven days," Kenshin supplemented aloud, for the benefit of the others, her finger sliding west from Fuji along the Tokaido road.

"Judging from the speed the demons moved this morning—they do not eat, they do not sleep, they do not rest, march, or straggle like human soldiers. A host that never makes camp can reach Kyoto in seven days."

"Agreed," said Nobunaga, and now he leaned forward over the map himself, his own finger coming down on the map like a countersignature.

"And if my Oda main force marches out from Kyoto to meet them heads-on rather than cower behind the capital's walls—then the two hosts will collide here."

His finger tapped the wide flat expanse south and east of the city, the broad open country of the eastern seaboard. "The open plain of Nagoya. There is no other ground on that march wide enough for an army of that size to fight a battle on."

Kicho's fan slipped from her fingers.

Nagoya. Her breath went out of her in a gasp. She was a daughter of Mino—the plain Nobunaga named was close to Gifu, the home of the Oda clan, the castle of Inabayama, the town where she loved, the villagers and merchants and temples of the homeland she still carried in her heart no matter where she was now.

If the battle line was drawn at Nagoya, then Gifu sat practically in the shadow of the battlefield.

And beyond Gifu, beyond the plain—Kyoto itself, the Tenno, the Shogun, the whole gathered wealth and population of the capital. Gifu and Kyoto's last line of defence would be whatever shield could be forged out on that open ground.

"Onee-chan," she said quietly, and Violet's hand found her shoulder.