The Bloody Battle of Qingce: Three Thousand Liyue Troops Crush One Hundred and Twenty Thousand
Xiao Shanli stood at the mountain pass of Qingce Village. Behind him, thirty thousand Liyue soldiers stood in solemn formation, awaiting the enemy.
Dust billowed in the distance. Takeda Shingen’s army of one hundred and twenty thousand advanced like a dark storm cloud bearing down upon the city.
The Guizhong Ballistas roared across the sky, as limbs of monsters and human soldiers flew through the air together.
Chongyun’s sword commanded frost to freeze ten thousand miles; Xingqiu wielded ink to turn rain into blades; Gaming’s fiery fists blazed toward the heavens; Hu Tao’s polearm pierced the netherworld.
Sanada Yukimura, clad in crimson armor like an oni, broke through three defensive lines in succession—only to be forced back by the combined might of the four.
After two rounds of brutal combat, forty thousand corpses lay strewn before the village. The Takeda army’s banners drooped in defeat…
Qingce Village lay in an eerie silence.
Even the normally shrill summer cicadas had fallen mute. Heavy rice ears hung motionless in the scorching afternoon breeze. Only upon the terraced fields carved along the hillside stood thirty thousand Liyue warriors. Their dark armor glinted beneath a somber sun; spears and halberds rose like a forest, piercing the firmament. A mingled stench of iron rust and earth drifted silently through the air.
Xiao Shanli stood at the very forefront of the formation, guarding the vital mountain pass. Mountain winds stirred his scarlet general’s banner and ruffled the greying beard along his jaw. He was not a burly man, even somewhat lean, yet his spine stood straight as a steel stake driven into the pass—unshakable for all eternity. His gaze swept over the mostly young, still faintly childish faces of his men, their pressed lips, their white-knuckled grips on their weapons, before settling far into the distance.
They were coming.
On the horizon, a thin black line appeared. It spread rapidly like a raging plague, swallowing all greenery and life. Dust surged upward into a murky yellow veil. Beneath it surged countless heads, a forest of blades, and grotesque monsters exuding an ominous aura. Takeda Shingen’s one hundred and twenty thousand troops drew near like a black tidal wave engulfing heaven and earth, bearing a suffocating pressure. The drums had not yet sounded, yet the deep, rumbling thud of countless boots pounding the ground traveled through the earth, sending a chill into every heart.
“Man the Guizhong Ballistas!” Xiao Shanli’s voice was quiet yet crystal-clear across the front ranks. “Prepare to fire!”
Upon the commanding heights flanking the pass, the cleverly camouflaged Guizhong Ballistas—their frames reinforced with heavy metal and etched with strange runes—had their coverings torn away by defenders. Mechanisms creaked with an unnerving groan. Element-infused bolts as thick as a man’s arm were loaded into the grooves, aimed straight at the onrushing tide of death.
The black flood entered firing range.
“Fire!”
At Xiao Shanli’s command, the air was split apart in an instant.
Hum——!
It was no mere twang of bowstrings, but a grand, destructive roar. Dozens of blazing streaks erupted from the mountain peaks, tracing lethal trajectories as they crashed into the vanguard of the Takeda army.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Explosions merged into one continuous detonation, elemental power rampaging through the enemy ranks. Frost bolts burst mid-air, freezing dozens of ashigaru and nearby monsters into rigid ice statues, which were then shattered by charging allies unable to halt their momentum. Flame bolts crashed down, erupting into towering walls of fire. Amid shrill wails, men writhed like living torches. Geo-infused bolts carved massive sinkholes and jagged stone spires into the ground, throwing the enemy’s charging formation into utter chaos.
In this moment, war was etched brutally into the land before Qingce Village by the Guizhong Ballistas. Severed monster limbs and human arms flew side by side; hot, bloody rain mixed with the stench of scorched flesh, pouring down upon rice fields that had once shimmered golden.
Yet the tide of one hundred and twenty thousand was far too vast. Every volley from the ballistas cleared a swathe of ground, only for more enemies to fill the void endlessly. Leading samurai and monsters advanced beneath massive shields, roaring as they trampled over their fallen comrades, closing the distance at a terrifying pace.
