In the late autumn of Genki 1 (1570), low leaden clouds hung over Kyoto, and a persistent gloom shrouded the ancient capital. In the streets and alleys, the people hurried about, their faces etched with unease. The shadow of war lay like a boulder on every heart.
After news spread that Oda Nobunaga had set fire to Mount Hiei, the atmosphere in Kyoto grew even more delicate. Some applauded, saying that the undisciplined, bullying monks had got what they deserved. Others shook their heads and sighed, saying that Lord Nobunaga had gone too far and would surely bring divine punishment upon himself. Most remained silent, exchanging only a few low words after meals and then quickly dispersing, for fear that walls had ears.
But whatever the common people thought, the flames of war did not die out with the burning of Mount Hiei. On the contrary, they spread like wildfire doused with oil.
After nearly a year of fighting, both sides were exhausted.
The Asakura army was short of food. Though Echizen was a wealthy province, the long campaign had consumed enormous supplies, and that year's harvest had been poor. The army's grain would not last through the winter. The soldiers ate only two meals a day—each meal a bowl of thin gruel and a few slices of pickled radish. Morale was low, and deserters were numerous.
The Azai fared little better. Though Odani Castle was strong, the prolonged siege had emptied its granaries. Nagamasa was forced to reduce his soldiers' rations, eating only brown rice himself. His wife, Oichi—Nobunaga's sister—could not help but wipe away tears whenever she saw her husband's gaunt back.
What of Oda Nobunaga? His situation was also grim. Fighting on three fronts—north against the Asakura and Azai, west against the Miyoshi and Ikkō, south against the remnants of the Rokkaku—his forces were scattered, his supplies tight, and his retainers exhausted. Though he said nothing, he knew in his heart that the war could not go on like this.
Just then, an opportunity for mediation appeared.
The Shōgun, Ashikaga Yoshiaki, sat in his study at Nijō Shin'ei, his brow deeply furrowed. He was the nominal supreme authority in the war, yet in reality he could command no one. Asakura Yoshikage would not obey him, Azai Nagamasa ignored him, and though Oda Nobunaga treated him with respect, he always made his own decisions on important matters. Yoshiaki was like a figurehead emperor—a title without power.
But this time, he felt he could no longer remain silent. If the fighting continued, Kyoto would be destroyed, the people would die, and what meaning would his shōgunate have?
Yoshiaki went to the Imperial Palace to see Emperor Ōgimachi and proposed that the Emperor mediate. The Emperor, now fifty three, with grey temples and a kindly face, had during his more than a decade on the throne seen the fickleness of worldly affairs. He listened to Yoshiaki and nodded. "The Shōgun is right. I too long for peace under heaven. Issue my decree."
Thus, Ashikaga Yoshiaki, in the name of the shōgun, and Emperor Ōgimachi, in the name of the court, summoned Oda Nobunaga, Asakura Yoshikage, Azai Nagamasa, and the monks of Mount Hiei to peace negotiations.
When the order for mediation reached Nobunaga, he was at Gifu Castle discussing military affairs with his retainers. He opened the decree, read it from beginning to end, was silent for a moment, and then handed it to Akechi Mitsuhide beside him.
"Mitsuhide, read it to everyone."
Akechi Mitsuhide took the decree and read it aloud. When he finished, the hall was silent.
Shibata Katsuie was the first to speak. "My lord, the Asakura and Azai are already spent. A few more months and they will be finished. To negotiate now would give them a chance to recover. I disagree."
Kinoshita Hideyoshi also shook his head. "My lord, Asakura Yoshikage and Azai Nagamasa are not men of their word. This peace proposal is probably just a delaying tactic."
Nobunaga listened quietly to his retainers' opinions, then stood up.
"I know they are buying time," Nobunaga said, his voice not loud but each word forceful. "But our men are also tired, and our provisions are nearly gone. The Miyoshi, the Ikkō, the remnants of the Rokkaku—they are stirring on all sides. If we press on, we too will collapse. Better to rest for a while. Once I have caught my breath, I will settle accounts with them."
His retainers said no more.
In the eleventh month of Genki 1, a truce was reached.
Oda Nobunaga signed a ceasefire with Asakura Yoshikage, Azai Nagamasa, and the monks of Mount Hiei. Each side would withdraw to its own territory and refrain from attacking the others. Nobunaga also promised not to pursue the monks for their "hostile acts" during the war and to return some of the temple lands on Mount Hiei—though the mountain had been burned, and all he could return was a blackened wasteland.
