The Death of Koremori

The grief and indignation brought about by Shigehira's death seemed to transform into a kind of final, powerful surge of energy.

The remnants of the Taira miraculously recaptured Fukuhara, even repelling several attacks by the Minamoto, and rejected their offer of peace as they needed to concentrate their forces on dealing with Kiso Yoshinaka.

A series of small victories brought a rare hint of excitement to the faces of the Taira members, who had been wandering for so long.

However, this false sense of excitement was easily shattered by a sudden piece of news.

Koremori is gone.

Along with his ever-present Ninja, Shintarō, he also vanished.

The news spread, and the slight morale boost that had just been achieved vanished instantly, replaced by deeper suspicion and panic. Whispers circulated among the tents.

"Koremori... did he run away alone?"

"After a series of defeats, they probably can't take it anymore..."

"Yes, that kind of blow..."

"But he is the Shigemori! How can he...?"

Sukemori's face turned ashen upon hearing these comments.

He didn't yell at me as he usually did, nor did he join in the speculation.

Something colder than anger gripped his heart.

He knew that his brother, who had been gentle to the point of being cowardly since childhood, yet who had repeatedly tried to stand tall in desperate situations, was not simply "running away."

He shook off the crowd and rushed straight to where Tokuko, who had been living a secluded life and almost completely isolated from the outside world, was.

Tokuko was holding the young Emperor Antoku in her arms, sitting in a dimly lit room.

His former fine clothes have long been replaced by simple garments, and his face shows undeniable fatigue, but his eyes are clearer than ever before, even carrying an almost sharp calmness.

"Tokuko!" Sukemori practically burst through the door, his voice hoarse with urgency, "Please write a letter! To the Retired Emperor Go-Shirakawa!"

What should I write?

"Please... forgive the Taira! It might not be too late! If His Cloistered Emperor speaks up, Minamoto no Yoritomo..."

Sukemori.

His words came to an abrupt end.

Because Tokuko raised her head, her clear eyes looking at him quietly, without the hope or panic that Sukemori had expected, only a clear understanding and a faint pity.

"His Majesty the Cloistered Emperor... is no different from my father."

"They will not... easily forgive those who have threatened their position."

"A letter asking for forgiveness, even if written and sent, will only be discarded."

"Then... then are we just going to sit idly by and watch the Taira perish?!"

Tokuko did not answer directly. She lowered her head and gently stroked the soft hair of the child in her arms, her movements extremely tender. When she raised her head again, however, an unwavering flame, like that of a mother protecting her cub, ignited in her eyes.

"I will protect him," she said clearly, word by word, "Except for His Majesty, except for my child... I will absolutely protect him."

This is her bottom line, her battlefield, the only piece of driftwood she can grasp in this raging torrent, as a mother and daughter of the Taira.

Sukemori stared blankly at her, realizing for the first time so clearly what an indestructible barrier had been built in the heart of this always gentle and tolerant aunt.

That fortress was not for the Taira, nor for glory, but only for the child in her arms.

He suddenly felt an unprecedented sense of powerlessness and confusion. Even Tokuko had made her choice; what about himself, and the Taira?

Meanwhile, deep in the mountains, far from the bustling battlefields and the Uzumaki of power.

An ancient temple stands quietly in the morning mist.

Koremori removed his fine clothes and, dressed in coarse cloth, knelt before the Buddhist hall.

Opposite him Takiguchi Nyūdō, who had long since become a monk. This former loyal retainer under his father, Shigemori, was now a recluse.

"This scene today is truly like a dream." Takiguchi Nyūdō's voice was calm, carrying the detachment unique to monks, yet his gaze was complex as he looked at the haggard-looking, vacant-eyed young man before him. "Koremori, why... did you come here from Yashima?"

Koremori remained silent for a long time, so long that a small portion of the incense sticks before the Buddha had burned down. He finally spoke slowly, "I want to become a monk."

Takiguchi Nyūdō asked softly, "Have you... lost all attachment to the secular world?"

"Although... I still want to see my wife and children one last time..." Koremori's voice choked, and after a long pause, he continued, "But if I go to the Capital City now, I'm afraid... I'll be captured."

"Once I become a monk..." Takiguchi Nyūdō himself from speaking.

"I know." Koremori interrupted him, raising his head, his eyes filled with unfathomable weariness. "Now, even if I were alive... there's no joy in living. Whether it's fighting on the battlefield, fleeing in defeat, or... living in fear... I want to end it all here."

Is this... something shameful and cowardly?

Takiguchi Nyūdō looked at him, the son of the lord he had once served, now a young man almost broken by fate.