“Hold your ground!” Officers’ shouts echoed through the ranks. Liyue soldiers tightened their grip on their Millelith spears, slamming the butt ends against the earth in a unified, heavy thud, striving to quell the terror threatening to burst from their chests.
The moment the enemy vanguard was about to crash into the spear formation, several figures shot forth from the Liyue ranks at blistering speed.
“Icy Spire — Whirlwind!”
Like a flash of white lightning, Chongyun darted to the front lines and pointed his longsword forward. Bitter cold exploded outward from his body, blue runes flickering briefly in the air. The ground dozens of paces ahead crackled as thick ice spread instantly, trapping the foremost ashigaru and several Abyss Mages of Cryo. The ice expanded rapidly into countless sharp shards that burst upward, tearing apart the frozen figures.
Almost simultaneously, Xingqiu appeared at Chongyun’s flank, graceful as a startled swan. His sword whirled as if inscribing flowing ink poems in midair.
“Rainbound Mountain!”
At his clear command, endless raindrops materialized from nothingness. Each drop held razor-sharp sword intent, forming an invisible net that descended upon the enemy to the right. Where the rain swept past, armor split effortlessly, fine red lines opening across flesh as soldiers fell screaming in droves.
To the left, a wave of scorching heat rolled forward.
“Take this — Blazing Soul Cataclysm!”
Gaming crashed into the enemy horde like a cannonball, twin fists wreathed in searing flame. No fancy moves—only direct, ferocious blows. Every strike erupted in fire and flying debris, blazing a small patch of empty ground amid the dense enemy lines.
Between the gaps of the battlefield, a dark red figure moved with the agility of a butterfly dancing among flowers. Hu Tao twirled her Staff of Homa, her form drifting unpredictably. With every fleeting appearance, her spear tip struck unerringly at weak points in enemy armor—throats, gaps in helmets. She even hummed the off-key funeral chants of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, yet none could stand against her spear. Wispy black smoke rose from the fallen, carrying their lingering spirits to the afterlife boundary.
The four warriors’ valor greatly eased pressure on the front spear line. Liyue soldiers rallied, roaring as they impaled enemies who finally reached their ranks. The battle descended into full fury: clashing blades, roars, screams, and elemental detonations merged into a grim symphony of death.
But from within the Takeda ranks, an even more ferocious aura surged toward the sky.
A glaring streak of crimson.
Sanada Yukimura stood clad in grand red armor, antler ornaments on his helmet resembling demon horns. Mounted upon a magnificent steed, he wielded his cross-headed spear faster than lightning. Wherever he passed, Liyue soldiers fell like harvested wheat. He did not pause, his aim fixed firmly on the heart of the Liyue formation—the fluttering battle standard bearing the character Xiao.
“Stop him!” A Millelith general charged forward with his personal guards.
Sanada Yukimura’s gaze was cold. A simple thrust of his cross spear moved faster than the eye could follow. The tip pierced heavy shields, shattered breastplates, and sent the general flying. He twirled his spear, its shrill wind cutting down the surrounding guards in one sweep. Red-cloaked cavalry followed closely behind him, driving into the Liyue formation like a red-hot iron brand.
The first defensive line was broken.
On the second line, soldiers formed an even tighter spear wall. Sanada Yukimura reined his steed, which reared up and leaped cleanly over the forest of spears to land within the formation. His cross spear whirled in a deadly circle, blood spraying everywhere. Relying solely on peerless martial skill, he tore a gaping rift through the disciplined ranks.
The third and final line was held by Xiao Shanli’s personal retinue—veterans of countless battles. They roared and locked formation, advancing step by step with spears raised. Sanada Yukimura was finally slowed. He let out a thunderous roar, swinging his spear with earth-shattering force, knocking aside every incoming thrust. One guard fell after another; the defensive line teetered on the brink of collapse.
“He’s aiming for the General!” Chongyun sliced down a red cavalry soldier beside him, staring at the unstoppable crimson shadow.