Asakura Yoshikage and Azai Nagamasa pulled back their troops. The Asakura army returned to Ichijōdani Castle in Echizen, the Azai to Odani Castle in northern Ōmi. The monks put up crude shacks among the ruins of Mount Hiei, barely managing to survive.
Oda Nobunaga went back to Gifu Castle and ordered a general rest. The soldiers could finally sleep soundly; the retainers could go home and see their wives and children. When the people of Kyoto heard that the peace had succeeded, they poured into the streets, cheering and rejoicing, believing that peaceful days had finally come.
None of them imagined that this brief peace was merely the prelude to an even greater storm.
No sooner had the ink dried on the truce than Asakura Yoshikage and Azai Nagamasa began secretly reaching out to new allies.
They understood well that Oda Nobunaga would not let matters rest. For Nobunaga, the truce was a stalling tactic; for them, it was the same. Both sides were racing against time to gather strength, to see who could gain the advantage in the next war.
This time, they approached the Ikkō sect's Hongan ji.
Hongan ji was the head temple of the Jōdo Shinshū (True Pure Land School) of Buddhism. Its abbot, Kennyo, was a man of religious authority and political acumen. Hongan ji had millions of followers throughout the country, mostly peasants, merchants, and low ranking samurai—devout, well organised believers who, once mobilised, could field a formidable military force.
More crucially, Hongan ji was connected to the Asakura by marriage. Kennyo's wife was the younger sister of Asakura Yoshikage. This tie made the relationship between Hongan ji and the Asakura especially close. Azai Nagamasa too had always treated Ikkō followers leniently, allowing Hongan ji temples in his domain various privileges such as tax and labour exemptions.
Thus, when Asakura Yoshikage and Azai Nagamasa sent envoys to Hongan ji, asking Kennyo to lend his support, the abbot hardly hesitated.
"Oda Nobunaga is an Enemy of the Buddha," Kennyo declared in the main hall to the monks around him. "He has destroyed Buddhist temples, killed monks, burned sutras, and extinguished the Dharma. Such a man deserves death at every hand. Hongan ji cannot stand idly by."
In early spring of Genki 2 (1571), Hongan ji officially issued an "Ofumi" (a letter of exhortation), calling upon Ikkō followers throughout the country to rise against Oda Nobunaga. This mobilization was even more intense than before. In the Ofumi, Kennyo called Nobunaga the "Demon King of the Sixth Heaven" and said he was "an Enemy of the Buddha, the greatest scourge under heaven," and that it was the duty of believers "to slay this demon in the name of the Buddha."
One Ofumi, and beacons were lit across the land.
In the fourth month of Genki 2, Ikkō followers launched a massive uprising in Ōmi Province.
The immediate cause was the heavy military levies that Oda Nobunaga had imposed on Ōmi. The people of Ōmi had long resented Nobunaga's harsh rule; now, with Hongan ji's call, they took up arms and revolted.
The first targets of the insurgents were Mibuki Castle and Kannon Castle.
These two castles in southern Ōmi were important Oda strongholds. Their garrisons were small and, facing a surging tide of Ikkō adherents—farmers with hoes, woodcutters with axes, merchants with bamboo spears, even turbaned women—all chanting "Namu Amida Butsu" with zealous, fearless eyes, they were powerless to resist. The commander at Mibuki Castle looked down from the tower, sighed, and ordered the gates opened.
Kannon Castle soon fell as well. The insurgents looted the storehouses, tore down the Oda banners, and hoisted the flag of Hongan ji.
At that same moment, another old adversary resurfaced—Sasaki Yoshikata (a name for Rokkaku Yoshikata or a family member). He had been biding his time in the deep mountains of Kōka, accumulating strength. When he learned of the Ikkō uprising, he seized the opportunity, raised his banner at Kōka, and occupied Bodai Castle.
Bodai Castle lay in southeastern Ōmi, in a strong natural position. Yoshikata declared that he would fight Oda Nobunaga to the end, and he made contact with the Ikkō insurgents, coordinating their efforts.
Oda Nobunaga's defence line in southern Ōmi collapsed overnight.
Misfortunes never come singly.
Almost at the same time, the Miyoshi Triumvirate in the west also moved.
Miyoshi Nagayasu, Miyoshi Masakatsu, and Miyoshi Nagaharu, though driven back at Noda and Fukushima, had not given up. They had retreated to Awaji and western Settsu, licking their wounds while secretly conspiring with Hongan ji.
