At the end of Genki 2 (1571), the winter wind of northern Ōmi blew like a knife across Lake Biwa, carrying cold dampness into every crack of Yokoyama Castle. Kinoshita Hideyoshi stood on the castle tower, gazing northeast toward the silhouette of Odani Castle, his brow furrowed. He was one of Oda Nobunaga's most capable generals, but at this moment his mind was not on the battlefield—in a few days the New Year would begin, and he was required to attend Lord Nobunaga's New Year ceremony at Gifu Castle.
It was a retainer's duty, and a political necessity.
Hideyoshi entrusted the defence of Yokoyama Castle to his most trusted strategist—Takenaka Shigeharu.
Takenaka Shigeharu, known as "Takenaka Hanbei," was one of the most celebrated military strategists of the Warring States period. Tall and thin, with a gaunt face and eyes as deep as an old well, he seemed able to see through all things. Originally a local lord of Fuwa District in Mino, he had later submitted to Oda Nobunaga and was assigned to Hideyoshi's command. Hideyoshi followed his advice without question, and the two formed the most famous "commander strategist" partnership of the era—Hideyoshi leading the charges, Shigeharu planning the campaigns.
"Hanbei," Hideyoshi said before leaving, "I leave Yokoyama Castle to you. Azai Nagamasa has his eye on this place; he may attack at any time."
Takenaka Shigeharu smiled faintly, a calm and assured smile. "Do not worry, my lord. As long as Shigeharu is here, the castle will stand."
Hideyoshi departed reassured. He knew that Takenaka Shigeharu never broke his word.
But he did not expect Azai Nagamasa to attack so soon.
Just after the New Year, on the sixth day of the first month of Genki 3 (1572), Azai Nagamasa personally led five thousand picked soldiers from his home castle of Odani and marched straight for Yokoyama Castle.
Yokoyama Castle stood southeast of Odani, commanding the strategic passage from northern Ōmi to Mino Province. Whoever held Yokoyama held the initiative in northern Ōmi. When Hideyoshi had taken the castle, Nobunaga himself had praised it: "This castle is worth ten thousand troops." Now Azai Nagamasa wanted it back—he had waited too long already.
In the early morning mist, Azai banners appeared on the plain outside Yokoyama Castle. From the tower, Takenaka Shigeharu watched the dark mass of men and horses wind toward him like a long snake. The corners of his mouth curled into a barely perceptible smile.
"Lord Azai, you have finally come."
Shigeharu did not panic. He ordered the gates shut, divided his garrison of only eight hundred men into three groups—two to hold the walls, one in reserve to plug any breach. He also had the granaries opened and the rice brought up to the battlements—not for eating, but to keep the enemy from setting fires.
Azai Nagamasa did not take Yokoyama seriously. He had heard that the defending commander was Takenaka Shigeharu, and he was somewhat wary, but he thought that eight hundred against five thousand—no matter how skilled the defender, he could not work miracles.
"Attack!" Nagamasa waved his war fan, and the Azai soldiers charged toward Yokoyama with a shout.
That day, Azai Nagamasa learned what it meant to fight against overwhelming odds.
Takenaka Shigeharu's defence was textbook perfect. He did not crowd the walls with soldiers—that would only make them targets. Instead, he divided his archers and arquebusiers into small teams, rotating their fire to maintain a continuous barrage. Whenever the Azai raised scaling ladders, boiling oil was poured down; whenever they brought up a battering ram, bundles of flaming torches were thrown.
The first Azai assault was repulsed.
The second was repulsed.
The third was repulsed.
The foot of the walls was piled with Azai corpses, blood staining the frozen earth. Azai Nagamasa's expression darkened, his jaw tight. He ordered a fourth assault.
But this time, a sound made his blood run cold—the clamour of battle coming from behind.
Kinoshita Hideyoshi had returned.
While attending the New Year ceremony at Gifu Castle, Hideyoshi had received the urgent report that Yokoyama was under siege. Without a moment's hesitation, he asked Nobunaga's leave and sped back, bringing three thousand reinforcements. He struck the Azai from the rear.