“We cannot let him advance further!” Xingqiu shifted his sword stance, driving back his tangled foes.
Gaming punched a samurai flying and wiped blood from his face. “Tch, this guy’s tough!”
Hu Tao vanished and reappeared beside Gaming, leveling her Staff of Homa. “Then let’s send him a deluxe funeral package!”
No words were needed. The four moved as one.
Chongyun struck first, driving his sword into the ground. Frigid talismanic runes spread across the earth toward Sanada Yukimura’s feet, seeking to freeze his movements. “Ice Specter Manifestation!” A cyan phantom materialized, charging forward with bone-chilling cold.
Feeling the frost beneath him, Sanada Yukimura’s steed shifted uneasily. He let out a cold snort and slammed his spear against the ground, a violent shockwave shattering the encroaching ice. In that split second of delay, Xingqiu’s sword rain descended. Countless raindrop blades clanged against his red armor; most rebounded, yet fine scratches marked the plate, throwing his rhythm off balance.
“Now’s our chance!”
Seizing the fleeting opening, Gaming surged forward like a fire meteor, blazing fists slamming straight into Sanada Yukimura’s side.
“Boom!”
Flames exploded outward. Sanada Yukimura groaned, black scorch marks marring his crimson armor, his steed neighing and stepping back two paces.
Enraged, Sanada Yukimura twirled his cross spear, striking toward Gaming’s face with a shrill, unreactable thrust. At the very moment the spear tip would strike, another polearm darted from the side, striking perfectly against the edge of his cross spear.
Clang!
A crystal-clear ring echoed across the battlefield.
Hu Tao flicked her wrist, dissipating the overwhelming force. She spun with the momentum, her Staff of Homa striking like a striking viper, lashing back toward Sanada Yukimura’s throat. “Butterfly of Rebirth!”
Sanada Yukimura was forced to parry. Wooden staffs collided with a heavy thud. Surprise flickered in his eyes—the girl’s strength and technique far exceeded his estimation.
Chongyun’s ice lances, Xingqiu’s sword rain, Gaming’s blazing detonation, Hu Tao’s elusive spear strikes. The four fought in flawless sync, launching endless assaults from all angles. For all his unmatched prowess, Sanada Yukimura was completely pinned down. His cross spear whirled impenetrably, yet not a single step could he advance. Red cavalry attempting to rush to his aid were firmly blocked by the regrouped Liyue retinue.
The battle lapsed into a tense stalemate. Sanada Yukimura roared repeatedly, his spear growing ever more violent—but the four clung to him like glue, never letting him break free.
Woo—— Woo——!
A deep, drawn-out horn blast sounded from the Takeda main camp.
It was the retreat signal.
Rage and unwillingness burned on Sanada Yukimura’s face, yet military order left him no choice. He swept Hu Tao’s spear aside, shattered Chongyun’s ice spikes, and wheeled his steed around.
“Liyue… I shall remember this day.”
He stared long at the four youths who had halted his advance, then gazed at the unyielding Xiao Shanli in the distance. Leading his remaining red cavalry, he withdrew like a receding tide.
As the Takeda army pulled back from the battlefield, the earth-shattering war cries faded. In their place came the suppressed groans of the wounded and quiet sobs of those who had lost their comrades.
The sunset finally broke free from blood and flame, casting its last dim glow over the vast graveyard before Qingce Village.
A dull, crimson glow.
Ruins stretched as far as the eye could see. Once golden rice fields were trampled into muddy mire. Broken weapons, arrow-riddled shields, and tattered banners lay scattered everywhere. Most of all lay the corpses—layered and piled high, nearly filling the gully before the village. Liyue soldiers in dark armor lay mixed with Takeda red guards and common ashigaru, indistinguishable one from another. Caked blood stained the earth deep brown. The air reeked of thick, nauseating blood and the stench of ruptured innards.
Forty thousand corpses lay here, the vast majority enemy combatants. Several of the Takeda army’s once proud Wind, Forest, Fire, Mountain banners jutted crookedly from the heaps of the dead, bloodstained and tattered, hanging limply in the rising evening wind.