When Hongan ji issued its Ofumi, the Triumvirate responded immediately. In league with the Ikkō insurgents, they launched a major invasion of Kawachi Province.
Kawachi was the southern gateway to the capital region. If it fell, Kyoto would lie exposed to the swords of the Miyoshi.
The Miyoshi vanguard swept forward unopposed, taking several castles in succession. The Ikkō insurgents rampaged behind them, burning and looting, reducing entire villages to ashes. The people of Kawachi fled in panic.
At Nijō Shin'ei, Ashikaga Yoshiaki received three urgent dispatches, one after another. The first came from Ōmi, reporting that Mibuki and Kannon castles had fallen and that Bodai Castle was occupied by Sasaki Yoshikata. The second came from Kawachi, saying that the Miyoshi had invaded and several castles were lost. The third came from Echizen and northern Ōmi, warning that Asakura Yoshikage and Azai Nagamasa were massing their troops and moving toward Kyoto.
Threatened on three sides, with enemies everywhere, Yoshiaki's hands trembled, his face pale as paper. He immediately sent the three dispatches to Gifu Castle by fast messengers riding day and night.
When Oda Nobunaga received the urgent reports at Gifu Castle, he was admiring the cherry blossoms in his garden.
The cherry trees were in full bloom, the petals falling like snowflakes, covering the bluestone paths. Nobunaga sat on the veranda, holding a cup of hot tea, quietly watching the falling blossoms. Three attendants were nearby—one fanning, one pouring tea, one holding his tachi.
"My lord, an urgent message from the Shōgun," a retainer said, hurrying in and kneeling, holding the documents high above his head.
Nobunaga took the documents, unfolded them, and read them page by page. He read slowly, carefully, scanning each line twice.
Then he folded the papers, tucked them into his robe, and continued drinking his tea.
The attendants exchanged puzzled glances—why did the lord show no reaction? The enemy was almost at Kyoto's gates, yet he remained here admiring the flowers?
As if reading their minds, Nobunaga said calmly, "What are you staring at? The blossoms are beautiful. It would be a pity to miss them."
He drained his cup, stood up, stretched, and unhurriedly walked into the great hall.
The hall was already crowded with retainers. Shibata Katsuie, Sakuma Nobumori, Niwa Nagahide, Kinoshita Hideyoshi, Akechi Mitsuhide, Hayashi Tōkatsu, Maeda Toshiie—the core commanders of the Oda, every face marked with anxiety and tension.
Nobunaga swept his gaze over them and suddenly laughed.
"What's wrong with all of you? You look as if your fathers have died." Nobunaga sat down in the seat of honour, crossing his legs. "So we are threatened on three sides. It's not the first time. At Okehazama, Imagawa Yoshimoto had forty thousand men and I had three thousand—and we came through. What are you panicking about?"
His calm was like a bucket of cold water thrown onto his retainers' agitated hearts. Their expressions gradually relaxed, though the worry in their eyes did not entirely fade.
Shibata Katsuie clasped his hands and said, "My lord, the Asakura and Azai are moving toward Kyoto; the Miyoshi have invaded Kawachi; the Ikkō insurgents in Ōmi are expanding their territory. Each of these enemy forces numbers tens of thousands. Our army is scattered; we cannot fight them all at once. I venture to ask—what is your command?"
Nobunaga did not answer immediately. He rose, walked to the map hanging on the wall, folded his arms, and gazed at it for a long time.
At last he spoke, his voice as calm as still water.
"If we cannot fight, we do not fight."
Everyone was taken aback.
"I mean, we do not fight a battle we are not ready for." Nobunaga turned around, his eyes blazing. "The Asakura and Azai are our mortal enemies. Until they are defeated, the realm cannot be at peace. But this is not the time to strike. Their forces are still gathering; ours are still resting. If we clash head on, both sides will be hurt, and others will profit."
He returned to his seat, opened a folding fan, and waved it slowly.
"Watch and wait. Let them move first. Then we will move."
"But my lord," Kinoshita Hideyoshi could not help interjecting, "the Shōgun's dispatch says the Asakura and Azai are already advancing on Kyoto. If we do nothing, what will become of the capital?"
Nobunaga looked at Hideyoshi, the corners of his mouth lifting. "Hideyoshi, why are you in such a hurry? The Asakura and Azai are not fools. They know that taking Kyoto is easy, but holding it is hard. Even if they capture Kyoto, as long as I, Oda Nobunaga, remain at Gifu Castle, they will not sleep at night. What they want is to destroy me, not to occupy Kyoto. So they will come for me first, not attack Kyoto."