"Azai Nagamasa!" Hideyoshi shouted, riding at the head of his troops, tachi in hand. "Your opponent is here!"
Caught between the castle and the oncoming force, the Azai fell into chaos. The soldiers had been fighting all day; they were exhausted and demoralised, no match for Hideyoshi's fresh troops. Hideyoshi's men cut into the Azai lines like a red hot blade. Seeing Hideyoshi's banner, Takenaka Shigeharu immediately ordered the gates opened and sallied out. Attacked from both sides, the Azai army disintegrated.
Azai Nagamasa, protected by his personal guards, cut his way out and fled back to Odani Castle in disgrace. He had lost nearly a thousand men, including several generals. More painful than the losses was the realisation—Oda Nobunaga had nurtured a crop of terrifying talents. Kinoshita Hideyoshi could fight; Takenaka Shigeharu could plan. Together they were almost invincible.
The Battle of Yokoyama Castle ended in a complete Oda victory.
Hideyoshi stood on the wall, watching the Azai retreat, and breathed a long sigh of relief. He turned to Takenaka Shigeharu, who still wore the same impassive expression, as if the fierce battle had been nothing more than a routine drill.
"Hanbei," Hideyoshi said sincerely, "with you by my side, how can I fail to achieve great things?"
Takenaka Shigeharu smiled faintly. "You flatter me, my lord. This victory was due entirely to your timely return."
The two men smiled at each other.
As night fell, bonfires were lit in Yokoyama Castle. Hideyoshi held a feast to reward his men; Takenaka Shigeharu sat beside him, still quiet. The firelight flickered on Shigeharu's face, and in his deep eyes there seemed to lurk something unspeakable.
Years later, when Hideyoshi became the supreme ruler of Japan, he often spoke of the battle of Genki 3. "The greatest fortune of my life," he said, "was to have Hanbei."
After the Battle of Yokoyama Castle, Oda Nobunaga decided to give Azai Nagamasa no chance to recover.
In the eighth month of Genki 3 (1572), Nobunaga personally led his army straight toward Odani Castle.
By this time, the Azai were in desperate straits. Oda forces in Ōmi had been steadily reinforced; Kinoshita Hideyoshi's Yokoyama Castle was a nail driven into the Azai heartland; Tokugawa Ieyasu was pinning down the Takeda to the east; and Asakura reinforcements were nowhere to be seen.
Nobunaga's plan was simple: cut the link between Asakura Yoshikage and Azai Nagamasa, then destroy them one by one.
He set up his main camp on Mount Yamada, northwest of Odani Castle. Mount Yamada was the local high ground; from its summit he could see the whole of Odani Castle and also watch for any Asakura relief force coming from the north. Nobunaga ringed the mountain with layers of defences—arquebusiers, archers, spearmen—like a crouching tiger.
From Odani Castle, when Azai Nagamasa saw Nobunaga's banners on Mount Yamada, his heart sank. He understood: Nobunaga was using a classic "besiege the city to catch the relief force" tactic—he was not in a hurry to assault the castle; instead, he would first cut off all outside contact and wait for the garrison's supplies to run out before launching the final attack.
Nagamasa immediately sent messengers to Asakura Yoshikage, begging for reinforcements.
At Ichijōdani Castle in Echizen, Asakura Yoshikage received the plea. His feelings were mixed—Azai Nagamasa was his ally and also his brother in law (Yoshikage's sister was married to Nagamasa's son). Both friendship and family obliged him to help. Yet he knew the power of Oda Nobunaga and hesitated.
After several days of indecision, Yoshikage finally decided to march. He personally led fifteen thousand troops south from Echizen into northern Ōmi.
But he underestimated Nobunaga's preparations.
Nobunaga had foreseen the Asakura's approach. He placed secret sentinels on all the roads they would have to use, and laid ambushes at key points. The moment the Asakura army entered Ōmi, Oda scouts picked them up; every step was reported to Nobunaga.
