Ryugo Orochi, fourth son of the Orochi Clan, knew three things for certain.
First, he had been reincarnated. He remembered his life back on Earth. His countless hours spent in blissful gaming and anime binge watching.
Second, his new life was set in Jappon. It was very similar to feudal Japan, but he was no expert in history, much less history of a country that he only knew through mangas and anime. In any case, he had been reincarnated as the fourth son of a samurai clan in its northernmost island Hokkaido, locked in a cold war over resources of the time: timber, iron, and gold.
Third, his goal. It's not like he had many regrets back on Earth, but he wanted to live his life to the fullest. More importantly, he wanted to live long. He did not remember how his life ended, but the sheer thought of returning to death was...frightening.
These three reasons led him to seek wealth and status. In such feudal settings, he could see himself succeed his father, marry into a good family, and have a good life.
And to secure these, he was participating in war effort, like his older brothers. Beneath him, the battle in the Black Valley was of high intensity. It was nothing like the tales of heroism he had read from his father's library. It was rough, brutal, and bloody. But it was going exactly as he'd schemed.
'Morale is key', he thought, 'In such settings, there is no way the Gorou can survive'
He had orchestrated it perfectly.
Luring the Akan clan forces into the narrow valley with the capture of Gorou's hot-headed youngest son. Exploiting the clan's one, fatal weakness: Gorou's own heir, Goto, driven by ambition and greed, willing to forsake honour for the position of patriarch.
His clandestine meeting with Goto in a moonlit tea house flashed in his memory: the young man's eyes, hungry and cold, agreeing to turn his own spears against his father in exchange for the clan's future. An unfilial son. The perfect pivot.
And now, the pincer. From the north, his father's banner, the silver serpent. From the south, Goto's traitorous force, bearing the same mountain symbol but now stained with betrayal. Twice the numbers, superior positioning. The Akan formation, pressed from both ends, began to buckle and compress. Panic was a visible wave through their ranks. And now, Ryugo was descending in the valley, leading a squad of 100 Sword Ashigaru, a fast-moving infantry unit that was going to deal a decisive blow.
Yet, at the epicenter of the collapse, a singularity of defiance remained.
Gorou the Unbreaking.
The massive patriarch stood like a boulder in a raging stream. Orochi cavalry, led by his father, broke against him. Spears meant for his chest snapped on his raised tetsubo, the giant iron club moving with a speed that belied its size and his years. His roars of fury cut through the storm.
'How?', Ryugo's eyes widened, 'Why is their morale still so high?'
The plan was flawless. From start to finish, he had controlled the battlefield. He had used his enemy's weakness, the Orochi clan's overwhelming number advantage, and even controlled the terrain, choosing the Black Valley as the location.
Akan clan members were surrounded, outnumbered three to one. Their spirit should shatter. It should have already shattered.
But Gorou's did not. Instead, it seemed to harden.
Then, Ryugo saw it. Saw him.
Across the chaos, Gorou's helmeted head turned, not towards the Orochi vanguard he was leading, but to the southern slope. To where his firstborn, Goto, was cutting down fellow Akan clansmen who hours before had sworn fealty to them both. A father seeing the depth of his son's betrayal.
A sound erupted from Gorou then, not of tactical command, but of rage. It was the sound of a world breaking.
He stopped defending. He started charging.
He was like a tempest.
He crashed through the pincer's hinge, his tetsubo swinging in wide, obliterating arcs.
An Orochi Ashigaru Spearman lunged; the spearhead pierced Gorou's shoulder plate, drawing a spray of blood. Gorou didn't falter. He grabbed the shaft, snapped it, and drove the broken end into the man's throat. It happened in a split second, with speed that defied common sense.
Arrows from the ashigaru archers hissed down. One grazed his cheek, another thudded into his chest armor. He stumbled, once, but his momentum barely slowed. He was a man trading his life for distance, each step forward paid for in blood and pain, his eyes locked on Goto's position.
This wasn't in the plan. Gorou's strength was off the chart. No, it could be said to be inhuman. His wounds should have killed him by now, but the very fact that he was still standing kept his army standing as well. Calculations of morale and numbers meant nothing to this blooming fighting spirit. The warriors they were facing were...smiling.
"CHAAAAARGE!", Ryugo shouted, with all the rage a fourteen-years-old could muster, but this alone sufficed to give his sword Ashigaru some fighting spirit.
He had prepared this battle for two years now, from the recruitment of young men in the province to their training. Today was their first battle. And it could not end with a pyrrhic victory, much less a defeat.
But even that level of preparation was not stopping Gorou from carving a path of carnage towards his traitorous son.
Two more Ashigaru spearmen from the Akan clan charged at him, attempting to stop his momentum. But even faster than his earlier strikes, he dodged the tips of the cold weapons, before swinging widly. The scene was horrifying. One of them was sent flying several meters backwards. The other was lucky enough to stumble and fall, dodging the strike narrowly.
But a single step from the monstrous Gorou squashed his head on the ground, the insides creating a wet, gurgling painting of red on the ground. The difference in strength was inhuman.
Ryugo watched, mesmerized and horrified, as Gorou neared Goto's guard. The Unbreaking was a bloodied, arrow-studded demon, but he was still standing. Still fighting.
"Don't tell me...", Ryugo realised with fear