Hideyoshi's eyes lit up, and he nodded repeatedly.
Shibata Katsuie then asked, "What about the Ikkō insurgents in Ōmi and the Miyoshi?"
"I have my own plans for the Miyoshi." Nobunaga closed his fan and tapped it lightly against his palm. "As for the Ikkō insurgents in Ōmi—let them run wild. The more they run wild, the better. The worse their excesses, the more their true nature will be exposed. When the time comes, I will have all the excuse I need to clean them up."
The retainers in the hall took great comfort from Nobunaga's analysis. They saw that under the heavy pressure of multiple enemies, he was neither panicked nor retreating; instead, he was even calmer and more composed than usual.
This kingly bearing in the face of danger gave every man present an indescribable sense of security.
After waiting and watching for more than ten days, Nobunaga began to move.
He did not launch a grand military campaign but resorted to a more subtle and insidious tactic—subversion.
Several important lords in northern Ōmi served under Azai Nagamasa. Though they held respectable positions, they were not utterly devoted to him. Some coveted Nagamasa's power; some feared Oda Nobunaga's might; some simply went wherever the wind blew.
Nobunaga sent Kinoshita Hideyoshi, with lavish gifts and personal letters, to visit these lords in secret.
Hideyoshi was famous for his silver tongue. He could speak to a lord in the language of honour, to a crass man in the language of profit. He charmed and cajoled.
To a certain lord in Kōka District, he said, "Lord Nobunaga has said that if you submit, not only will you retain all your domain, but he will also grant you an additional castle."
To a lord in Inukami District, he said, "Think about it. Azai Nagamasa's cause is doomed. What future is there by his side? Better to make your plans early, lest you be crushed together with him."
To a lord in Sakata District, he said, "Your daughter is not yet married. Lord Nobunaga has an adopted son of suitable age. Would you consider a marriage alliance?"
Hideyoshi's persuasion bore fruit beyond expectation.
In less than a fortnight, several of Nagamasa's lords defected. Some secretly sent letters of allegiance, promising to stand with the Oda in a crisis. Some openly broke with the Azai and took their domains over to Nobunaga. Others, though not openly betraying, secretly supplied Nobunaga with information, revealing Azai Nagamasa's military plans in detail.
When word reached Odani Castle, Azai Nagamasa trembled with rage.
"Traitors! A pack of traitors!" He kicked over his table; documents and tea utensils flew everywhere. "I treated them well, and they dare betray me!"
His retainers lowered their heads, none daring to speak.
Nagamasa paced the room like a caged beast. His wife Oichi stood in the shadow of the corridor, watching her husband's anxious back, her eyes full of complex emotions—her own brother was making war on her husband, and she was caught in the middle, pleasing neither side.
After several days of inner struggle, Azai Nagamasa made a decision. He would no longer wait. He would take the initiative and fight Oda Nobunaga to the death.
"Rather than be eaten one by one," Nagamasa told his retainers, "we should strike first. Contact the Ikkō, contact the Asakura, contact the Miyoshi. We will all attack together. No matter how mighty Oda Nobunaga is, he cannot fight everyone at once."
He sent an envoy to Hongan ji, asking Kennyo to mobilise more Ikkō followers. He sent another to Echizen, urging Asakura Yoshikage to march quickly. He also sent word to the Miyoshi Triumvirate in Settsu, agreeing to a coordinated offensive.
Kennyo agreed. Asakura Yoshikage agreed. The Miyoshi Triumvirate agreed.
In the sixth month of Genki 2, Azai Nagamasa's army and the Ikkō forces joined forces beneath Odani Castle. Together they numbered over twenty thousand and began advancing south.
The peace that Ashikaga Yoshiaki had so carefully maintained was shattered.
When Oda Nobunaga received word of the Azai army's advance, he did not panic. He had foreseen this day.
Yet one concern still gnawed at him—the monks who had survived on Mount Hiei.
Though Nobunaga had burned the mountain and killed thousands, some survivors remained. They hid among the ruins, in caves nearby, or in villages at the mountain's foot. Their hearts had never died. They waited for a chance to strike back, ready to join Azai Nagamasa to take revenge on Oda Nobunaga.
What worried Nobunaga most was the possibility that these monks and the Azai would join forces.
Mount Hiei straddled the border between Ōmi and Yamashiro, with a strategic, defensible position. If the monks allied with the Azai and occupied the mountain, the flank of the Oda army would be exposed to the enemy's blade. Moreover, before Nobunaga could attack the Azai, he would have to pull out the thorn of Mount Hiei.
