Chapter 145

When the last allied soldier's wail was drowned in the morning light, the night-long slaughter finally ended.

Fish-belly white appeared on the horizon as the sun struggled to break through the clouds; when it rose again, the once bustling outskirts of Kyoto had become a dead silent city, even the wind passing by carried a piercing chill.

The once row upon row of townhouses had long vanished, replaced by expanses of charred ruins. Fire-twisted beams jutted obliquely from the rubble, and blackened window frames still hung with half-scorched cloth curtains; the air reeked of a mixture of soot and blood, almost choking anyone who breathed it.

Matsura Takanobu rode his tall black warhorse slowly along Kyoto's main thoroughfare, Suzaku Avenue.

The warhorse's Iron Control hooves trod over congealed plasma, emitting a dull thud, occasionally splattering a bit of black-red debris.

He straightened his spine, the katana at his waist still stained with fresh blood, his gaze calmly sweeping over the horrific scene before him without a flicker of emotion, as if the dead city beneath his feet were merely a stepping stone toward his goal.

Behind him stood thousands of Kyushu elite troops in black armor, neat ranks; their footsteps rang especially clear and grating in the dead city.

The soldiers' faces showed no joy of victory, only the numbness and cruelty of carrying out orders; their firearms and long blades still bore fresh bloodstains.

Matsura Takanobu's gaze swept over the houses burned to shells along both sides of the street and the tragically dead bodies; among them were Yellow Turban troops, loyalist alliance soldiers, but mostly innocent civilians.

But that's how war is.

General Wang Meng had taught him that mercy toward the enemy is cruelty toward oneself; aside from the Wang Family, everyone is an enemy.

Matsura Takanobu's gaze swept past the devastation before him, fixed on a single direction—his destination was the imperial palace.

Situated at the city's northernmost point, this complex symbolizes the nation's supreme authority.

Looking north from Suzaku Avenue, one could clearly see the gilded golden roof of the palace's main hall; even coated with dust and smoke, it still faintly gleamed in the morning light.

This complex had once been the awe-inspiring center of power where the emperor resided, and now it awaited his personal entry, so he could grasp tightly the symbol of supreme authority.

The palace guards had long fled in the chaos; when Matsura Takanobu's army reached the vermilion gate, only a few terrified eunuchs met them, faces ashen, kneeling and trembling on the ground.

Matsura Takanobu reined his horse before the palace's vermilion gate; the tall black steed let out a resonant snort, its Iron Control hooves lightly scraping the blue stone slabs.

He moved swiftly: left hand on the saddle, right leg lifted, he flipped off the horse, landing as steady as a rock, the blood‑stained katana at his waist swaying slightly with the motion and emitting a faint metallic clink.

His gaze swept past the gate; without lingering, he casually tossed the reins behind him, his tone flat and unruffled: 'Watch it.'

The personal guards behind him quickly stepped forward, firmly taking the reins with both hands, respectfully bowing and replying 'Yes,' then led the black horse aside, carefully soothing the restless animal.

Matsura Takanobu then adjusted his Wang Family‑crafted, gleaming black‑lustrous fine steel armor, and step by step ascended the stairs leading to the Purple Chamber Hall.

Behind him, the guards carried a dozen or so wooden boxes, each filled with bloody heads.

They were the heads of Wan Tianhai, Chen Gongbo, the Oda clan head, the Tokugawa clan head, and all the named daimyo and rebel leaders who had been beheaded in last night's massacre.

This was his 'loyalist' achievement presented to the emperor—a feat built on mountains of corpses and seas of blood, a feat earned by destroying the allied forces and seizing control of Kyoto.

He personally tore apart the 'loyalist' guise, pointing his fangs at this palace symbolizing imperial rule; all of this before him was merely the credential he offered to climb to the pinnacle of power.

Inside the Purple Chamber Hall, everything was already in disarray. Beside the once neatly arranged sandalwood pillars lay overturned tables, their memorials and scrolls scattered across the floor, the ink blurred by panic into indistinct smudges.

Eunuchs clutched clothing and treasures, rushing to and fro within the hall; their footsteps and cries intertwined, shattering the former solemnity.

The young emperor, wearing a cumbersome court robe unsuitable for his age, sat pale-faced upon that lofty throne.

Below him, the court officials led by the Fujiwara clan each wore faces as if they had lost their parents, eyes filled with despair and fear.

They gathered around the emperor's throne, whispering arguments—some urged immediate flight, others sat slumped on the ground muttering 'the state will fall'; even the usually steadiest guards now gripped their swords, eyes full of anxiety and helplessness.

They heard footsteps outside the palace.

Thud, thud, thud…

The sound of heavy military boots on the wooden floor approached from afar.

The hall doors were violently shoved open by two tall Kyushu soldiers.

Matsura Takanobu appeared at the doorway, surrounded by his retinue of guards.

His armor and the weapons held by the soldiers behind him reflected a blinding glare in the sunlight streaming in from outside.