Asakura Yoshikage camped at Noriki (or Motoki) and tried to make contact with Azai Nagamasa. But Nobunaga had blocked all routes between the two armies. Every Asakura messenger was captured; every carrier pigeon was shot down. The two armies were within sight of each other, yet separated by an invisible wall, unable to join forces.
Finally, Yoshikage lost his patience.
"Oda Nobunaga has gone too far!" Yoshikage raged in his tent. "Pass the order—all troops attack Mount Yamada!"
On the fifteenth day of the eighth month of Tenshō 1 (1573), the night of the Mid Autumn Moon, the Asakura launched a general assault on Mount Yamada.
That night the moon was bright, flooding the land with silver light.
Asakura soldiers, carrying torches, charged up Mount Yamada with battle cries. The flames lit up half the sky; the shouts were deafening. But the Oda troops on the mountain were ready—they had dug deep trenches, planted abatis and stakes, and positioned their arquebusiers on the summit, firing down.
The first Asakura charge was repulsed. The second was repulsed. The third was repulsed.
Yoshikage grew desperate. He took personal command, even beheading a few fleeing soldiers with his own sword in an attempt to steady the line. But Nobunaga's arquebus fire was too intense. Asakura soldiers crowded together on the slopes; each lead ball could pierce two or three bodies.
As the two sides were locked in stalemate, Nobunaga played his trump card—Shibata Katsuie.
Katsuie led three thousand picked soldiers around the side of Mount Yamada and fell upon the Asakura from the rear. With a single shout, his men attacked.
Caught on three sides, the Asakura finally broke.
Soldiers threw away their weapons, banners, and armour, scrambling north. Yoshikage, protected by his bodyguards, fled the battlefield in disgrace. Behind him, the Oda shouts grew closer, like wolves chasing their prey.
Yoshikage fled all the way to Ōno District.
Ōno District was the northernmost mountainous region of Echizen, rugged and sparsely populated. There he tried to rally his remaining troops, but Nobunaga gave him no respite. Oda pursuers followed like a shadow, wiping out his remnants one by one. His generals fell in battle or surrendered.
Finally, with only a few dozen men left, Yoshikage took refuge in Kenshō ji in Ōno District.
Kenshō ji was a small, dilapidated temple deep in the mountains, surrounded by dense forest. Yoshikage hid inside, knelt before the Buddha, pressed his hands together, and murmured prayers. His face was etched with exhaustion and fear. The former overlord of Echizen was now a defeated fugitive with no place to run.
His kinsman, Asakura Kagetake, knelt behind him, his expression shifting.
Kagetake was Yoshikage's cousin, a member of the Asakura clan, raised together with Yoshikage from childhood. But in the Warring States, blood was no more than a thin sheet of paper, easily pierced.
Kagetake's mind was in turmoil: die with Yoshikage, or take Yoshikage's head to Oda Nobunaga?
He chose the latter.
On the twentieth day of the eighth month of Tenshō 1, Asakura Kagetake, accompanied by a few trusted men, burst into the main hall of Kenshō ji.
Yoshikage was chanting sutras before the Buddha. He heard footsteps, turned, and saw Kagetake with a drawn tachi, his face wearing a near mad expression. In that instant, he understood everything.
"Kagetake… you…" Yoshikage's voice trembled.
Kagetake did not look at him. He merely waved to the soldiers beside him. Two men rushed forward and pinned Yoshikage to the floor. Yoshikage struggled, but he had never been known for martial prowess, and after days of exhausting flight he had no strength left.
"Lord Yoshikage," Kagetake finally spoke, his voice cold, "the Asakura have reached the end. Better to die with dignity than be captured and humiliated by Oda Nobunaga."
He threw a short sword on the floor before Yoshikage.
Yoshikage stared at the dagger, his whole body shaking. He thought of his father, Asakura Yoshikage's father Asakura Takakage, of his grandfather Asakura Sadakage, of the generations of Asakura glory. From this day forward, the history of the Asakura would end.
