Chapter 692 Nobuzan’s Plea for Her Child

After the flames extinguished and the ruins of Sanctuary Plum Blossom lay buried in snow and ash, everyone believed Oda Nobuzan had gone along with her honor. However, behind the veil of death, the world was deceived by the highest class of illusion magic—crafted by a Yamato samurai, Mitsuyori Aketsu.

In the secret corridor of the sanctuary, as the sound of the Earth drum began to fade, a figure in a white kimono embroidered with blue sakura motifs stood waiting. Mitsuyori's long pink hair reflected the moonlight, her red eyes glowing—a thin smile on her lips was hard to decipher, half pitying, half enjoying the tension. A soft light from the full moon seemed to form a shadowy silhouette around her, adding a mysterious aura to her presence. Amidst the biting cold, the whispers of the wind could be faintly heard, as if conveying messages from another world.

Nobuzan awoke in the embrace of Mitsuyori's illusion—her consciousness half between life and death. Her disheveled black hair and simple kimono contrasted with Mitsuyori's enchanting aura. In a state of half-awareness, she felt as if she were floating between two worlds, one of eternal darkness and the other illuminated by Mitsuyori's presence.

"Do not move. The world thinks you are dead. But illusion is the second sword of the Yamato clan. I exchanged you for a shadow and burned the puppet's body in return."

Nobuzan sighed, her voice hoarse and full of pain, "Why Yamato—why did you save your enemy?"

Mitsuyori gazed at the sky, her pink strands dancing in the wind. "Because in this world, there are no eternal enemies. Sometimes, pride means more than victory. You and your child are a puzzle for all who thirst for war, Nobuzan." At that moment, faint sounds from the nearby forest broke through, as if spirit beings were watching from behind the trees, heightening the tension. In the stillness of that night, the thorny dew began to tremble, as if holding secrets yet to be revealed.

Mitsuyori continued, "This illusion is not only to save you but also to give time. Time for the lost peace, time for the wandering souls. Our destinies are intertwined, and when the dawn comes, we will rewrite the story that has long been forgotten."

Far from the sanctuary, in the dense pine forest and snow, Nobuzan rested under the protection of Mitsuyori's illusion. The cold air froze her breath, but Mitsuyori's presence, in her transparent white kimono and black-gold obi, added an oddity to that night—like a celestial being coming to collect the remnants of Oda's life. In the dim moonlight, mysterious shadows leaped among the trees, forming silhouettes that haunted as if they were souls trapped between the worlds of life and death.

Mitsuyori sat before Nobuzan, bowing politely yet remaining vigilant. The sound of the whispering wind seemed to carry ancient secrets, inviting them to savor every word with fervor and feeling. "Tell your child someday, Nobuzan, that tonight their mother once lost and endured not because of a sword, but because of the compassion of a stranger. The world only knows names; only we know the price of blood." The flow of time seemed to halt, and in that precious moment, two souls bound by the silence of the snow felt the power of an unwritten bond.

Nobuzan responded with a fierce glance. In her gaze, shadows of the past flickered, the cheers of war turning into silence and solitude. "Compassion? Or merely a game of illusion? I do not believe in miracles, Mitsuyori. I only believe in will." In the midst of the silence, clumps of snow slowly fell, as if responding to Nobuzan's disbelief with a soft, teasing sound.

Mitsuyori smiled faintly, her eyes dim yet full of secrets. Every second felt like a spell whispered, adding depth to the darkness of the night. "Miracles and will—sometimes born from the same wound." In that response, a soft light illuminated Mitsuyori's face as if she were a star's light in the darkness, bringing unexpected hope. Between them, ancient shadows seemed to take form, dancing on the snow, swapping between reality and fantasy, signaling that their decisions tonight would be etched in history.

In the middle of the night, Nobuzan wrote a letter with trembling hands, ink mixed with blood and tears. Outside, the trembling shadows of the sakura trees seemed to witness every stroke of the pen, whispering the secrets of lost time.

"For my child,

If the world curses your name for your bloody heritage, remember: honor is not inherited through victory, but through the choice to endure one day longer. In every drop of sweat and tears, a promise is etched that is more eternal than life itself.

I am not a martyr, not a monster. I am merely a mother who endured behind an illusion, so you could have a name worthy of inheritance—even if the world hates you. Remember, my dear, behind the dark fog, there is always light waiting to be found.

Oda Nobuzan"

She paused for a moment, listening to the gentle voice of the wind that seemed to whisper, bringing messages from ancestors who had passed. Every breeze that blew seemed to ask not to forget history, full of wonder and sacrifice.

Mitsuyori kept the perimeter with layers of illusion magic; her silhouette, long pink hair, thin kimono, and golden flower accessories made her seem almost unreal under the snowy night. She gazed at Nobuzan with an expression that was hard to decipher—between admiration, pity, and perhaps… envy of Oda's willpower. In her heart, Mitsuyori created a world where hope and uncertainty danced in a captivating rhythm.

"The world has chosen you as a victim, Nobuzan. I choose you as a witness. You may hate me, but you must live until your son is born—because after this night, all names in this world will turn to dust except one: the name you choose for your child." Around her, the moonlight formed strange patterns on the ground, as if carving prophecies about the future—mysteries that could only be solved by those brave enough to step into the darkness.

She extended her hand, inviting Nobuzan to understand the essence of this message—not just to endure, but also to find strength in vulnerability. A series of white lilies, symbols of purity and hope, began to bloom around her, adding a mystical aura to the dark night.

Nobuzan felt the magical vibrations flowing through her fingers, connecting her to a greater universe. Every heartbeat seemed to resonate with the earth's breath, making her realize that she was not alone, that love and sacrifice would always be here, accompanying her in every step.

Nobuzan looked at Mitsuyori, then bowed her head. For the first time since the Sanctuary fell, her eyes held a glimmer of hope. The cold night wind flowed gently, carrying the aroma of nostalgia that reminded her of the peaceful times long gone. In every wisp of fog that floated, shadowy figures could be seen—perhaps the souls of the remaining warriors, striving to lead the way to eternal peace.

Outside, the war was not over, and the scent of blood still lingered in the wind. But behind the shadows of the snowy forest, two legends—Oda Nobuzan who never truly lost, and Mitsuyori Aketsu the illusionist with pink hair—walked away from a history that refused to die. Among the towering trees that stood majestically, the secrets of nature whispered softly, as if urging them to reach for something higher than mere victory. The rustling of leaves harmonized, and it seemed the world reminded them that beauty could still be found even amidst chaos.

Between illusion and reality, two fates were bound by a starless night—waiting for the time to rewrite the end of the world. In the thick silence, Mitsuyori felt a strange vibration in her palms, a signal from the mystical energy flowing around them. She gazed at the dark sky devoid of stars, hoping that a glimmer of light could emerge from the enveloping darkness—a light that might signify new hope, or even the possibility of the resurrection of magic that had long been hidden from view.