He decided to strike first.
In the seventh month of Genki 2, Oda Nobunaga again marched against the survivors on Mount Hiei.
By this time, the monks on the mountain were at the end of their resources—no food, no weapons, only their hatred and a few wooden cudgels. Even so, they refused to surrender.
"We would rather die with the Buddha than bow to the Enemy of the Buddha!" their leader shouted from the ruins to the hundred or so monks who remained.
They built crude defences from broken tiles and bricks, fashioned spears from sharpened bamboo, and took up stones and staves as weapons. Women and children were mobilised to carry ammunition and tend the wounded.
At the foot of the mountain, Nobunaga looked up at Mount Hiei and gave a cold laugh.
"Burn."
This time he gave them no chance.
Oda soldiers swarmed up the mountain from all sides, killing everyone they met, burning every structure. The monks resisted desperately, but flesh and blood could not hold back the Oda swords and spears. Wave after wave of monks fell, staining the rocks red, their blood flowing down the gullies.
Women wailed, children cried, old monks chanted nembutsu, but the Oda swords gave no quarter.
A full day of slaughter. More than a thousand monks, women, children, and elderly were killed. Corpses lay piled on the ruins of Mount Hiei, unburied.
The pagodas burned, the sutras burned, ancient books burned, images of the Buddha and precious treasures burned. Cultural heritage that had endured for centuries turned to ash in a single night. The fire raged for three days, leaving Mount Hiei a dead mountain.
Oda Nobunaga stood at the mountain's foot, watching the flames that lit up the sky, his face expressionless.
Behind him, Akechi Mitsuhide, Kinoshita Hideyoshi, Shibata Katsuie, and the others stood silently, none daring to speak.
Nobunaga turned away.
"Even the Cloistered Emperor Shirakawa could not handle these monks," he said calmly. "But for me, it was only a matter of a fire."
If the spirit of Emperor Shirakawa—who in the 11th century had been tormented by the warrior monks of Mount Hiei—had known this, what would he have thought?
The warrior monks of Mount Hiei had practised on the mountain since the Nara period. From the Heian period onward, they had gradually armed themselves, becoming a significant political force. They had often raised armies against the court, burned government offices in Kyoto, driven out officials appointed by the Emperor. Emperors, shōguns, and daimyō had all feared them.
Before Oda Nobunaga, this once invincible armed force had been utterly powerless.
After destroying the Mount Hiei monks, Nobunaga distributed the lands around the mountain to his subordinates. Akechi Mitsuhide received a large portion. Mitsuhide knelt before Nobunaga, respectfully accepted the land deed, and a complex gleam flashed in his eyes.
No one knew what he was thinking.
In the eighth month of Genki 2, Oda Nobunaga led his army into Kyoto.
He first paid his respects to Ashikaga Yoshiaki, reporting on the campaign in Ōmi and the complete eradication of the Mount Hiei monks. Yoshiaki listened, was silent for a long time, and finally sighed. "Lord Nobunaga, you have laboured hard."
Nobunaga then went to the Imperial Palace to see Emperor Ōgimachi. The Emperor received him in the Seiryōden and offered him a cup of sacred wine. Nobunaga took the cup, drained it, and bowed respectfully.
"Your Majesty, rest assured," Nobunaga said. "With your servant here, all affairs under heaven will be handled."
The Emperor nodded and said no more. He knew that Oda Nobunaga was no longer a man he could judge.
After a few days in Kyoto, Nobunaga returned to Gifu Castle. He needed time to rest his troops, replenish supplies, and devise new battle plans.
Azai Nagamasa's alliance with the Ikkō, Asakura Yoshikage's stirring, the Miyoshi Triumvirate's resurgence, Rokkaku Yoshikata's comeback—these enemies were like wolves, rushing at him from all sides.
Nobunaga knew well that the coming war would be more brutal than any before. He had to be fully prepared.
On the tenshu of Gifu Castle, Oda Nobunaga stood alone at the window, gazing westward.
The setting sun was like blood, dyeing the entire sky crimson. The colour was not unlike the blood on a battlefield.
Nobunaga muttered a sentence, so softly that only he could hear it—
"Asakura Yoshikage, Azai Nagamasa, just you wait."
His hand unconsciously tightened on the hilt of his sword.
Outside the window, as twilight deepened, a solitary wild goose flew across the sky, giving a mournful cry. The sound echoed over the empty plain, lingering for a long time.