With trembling hands, he picked up the dagger.
"Kagetake," Yoshikage said in a low voice, "you will be punished for this."
Kagetake said nothing. He turned and walked out of the main hall.
Behind him came a muffled scream, then dead silence.
A moment later, Kagetake re entered the hall. Yoshikage's body lay in a pool of blood, his abdomen cut open in a cross shape, his entrails spilled out, his face twisted in agony.
Kagetake knelt, drew his kodachi, and severed Yoshikage's head. He wrapped it in white cloth, placed it in a wooden box, mounted his horse, and raced to Oda Nobunaga's camp.
Asakura Kagetake knelt before Nobunaga, holding the box with both hands, his forehead on the ground, his voice quivering: "Lord Nobunaga, here is the head of Asakura Yoshikage. Asakura Kagetake wishes to submit to the Oda and serve in whatever humble capacity."
Nobunaga opened the box, looked at the bloody head, and was silent for a moment.
"What is your name?" Nobunaga asked.
"Asakura Kagetake."
"Kagetake," Nobunaga stood up, walked to the window, turning his back to the man. "You have done well."
Kagetake breathed a sigh of relief, expecting a reward.
But Nobunaga's next sentence made him feel as if he had fallen into an icy pit.
"Yet, you have killed even your own lord. How could I, Oda Nobunaga, dare to employ you?"
Kagetake's head shot up, his face ashen.
"Guards," Nobunaga said, as calmly as if discussing the weather, "take him out and cut off his head."
"Lord Nobunaga! Lord Nobunaga!" Kagetake kowtowed frantically, splitting his forehead open. "I came to surrender! I brought you Asakura Yoshikage's head! You cannot kill me! Lord Nobunaga!"
Nobunaga did not turn back.
Two samurai stepped forward and dragged Kagetake away. His screams echoed a few times outside the tent, then ceased.
Asakura Yoshikage's head was later taken to Kyoto and displayed at Sanjō Kawara. The Asakura of Echizen had come to an end.
From Asakura Takakage to Asakura Yoshikage, the Asakura had ruled Echizen for five generations, sixty seven years.
The news of the Asakura's fall reached Odani Castle.
Azai Nagamasa stood on the castle tower, staring north in silence.
Behind him, his father Azai Hisamasa sat on the veranda, his face sallow, his body trembling slightly. Hisamasa was ailing; years of warfare and worry had made him as frail as a leaf about to fall.
"Nagamasa," Hisamasa's voice was weak and hoarse, "the Asakura… are they truly finished?"
"They are finished," Nagamasa replied, his voice flat, as if speaking of something that did not concern him.
Hisamasa was silent for a while, then sighed deeply. "Heaven wishes the Azai dead. It is not a failure of arms."
Nagamasa did not respond. He turned and walked down from the tower to deploy the defences. He knew Nobunaga would soon attack Odani Castle. This would be the final battle. If lost, the Azai would be no more.
On the first day of the ninth month, Oda Nobunaga led twenty thousand troops to the foot of Odani Castle.
Odani was the largest castle in northern Ōmi, built on a mountain about three hundred metres high, in a naturally strong position. It was divided into three parts: the "flat castle" at the foot of the mountain, the "middle castle" on the mountainside, and the "inner bailey" at the summit. Each level had solid stone walls and deep moats, layer upon layer, like a huge maze.
Nobunaga observed the castle from below and frowned.
"This will be hard," he said to his generals. "A direct assault would cost many lives."
Kinoshita Hideyoshi stepped forward. "My lord, let me try. I have been stationed at Yokoyama Castle for years; I know the terrain around Odani inside out."
Nobunaga looked at him and nodded. "Go. Be careful."
Hideyoshi did not choose a frontal assault. He understood that Odani was a "living castle"—it needed water, food, and outside contact. Cut off those lifelines, and the castle would fall by itself.
