Story:

Demon Lord Yoshiro, alive—rebuilt, remade, roaring, his masked grin already turned toward the cavalry.

And beside him, arm bound in fresh hell-forged bracers, the fallen ninja Miu.

Their presence immediately broke the tactical advantage of the silver cavalry.

Yoshiro alone waded into the foremost squadron—and fought hundreds of horse riders charging at once—tentacles shattering lances mid-thrust, his demonic axe shearing through horses and men in single arcs, the silver wave breaking around him like water around a standing reef, entire squadrons dying on his position.

And Miu was nowhere and everywhere—a flickering ghost of reverse-grip steel threading through the Uesugi command ranks, hunting officers—and one of the silver commanders was already down, heavily wounded, dragged from his horse by his guards with Miu's laughter ringing over the field.

The rotating charges stuttered. The cavalry's momentum died on the two lords like a wave on breakers. And the demon main force, sensing their gods walking, began to surge.

On the ridge, Nobunaga's face had gone cold and fast—the face of the man who had commanded at a hundred fields before this. He had the most battle experience of anyone in the miko camp, and he did not waste one heartbeat on ceremony.

He shouted—his war-council voice, his battlefield voice, the voice that had moved twenty thousand men:

"ALL OF YOU—CHARGE—NOW!! This instant—into the field! The Uesugi are the only wall between this shrine and the tide, and their wall is breaking at two points—"

"If those lords aren't stopped the cavalry dies in the next quarter hour, and when the cavalry dies—" his arm swept back at the mountain, the shrine, the sixty miko, everything,

"—we have no tomorrow either! There is no second line behind us! There is no 'first defence line'—the line is THERE, in the mud, NOW—so MOVE!!"