He didn't answer immediately, but instead looked out the window at the lush green mountains and forests, as if recalling his past.

"This humble monk came here... also as a form of escape." He said slowly, his voice carrying a long-standing sorrow, "Because of parting from the one I love, I entered the monastic life to escape the pain of separation. Perhaps to others, this is not a great suffering... but what others can bear, I myself... may not be able to bear."

His gaze returned to Koremori's face, filled with deep compassion. "My lord, the many hardships you have endured, the suffering you have endured..."

These words shattered the calm that Koremori had been forcibly maintaining.

Koremori covered his face, his shoulders heaving violently. The tears he had suppressed for so long finally burst forth like a flood breaking through a dam.

A wail, as if his very insides were being ripped out, burst forth from his mouth.

The cries were so heart-wrenching, they traveled across the stage and weighed heavily on the hearts of every audience member.

The crowd, which had initially felt contempt or disgust for this Taira grandson who had deserted his post, fell silent in the face of his unreserved weeping.

Yes...

If it were me, leading armies twice in succession only to suffer such incomprehensible and devastating defeats, watching my loved ones and friends perish one after another in various tragic ways, burdened with the expectations of my family and the guilt of their defeat, being tormented day and night by nightmares and fear...

Of those present, how many could be absolutely certain they could withstand the pressure without collapsing or running away?

Even Sukemori, who had always appeared calm and even somewhat harsh, frantically begged Tokuko for a sliver of hope in this desperate situation.

Koremori... He was just a child with a softer heart than anyone else, yet he was pushed onto the cruelest battlefield.

It's perfectly normal for him to want to escape.

However, although he "escaped," he did not truly escape.

With the help of Takiguchi Nyūdō, he, as a monk, briefly saw his weeping wife and children.

That was the last time he saw them in his life; all he left them with was a calm yet resolute figure in a monk's robe.

Shintarō followed him from beginning to end, silent as a true shadow.

Finally, they arrived at the seaside.

A thin mist shrouded the sea in the early morning; the sun had not yet fully risen, and the horizon was a hazy gray-blue.

Koremori stopped and turned around to look at the Ninja had been following him.

His face was still pale, but his eyes were calm.

"Shintarō," he called softly, "Let's go back. Let's go back to the Taira."

Shintarō's body jolted almost imperceptibly. He raised his head and looked at Koremori.

For the first time, a fierce look clearly appeared in those eyes that were always as calm as an ancient well; he was pleading.

He couldn't dissuade him; he understood Koremori's determination. Although he had fled the battlefield, he would never live a life of dishonor.

This was the last act of defiance from the eldest grandson of the Taira clan.

Hot tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision.

The audience was completely silent.

They gazed at the misty, boundless sea, at Koremori expression, and at Shintarō's eyes instantly reddening and his lips trembling.

A tremendous sense of sorrow gripped everyone's throats.

They wanted to shout, to stop them, but like Shintarō on the stage, they couldn't make a sound.

We could only watch helplessly.

Koremori stepped forward and gently grasped Shintarō's tightly clenched fist, his knuckles turning white.

"Sukemori, and Aunt Tokuko... they're still here." Koremori's voice was soft. "Go protect them."

"Go."

Shintarō closed his eyes.

The muscles in his face were contorted with extreme grief, revealing an almost ferocious expression.

Tears finally broke through the barrier and slid down her tense cheeks.

He clenched his teeth tightly, letting out a trapped animal-like whimper.

For a long, long time.

He nodded, as if he had used all his strength, very slowly.

Koremori looked at him, his smile deepening. "Thank you, Shintarō, for staying with me until the very end."

Then, he let go of her hand, turned around, and walked towards Ichiyo small boat moored on the shore.

He climbed up and didn't look back.

The small boat slowly left the shore and sailed towards the sea, where the fog was thick.

Shintarō stood there, like a stone statue that had been weathered away in an instant. Only his clenched fists and the tears that kept rolling down his face proved that he was still a living person.

Like him, the audience watched as the small boat, carrying the gentle young man, drifted further and further away, becoming smaller and smaller.

Finally, it completely disappeared into that gray-blue mist that seemed capable of swallowing everything, where the sea and sky met.

Koremori, the Taira no Shigemori, was a young general on whom the Taira had placed great hopes but ultimately failed. He did not die on the battlefield, nor was he captured in humiliation.

He chose to return himself to this vast and cold sea.

He bid farewell to this world that had given him so much pain and helplessness in the quietest way.

Shintarō gazed at the empty sea for a long time.