Hideyoshi sent troops to occupy all the water sources around Odani and block every road leading to the castle. He also had high platforms built below the walls, on which he placed arquebuses to fire down at the defenders.
Conditions inside the castle deteriorated day by day.
Food ran out; soldiers ate tree bark and grass roots. Water was cut off; people drank rainwater and dew. The sick and wounded increased while medicine disappeared. Morale hit rock bottom; deserters appeared daily.
Azai Nagamasa's ally, Rokkaku Yoshikata, tried to harass the Oda from the rear to relieve pressure on the Azai. But his strength was too weak; as soon as he moved, he was routed by the Oda rear troops and fled back to the mountains of Kōka.
On the fifteenth day of the ninth month, Hideyoshi launched the final assault.
He led his men up the side of the castle at its most weakly defended point and scaled the walls. The garrison resisted desperately, but hunger and exhaustion had robbed them of their fighting spirit. Hideyoshi's troops poured in like a tide, unstoppable.
In the inner bailey of the middle castle, Azai Nagamasa heard the deafening shouts. He stood up, put on his armour, drew his tachi, and prepared to make a last stand.
Then his father, Azai Hisamasa, walked in.
Hisamasa's face was as white as paper, his steps unsteady, but his gaze remained firm. He looked at his son with affection and reluctance.
"Nagamasa," Hisamasa said softly, "the Azai end here."
"Father…" Nagamasa's eyes reddened.
Hisamasa slowly sat down, opened his robe, and exposed his thin, bony chest. He took the short sword offered by his eldest son, closed his eyes, and drew a deep breath.
Then he drove the blade into his belly.
Blood spattered onto the tatami with a dull sound. Hisamasa's body swayed, then pitched forward into the pool of blood and did not move.
Azai Nagamasa knelt before his father's body and kowtowed three times heavily, his forehead thudding against the wooden floor, blood trickling down his temple.
Then he stood and found his wife, Oichi, and their two young daughters.
Oichi—Oda Nobunaga's younger sister—knelt before her husband, tears streaming down her face. She knew what was about to happen, but she said nothing. She simply looked at him as if trying to engrave his face on her heart.
Nagamasa gazed at his wife, his eyes full of guilt and sorrow. He reached out a trembling hand to stroke his daughter's head.
"Oichi," Nagamasa said hoarsely, "I have wronged you. If we have another life… let us be husband and wife again."
Oichi wept uncontrollably.
Nagamasa entrusted the two children to Nobunaga's care—he knew that Nobunaga, though cold hearted, would not slaughter his own sister and nieces.
After doing this, Azai Nagamasa withdrew deep into the inner bailey. He knelt facing west, drew the short sword, pressed the blade to his belly.
In that instant, images flashed through his mind—sitting at his father's knee as a boy, charging across battlefields as a young man, first seeing Oichi, concluding the alliance with Nobunaga… then they blurred into a white light.
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
The blade cut.
Blood splashed.
Azai Nagamasa, the preeminent warlord of the Warring States, died by his own hand. He was twenty eight years old.
When Kinoshita Hideyoshi broke into the inner bailey, he saw a grievous scene: Azai Hisamasa lay dead with his belly cut open; not far away, Azai Nagamasa lay with a peaceful expression, as if merely asleep.
Hideyoshi was silent for a moment, then ordered, "Bury them with honour. Do not desecrate the bodies."
He had the father and son's remains taken to a nearby temple for burial. Lady Oichi and her two daughters were sent to Oda Nobunaga's camp.
When Nobunaga saw his sister, his face showed no emotion. He merely said, "Oichi, you have suffered. Go back and rest."
Lady Oichi bowed her head, tears falling silently.
The Azai clan was no more.
From Azai Sukemasa to Azai Nagamasa, the Azai had ruled northern Ōmi for three generations, forty years.
After the fall of the Azai, Oda Nobunaga turned to Rokkaku Yoshikata.