Xiao Shanli remained standing at the pass, as if carved from stone. He slowly surveyed the land he had defended with thirty thousand of his sons—victorious, yet stained with catastrophic loss. Thin smoke curled upward from the overheated Guizhong Ballistas atop the hills, like incense offered to the fallen.
Chongyun stood with his sword sheathed, breathing heavily, the hem of his white Daoist robe soaked in blood. Xingqiu silently returned his blade to its scabbard, exhaustion and solemnity etched on his handsome features. Gaming uncorked his water skin and drank deeply, only to cough up blood-tinged phlegm. Hu Tao planted her Staff of Homa beside her, staring out at the endless death. Her usual enigmatic smile was gone, replaced by profound silence. She hummed a soft funeral requiem from the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, its distant, ethereal melody drifting across the blood-soaked battlefield.
Surviving soldiers began the grim work of clearing the battlefield, numbly searching for any lingering life among the dead. No cheers rose up, even after repelling two brutal assaults by an enemy many times their number. All knew Takeda Shingen’s main force remained intact—that the one hundred and twenty thousand warriors of the black cloud had only retreated temporarily to lick their wounds.
A greater storm was yet to come.
The dusk of Qingce Village, soaked in blood and fire, stretched long and silent.
轻策血战：璃月三万破十二万
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萧山篱立于轻策庄隘口，身后三万璃月将士肃然待敌。
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远方尘烟滚滚，武田信玄十二万大军如黑云压城。
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归终机怒啸破空，魔物与人类齐飞。
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重云剑引冰封万里，行秋挥墨化雨为刃，嘉明火拳焚天，胡桃枪挑幽冥。
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真田幸村赤甲如鬼，连破三重防线，却被四人合力逼退。
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两轮血战，庄前伏尸四万，武田军旗颓然倒伏……
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---
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轻策庄静得可怕。
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连往日里最聒噪的夏蝉也噤了声，沉甸甸的稻穗凝固在午后的热风里，纹丝不动。唯有庄前那片依山势开垦出的梯田之上，肃立着三万璃月将士。玄甲映着有些惨淡的阳光，枪戟如林，直指苍穹。一股铁锈与泥土混合的气息，在空气中无声地蔓延。
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萧山篱就站在整个阵列的最前方，那道最为关键的隘口处。山风拂动他猩红的将旗，也吹动他颌下已见灰白的长须。他身形算不得多么魁梧，甚至有些瘦削，但脊梁挺得笔直，像一根钉死在隘口的钢钎，万古不移。他的目光掠过麾下这些大多年轻、甚至带着些许稚嫩的面孔，掠过他们紧抿的嘴唇和握着兵器、指节发白的手，最终投向远方。
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来了。
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地平线上，先是一条细细的黑线，随即，那黑线便如同不断扩张、翻滚的瘟疫，蔓延开来，吞噬掉所有的绿色与生机。尘土扬天，形成一片昏黄的帷幕，帷幕之下，是无数攒动的人头、如林的刀枪、还有那些形态狰狞、散发着不祥气息的魔物身影。武田信玄的十二万大军，如同席卷天地的黑色潮汐，带着令人窒息的压迫感，缓缓逼近。战鼓声尚未传来，但那百万只脚掌踏击大地的沉闷回响，已经顺着地面传来，震得人心头发麻。
