The first blade was drawn before anyone admitted there was a war.
It happened quietly, in a corridor that smelled of old incense and damp wood, far from the ceremonial halls where men still pretended order held.
A guard reached for Nobunaga's sleeve.
Not roughly.Not threateningly.
Just enough.
"My lord," the man said, eyes flicking sideways, "this way is no longer… advisable."
Nobunaga stopped.
Slowly, deliberately, he looked down at the hand gripping his sleeve.
The guard followed his gaze.
He released it immediately.
"I see," Nobunaga said.
He stepped back—not in retreat, but in acknowledgment.
That was enough.
By dusk, everyone knew.
Certain corridors were closed to him.Certain gates were guarded by unfamiliar faces.Certain names were spoken with confidence that they had not carried the day before.
Nobuyuki's supporters were no longer whispering.
They were organizing.
Nobunaga did not convene a council.
He summoned individuals.
One by one.
Not the loudest.Not the most righteous.
The uncertain.
A quartermaster first—concerned about supply lines.A captain next—uncomfortable with divided command.A minor retainer whose land bordered enemy territory and could not afford chaos.
Nobunaga did not threaten them.
He did not persuade.
He asked only one question.
"When the fighting starts," he said calmly, "where will you stand?"
Some avoided answering.Some asked for time.
Nobunaga nodded at each response.
Time, too, was information.
Nobuyuki made his first move that night.
It was careful.Measured.
He did not proclaim himself lord.
He merely accepted guests.
Retainers arrived at his residence openly now, bringing condolences and offering counsel. Guards doubled around his compound—not in defiance, but "for protection."
Protection against whom was left unspoken.
Nobuyuki himself said little.
He did not need to.
His supporters spoke for him.
"He is gentler," they said."He honors tradition.""He will unite us."
Nobunaga watched.
He let them build the illusion.
The collision came sooner than expected.
A messenger sent by Nobunaga failed to return.
By the second watch, his absence was undeniable.
By the third, his body was found.
Not mutilated.Not hidden.
Left where it would be seen.
The message was unmistakable.
Nobunaga stared at the corpse in silence.
This was not an assassination.
This was provocation.
Someone wanted Blood to speak first.
Nobunaga exhaled slowly.
"So," he said, "they have chosen."
He responded before dawn.
Not with banners.
Not with proclamations.
With removal.
Two men were taken quietly from their beds—minor figures, visible enough to matter, expendable enough to deny responsibility. They were not killed.
They were beaten.
Publicly.
Left alive, broken, unmistakably warned.
When questioned, Nobunaga gave a single answer.
"They obstructed my governance."
No justification.No apology.
The effect was immediate.
Some men fled.Some hardened.
No one misunderstood.
That morning, Nobuyuki sent word.
A request.
A meeting.
Neutral ground.
Nobunaga accepted.
They met in a small hall once used for family gatherings—its walls bare now, stripped of warmth. No guards inside. Too many outside.
For a moment, they stood facing each other.
Brothers.
Strangers.
"You are tearing the house apart," Nobuyuki said softly.
Nobunaga regarded him.
"No," he replied. "I am revealing it."
Nobuyuki clenched his hands.
"You mock our father's memory."
Nobunaga's gaze sharpened."I honor his choice," he said. "You deny it."
Silence fell.
Nobuyuki looked away first.
That decided it.
By nightfall, the castle was divided not by rumor, but by position.
Men slept armed.Doors were barred.Orders contradicted orders.
No declaration had been made.
None was necessary.
The war existed.
Nobunaga stood alone on the outer wall, watching torches flicker in separated clusters below.
This was not a triumph.
This was commitment.
Once lines were drawn, they could only be erased by blood.
Behind him, a trusted retainer spoke quietly.
"There is still time to step back."
Nobunaga did not turn.
"If I step back," he said, "they will step over me."
The retainer bowed his head.
He understood.
Before dawn, Nobunaga issued his first order as lord in truth.
Not to attack.
Not to negotiate.
"To prepare."
Armor was distributed.Food was secured.Messengers were dispatched—not for alliance, but for knowledge.
The machinery of war began to turn.
Slowly.
Relentlessly.
Years later, when men spoke of the wars that tore Owari apart, they would mark the first clash of armies as the beginning.
They would be wrong.
It began here.
With a man who refused to mourn as expected.With a brother chosen as an alternative.With a corpse left where it would be found.
It began when hesitation became fatal.