Rokkaku Yoshikata was a man with a tough life. After being driven from Kannonji Castle, he had escaped into the deep mountains of Kōka. He hid there for a long time, barely surviving on the charity of mountain villagers. Yet he never abandoned the thought of revenge—he was like a viper, lurking in the grass, waiting to strike.
In Genki 3 (1572), when news came of Takeda Harunobu's western advance, Rokkaku Yoshikata emerged again. He gathered his old followers, contacted the ninja of Kōka, and tried to cause chaos in Nobunaga's rear.
But his luck was poor. Takeda Harunobu defeated Tokugawa Ieyasu at Mikata gahara and was about to advance west when he suddenly died of illness. With his greatest ally gone, Yoshikata's uprising became a joke.
In the tenth month of Tenshō 1 (1573), Oda Nobunaga sent troops to attack Yoshikata's last strongholds.
The fighting was one sided. Yoshikata's troops were demoralised and ill equipped, no match for the Oda. Within three days, one after another of the Rokkaku castles fell. Rokkaku Yoshikata fled again—and this time, he never returned.
The Rokkaku, who had ruled Ōmi for more than a century, ended with Rokkaku Yoshikata.
After destroying the Azai and Asakura, Oda Nobunaga carried out a series of administrative dispositions in Ōmi.
He appointed a former Asakura retainer, Maeba Yoshitake, as governor of Echizen to manage the province. Maeba was a capable administrator—not a match for Nobunaga on the battlefield, but skilled in governance. That was what Nobunaga needed.
He also appointed Akechi Mitsuhide, Tsuda Motohide, and Kinoshita Sukenao (Hideyoshi's younger brother) as bugyō (commissioners) to handle military and political affairs in Ōmi. Each had his strengths: Mitsuhide was calm and analytical, Motohide loyal and dependable, Sukenao clever and adept at finance. They complemented each other.
As for the most important award—the former Azai domain—Nobunaga granted it all to Kinoshita Hideyoshi.
"Hideyoshi," Nobunaga announced in the main hall of Gifu Castle before the assembled generals, "from today, you are the lord of Nagahama Castle in Ōmi. The lands of Azai Nagamasa are yours."
Hideyoshi prostrated himself, his forehead to the floor, his voice trembling with emotion: "My lord's immense kindness—Hideyoshi will never forget it as long as he lives."
From Kinoshita Tōkichirō to Kinoshita Hideyoshi, from a lowly ashigaru to a castle lord—it had taken Hideyoshi more than a decade. In that time, he had served tea, poured water, built castles, led vanguards, defended isolated fortresses, and faced death. Every step had been arduous, every step solid.
Nobunaga looked at Hideyoshi kneeling before him, and his own heart was full of emotion. He remembered the first time he saw Hideyoshi—a short man serving tea, his clothes wrinkled, a perpetually ingratiating smile on his face. Who could have imagined that such a humble figure would come this far?
Nobunaga also thought of Hirate Masahide—the old retainer who had taken his own life to remonstrate with him. If Masahide were alive today, seeing what the Oda had become, would he be pleased?
Turning to the other generals, Nobunaga said, "You have all rendered meritorious service. I, Oda Nobunaga, will not treat anyone unfairly." He then announced a series of rewards: Shibata Katsuie received additional lands, Sakuma Nobumori likewise, Niwa Nagahide likewise… Each man was rewarded according to his contribution.
The retainers knelt, shouting "Long live the lord!" until the rafters shook.
Nobunaga sat on the dais, looking at these men who had fought and bled with him, and felt an indescribable emotion. Their faces—old and young, familiar and unfamiliar—their names were engraved in the Oda rolls of merit and in Nobunaga's heart.
After the victory feast, Nobunaga returned to Gifu Castle.
He stood on the tenshu, gazing north, silent for a long time. There lay Echizen Province, where Asakura Yoshikage had met his end; there too lay the bones of an old acquaintance—Azai Nagamasa.
"Nagamasa," Nobunaga murmured, "you were a worthy opponent. But you chose the wrong path."