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“归终机——”萧山篱的声音不高，却清晰地传遍前阵，“准备！”
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隘口两侧的山峦制高点上，那些被巧妙伪装、与山岩几乎融为一体的归终机，覆盖着厚重金属与奇异符文的弩身，被守军猛地扯去伪装。机括转动，发出令人牙酸的“嘎吱”声，粗如儿臂、闪烁着元素光泽的弩箭被填入箭槽，对准了那片越来越近的死亡潮汐。
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黑色的潮水进入了射程。
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“放！”
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萧山篱一声令下，空气被瞬间撕裂。
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嗡——！
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那不是弓弦的震响，而是某种更为宏大、更具毁灭性的咆哮。数十道炽烈的流光从山巅迸发，划出致命的轨迹，一头扎进汹涌而来的武田军前锋。
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轰！轰！轰！
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爆炸声连成一片，元素力在人群中肆虐。冰霜弩箭炸开，瞬间将数十名足轻连同他们身边的魔物冻成僵硬的冰雕，随即被后方收不住脚的同伴撞得粉碎。烈焰弩箭落地，燃起熊熊火墙，凄厉的惨嚎声中，人体如同火炬般翻滚。更有弩箭蕴含着岩元素的力量，直接在地面制造出巨大的陷坑和尖锐的石笋，将冲锋的阵型搅得一片混乱。
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战争，在这一刻，被归终机用最粗暴的方式，书写在轻策庄前这片土地上。魔物的残肢与人类士兵的断臂齐飞，腥热的血雨混合着焦糊的气味，泼洒在刚刚还一片金黄的稻田中。
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然而，十二万人的洪流，实在太过庞大。归终机的每一次齐射都能清空一片，但更多的敌人立刻填补上空缺，如同永无止境。前锋的武士和魔物，顶着巨大的楯牌，嘶吼着，踏着同伴的尸体，继续向前涌来。距离，在飞速拉近。
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“稳住！”各级军官的吼声在阵列中响起。璃月士兵们握紧了手中的千岩长枪，枪尾顿地，发出沉闷的统一声响，试图压过心底那几乎要破胸而出的恐惧。
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就在敌军先锋即将撞上璃月军枪阵的一刹那，数道身影从军阵中疾射而出。
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“冰棱——旋！”重云的身影如一道白色闪电掠至阵前，手中长剑遥指。凛冽的寒气以他为中心骤然爆发，空气中有蓝色的符文一闪而逝。前方数十步的地面，咔嚓之声不绝于耳，厚重的冰层瞬间蔓延，将冲在最前面的足轻和几只冰深渊法师冻结在原地。冰层急速生长，化作无数尖锐的冰刺，猛然向上爆开，将那些冻结的身影撕裂。
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几乎同时，行秋的身影翩若惊鸿，出现在重云侧翼。他手中长剑舞动，竟似在空气中书写一行行淋漓的水墨诗句。“画雨笼山！”清叱声中，漫天雨丝凭空凝结，每一滴雨水都蕴含着锋锐无比的剑意，随着他剑锋所向，如一张无形的大网罩向右侧的敌人。雨水掠过，甲胄被轻易切开，血肉之躯上浮现出细密的血线，惨叫着倒下一片。
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左侧，炽热的炎风扑面而来。“食我呢记‘炽魂轰天’啦！”嘉明如同炮弹般砸入敌群，双拳之上烈焰缠绕，没有任何花哨，只有最直接、最狂猛的轰击。每一拳落下，都伴随着爆炸般的火光和飞溅的残骸，硬生生在密集的敌阵中清出一小片燃烧的真空地带。
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而在战阵的缝隙之间，一道暗红色的身影如蝶舞穿花，灵动无比。胡桃手持护摩之杖，身形飘忽，每一次闪现，长枪的枪尖都精准地点在敌人甲胄的薄弱处，或是咽喉，或是面甲缝隙。她口中甚至还哼着往生堂那不成调子的往生咒，枪下却无一合之敌，缕缕黑气从倒下的敌人身上飘散，那是被送往边界的残魂。
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这四人的悍勇，极大地缓解了前线枪阵的压力，璃月士兵们士气大振，怒吼着将终于冲到眼前的敌人刺倒在枪阵之前。战斗彻底进入了白热化，刀剑撞击声、嘶吼声、惨叫声、元素爆裂声，汇聚成一片死亡的交响。
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然而，武田军的阵中，一道更加凶戾的气息冲天而起。
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那是一抹刺目的赤红！