The court officials inside had never seen such a formation; they usually dealt only with refined, cultured guards. The aura emanating from these people was the intense killing spirit of those who had crawled out of mountains of corpses and seas of blood.

Thump, thump…

Several timid officials went limp at the knees and collapsed to the ground.

Even the current regent, Fujiwara no Yorimichi's heir Fujiwara no Saneyoshi, a man usually lofty in demeanor, now had weak legs and a face paler than the wall.

Matsura Takanobu ignored these frightened weaklings.

He strode straight to the center of the hall, his gaze falling on the pitiful young emperor on the throne.

Then he knelt on one knee, his voice booming as he said: "Your subject, the Commander-in-Chief of the West and Kyushu Investigator, Matsura Takainobu, having received the imperial edict to suppress the rebels, has not failed in his duty! I have now exterminated the rebel leaders Wang Tianhai, Chen Gongbo, and the treacherous ministers Oda and Tokugawa, presenting their heads for Your Majesty's inspection."

Saying this, he waved his hand.

The guards behind him immediately lifted the dozen or so wooden boxes and, before everyone's eyes, opened them one by one.

Gurgle…

Head after head, still stained with blood, rolled out of the boxes and scattered across the hall's polished floor.

Many of those heads belonged to officials present—acquaintances, even former drinking companions.

Ah!

A young official, seeing the head of his in‑law, eyes wide with terror, let out a scream and fainted on the spot.

The entire hall was instantly engulfed by a strong stench of blood and fear.

The young emperor cried out a 'wa' and burst into tears.

Matsura Takanobu raised his head, looking at the ludicrous scene before him, his heart filled with contempt.

Is this the nobility that rules the country? A bunch of cowards who can't even bear the sight of blood!

He rose to his feet, his voice suddenly turning icy: "Your Majesty, I have something to say!"

The young emperor was startled by his loud shout, his crying ceased, and he only kept sniffling.

Or it was Fujiwara Saneyoshi at his side, suppressing fear, his voice trembling as he asked: 'Matsura… Matsura General, what… what is the matter?'

Matsura Takanobu's gaze fell upon him.

Lord Fujiwara. Now the realm is in great turmoil, rebels rise everywhere. All because the court's discipline is lax and treacherous ministers hold power, causing Your Majesty to suffer disgrace and the state foundations to shake. I believe the urgent task is to restore court order to pacify the realm!

Then… according to the General's view, what should be done?

"I believe, Lord Fujiwara, you are advanced in years and your strength is lacking. You are no longer fit to continue serving as regent and kampaku. You should step aside and make way for the worthy, to enjoy your remaining years." Matsutaka Takashin said bluntly.

"You!" Fujiwara no Saneyoshi trembled with rage, yet could not utter a word; he was not even forty, and the reason could not be so crude.

Although he had guessed they would seize his power, this grab was disgracefully blatant.

"Who should take the position of kampaku?" a Head Iron Control Fujiwara clansman could not help but ask.

Matsutaka Takashin smiled.

He said nothing, merely pointing at himself with his hand.

The meaning was self-evident.

"Insolent! You, a provincial warrior from Kyushu, dare to covet the kampaku position?!" that Fujiwara clansman shouted in fury.

The smile on Matsutaka Takashin's face vanished.

He slowly turned his head, looking at the official who was still shouting.

"Swish!"

A flash of cold light passed.

A guard beside him swiftly drew his sword and swung it.

The motion was executed in one fluid motion.

The official's cursing cut off abruptly. His head shot up into the air, blood spurting like a fountain from his neck, splattering the faces of several nearby officials.

"Ah——!"

In the hall, the piercing screams rang out again.

Matsutaka Takashin seemed to have merely done a trifling thing; he used a piece of white Silk to wipe the bloodstains that had spattered onto his armor, then coldly surveyed the room.

"Who else?!"

Inside the hall, there was utter silence.

No one dared to speak out in opposition any longer.

Only now did they realize that the man before them had not come to reason with them; he had come to take everything. Anyone who dared to block his path would die.

Matsutaka Takashin was very pleased with this effect.

He turned once more toward the throne, his voice softening somewhat.

"Your Majesty. To preserve the realm forever, I, your subject, earnestly request that Your Majesty issue an edict appointing me as the new Regent, concurrently as Commander-in-Chief of the Expedition Against Barbarians, to oversee court affairs and command all military forces; and to grant me the singular honor of wearing my sword in the palace, entering court without having to kneel, and being exempt from having my name uttered in praise."

This string of demands essentially amounts to sidelining the emperor and making oneself a retired emperor.

The young emperor didn't understand any of this; he was simply frightened and kept crying.

Finally, it was Fujiwara no Saneyoshi, his face ashen, who managed to squeeze out a few words from between his teeth.

"I... second that."

He knew that the several-hundred-year glory of the Fujiwara family had come to a complete end today.

As soon as he spoke those words, the other officials, as if their spines had been pulled out, knelt down one by one.

"We... second that."

Matsutaka Takashin, looking at the crowd of worthless kneeling before him, finally revealed a victor's smile.