The night wind blew, snapping his cloak. He did not look back, nor did he sigh. Before him lay more enemies, more battles, more of the realm to conquer.
The death of Takeda Harunobu did not stop the Takeda.
Before his death, Harunobu had passed the headship of the clan to his fourth son, Katsuyori. Katsuyori was the most valiant of all Harunobu's sons. He inherited his father's ferocity and his mother's fiery spirit, unmatched on horseback and with the bow. On the battlefield, no one could surpass him.
But in Harunobu's eyes, Katsuyori had a fatal flaw—he was too impatient.
"Katsuyori," Harunobu had said, holding his son's hand as his own voice grew as faint as a candle flicker in the wind, "after I die, do not announce it for three years. For three years, do not send out any troops. After three years, when the time is ripe, then plan the western advance."
"Father!" Katsuyori's tears flowed.
"Promise me." Harunobu's eyes fixed on Katsuyori with an unyielding power.
Katsuyori knelt and kowtowed heavily. "Father, I promise you."
Harunobu nodded with satisfaction and closed his eyes. His hand slipped from Katsuyori's and fell to the tatami.
For the first two years, Takeda Katsuyori followed his father's last instructions. He consolidated his inheritance, trained his troops, and accumulated strength. The Takeda red cavalry remained awe inspiring; the Takeda generals remained loyal and capable.
But in the third year, Katsuyori grew restless. He thought to himself: Father told me to wait three years, and three years have passed. Surely the time is ripe?
In Tenshō 3 (1575), Katsuyori saw his chance.
A Tokugawa retainer named Ōga Yonoshirō, dissatisfied with Tokugawa Ieyasu, secretly opened contact with Takeda Katsuyori. He sent Katsuyori a secret letter, detailing the Tokugawa troop dispositions and weaknesses at Nagashino Castle, as well as the surrounding terrain and roads. He concluded, "If Lord Katsuyori will march on Nagashino, Yonoshirō will open the gates from within."
Katsuyori was overjoyed. He felt the gods were handing him an opportunity.
Nagashino Castle was an important Tokugawa stronghold in eastern Mikawa, commanding the strategic route to Tōtōmi and Suruga. If the Takeda could take Nagashino, they would open the door to Tokugawa's heartland and then be able to threaten Oda Nobunaga's home provinces of Mino and Owari.
In the fourth month of Tenshō 3 (1575), Takeda Katsuyori personally led fifteen thousand troops from Kōfu, advancing west in a grand column.
The Takeda battle flags flapped in the wind, the four characters "Fūrinkazan" gleaming in the sunlight. The red cavalry rode in perfect order; the thunder of their hooves shook the earth. The common folk, seeing this army, were terrified, hiding in their homes and bolting the doors.
On the twentieth day of the fourth month, the Takeda army reached the foot of Nagashino Castle.
The defender of Nagashino was Okudaira Sadamasa, a young Tokugawa commander barely twenty years old, full of youthful vigour. Standing on the walls, he saw the Takeda banners covering the hills beyond. Though shocked, his face showed no sign of panic.
"Pass the order," Sadamasa said to his men. "Hold the castle. Do not sally out. Send men to break through and ask for reinforcements from Lord Nobunaga and Lord Ieyasu."
The garrison numbered only 500, but they were Tokugawa's finest, high in morale, each determined to die with the castle.
The Takeda began their assault.
Katsuyori's tactics were simple—overwhelming force, storm Nagashino before Oda Tokugawa reinforcements could arrive.
But though Nagashino was small, it was exceptionally strong. The marshy ground around the castle limited the Takeda cavalry, while the defenders' arquebuses and bows could fire freely. Takeda soldiers waded through knee deep mud, each step as painful as treading on knives.
The first assault was repulsed. The second was repulsed. The third was repulsed.
Takeda Katsuyori's face grew darker.
On the sixth day of the siege, the main forces of Oda Nobunaga and Tokugawa Ieyasu finally arrived.
Nobunaga had brought thirty thousand troops from Gifu Castle; Ieyasu brought eight thousand picked soldiers from Hamamatsu Castle. The two armies met at Shitaragahara west of Nagashino, with a combined force of nearly forty thousand—more than twice the Takeda's number.
Nobunaga surveyed the ground at Shitaragahara and quickly devised a plan. He ordered his men to build three wooden barricades across the plain, positioning large numbers of arquebusiers behind each. The barricades were spaced with passages for troop movement and withdrawal.
This was Nobunaga's carefully studied anti cavalry tactic—use field fortifications to limit the cavalry's mobility, then employ massed arquebus fire to kill the horses and riders. If the Takeda cavalry could not break through those three barricades, they would have no chance.
Tokugawa Ieyasu took the right wing; Oda Nobunaga commanded the centre; Akechi Mitsuhide, Shibata Katsuie, Sakuma Nobumori, and others led the wings.
On the twenty first day of the fifth month, just as dawn broke, Takeda Katsuyori ordered a general assault.
The Takeda red cavalry swept down the slope like a crimson tide, charging straight at the Oda Tokugawa lines. The thunder of hooves and the shouts of men shook the earth.
Yamagata Masakage's cavalry led the charge. He was one of the Takeda's most ferocious generals, clad in red armour, wearing a gold helmet, swinging a great tachi, unstoppable. His horsemen, as swift as the wind, reached the first barricade in an instant.
"Fire!"
At Nobunaga's command, thousands of arquebuses roared as one.
Lead balls rained down like a storm; Takeda cavalry fell in rows. Horses screamed, soldiers cried, and blood stained the grass.
But the Takeda did not retreat. Yamagata Masakage waved his sword and shouted, "Forward! Break the barricade! Take Oda Nobunaga's head!"
His troops pressed on and finally broke through the first barricade.
But the second barricade stood before them.
Another volley.
Yamagata Masakage's horse was hit; he tumbled to the ground. He scrambled up, drew his sword, and ran forward. But after only a few steps, several lead balls struck his chest. He stiffened, his sword clattering to the ground, then slowly fell.
The Takeda's bravest general was dead.
Baba Nobuharu took command and led the attack on the second barricade.
But the arquebus fire was too intense. The Takeda cavalry, blocked by the barricades, could neither advance nor retreat; they were perfect targets. Each volley was followed by the sound of lead balls tearing through flesh.
Baba Nobuharu fell.
Naitō Masatoyo fell.
Tsuchiya Masatsugu fell.
One by one, the Takeda generals fell on the battlefield, like scarlet leaves swept down by an autumn storm.
Takeda Katsuyori, watching from the rear, grew paler and paler, his hands beginning to shake. He saw his finest cavalry shattered by the Oda guns, his most trusted generals fall one after another, the bodies of the red cavalry piling up before the barricades.
"Withdraw… withdraw…" Katsuyori's voice was hoarse, squeezed from his throat.
But the order came too late.
The Oda arquebusiers began to advance, pursuing the fleeing Takeda for several leagues. The bodies of the Takeda covered the field of Shitaragahara; blood formed streams and pooled in the low places.
Takeda Katsuyori, protected by a few bodyguards, fled the battlefield in disgrace. His armour was splashed with blood—not his own, but that of his guards. One by one, his guards fell, until only a handful remained.
As the sun set, Katsuyori finally reached the border of Kai Province. He reined in his horse and looked back.
Westward, the setting sun was like blood.
There lay his dreams, his ambitions, the unfinished work of his father. Now all were buried in the wilds of Shitaragahara.
Takeda Katsuyori bent over his horse's neck and wept aloud.
The Battle of Nagashino cost the Takeda more than eight thousand dead, including hundreds of officers. The clan was crippled and never recovered.
Nine years later, in Tenshō 10 (1582), the combined Oda Tokugawa army invaded Kai. Takeda Katsuyori killed himself on Mount Tenmoku, and the Takeda clan perished.
But that is another story.