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真田幸村身披赤色大铠，头盔上的鹿角装饰如同恶鬼的犄角。他胯下战马神骏异常，手中十字文枪快如闪电，所过之处，璃月士兵如同被收割的麦秆般纷纷倒下。他根本不做停留，目标明确，直指璃月军阵的核心——那面飘扬的“萧”字将旗！
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“挡住他！”一名千岩军将领率亲兵迎上。
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真田幸村眼神冷漠，十字文枪只是一个简单的突刺，速度快到超越了视觉的捕捉。枪尖穿透厚重的盾牌，穿透胸甲，将那将领直接挑飞出去。长枪回旋，带着凄厉的风啸，将围上来的亲兵扫倒一片。赤备骑兵紧跟在他身后，如同一支烧红的铁钎，狠狠刺入了璃月军的阵列。
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第一道防线，被突破！
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第二道防线，士兵们结成了更密集的枪阵。真田幸村猛地一提缰绳，战马人立而起，竟直接从枪林上方飞跃而过，落入阵中。十字文枪舞动如轮，血光四溅，硬生生靠着个人武勇，在严密的阵型中撕开了一道口子。
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第三道防线，由萧山篱的亲卫营组成，是最后屏障。这些百战老兵怒吼着结阵，长枪如林，步步推进。真田幸村终于被稍稍阻滞，但他狂吼一声，长枪势大力沉，每一次劈砍都带着崩山裂石的力量，将刺来的长枪荡开，亲卫一个接一个地倒下，防线摇摇欲坠。
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“他的目标是将军！”重云一剑劈翻身旁的赤备骑兵，看向那道势不可挡的赤影。
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“不能让他再前进了！”行秋剑势一转，逼退纠缠的敌人。
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嘉明一拳轰飞一名武士，抹了把脸上的血污：“嘁，够猛啊呢条友！”
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胡桃身影一闪，出现在嘉明身侧，护摩之杖横摆：“那就送他一场豪华的往生套餐呗！”
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四人无需多言，身形同时而动。
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重云率先出手，长剑插地，极寒的符箓在地面迅速蔓延，直逼真田幸村脚下，试图冻结他的行动。“寒病鬼差！”冰蓝色的虚影浮现，带着森森寒气扑上。
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真田幸村感受到脚下寒意，战马不安地踏动，他冷哼一声，十字文枪猛地往地上一顿，一股狂暴的气浪震碎了蔓延的冰层。但就在这瞬间的迟滞，行秋的剑雨已然临身，密集的雨剑叮叮当当地击打在他的赤甲之上，虽然大部分被弹开，却也留下了细密的划痕，更让他动作一乱。
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“好机会！”嘉明抓住这稍纵即逝的破绽，身影如火流星般突进，燃烧的双拳直轰真田幸村侧腹。“轰！”烈焰炸开，真田幸村闷哼一声，赤甲上留下一片焦黑，胯下战马也嘶鸣着倒退两步。
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真田幸村勃然大怒，十字文枪回转，带着凄厉的尖啸直刺嘉明面门，这一枪快得超出了反应。就在枪尖即将及体的刹那，一柄长枪从斜刺里探出，枪尖精准无比地点在十字文枪的枪刃侧面。
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叮！
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一声清脆至极的鸣响。
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胡桃手腕微颤，卸去那磅礴的力量，身形借力旋转，护摩之杖如同毒蛇出洞，反向撩向真田幸村的咽喉。“蝶引来生！”
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真田幸村不得不回枪格挡，枪杆相交，发出沉闷的撞击声。他眼中闪过一丝惊异，这少女的力量和技巧，远超他的预估。
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重云的冰锥，行秋的剑雨，嘉明的爆炎，胡桃神出鬼没的枪影，四人配合默契无比，从不同角度发动连绵不绝的攻势。真田幸村武艺虽强，一时间竟也被完全缠住，十字文枪舞得水泼不进，却再也无法前进一步。赤备骑兵想要上前救援，却被缓过气来的璃月亲卫死死挡住。
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战斗陷入了短暂的僵持。真田幸村怒吼连连，枪势愈发狂暴，但四人如同牛皮糖，死死将他黏住。
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呜——呜——！
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武田军本阵，传来了低沉而绵长的号角声。
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那是退兵的信号。
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真田幸村脸上满是不甘与愤怒，但他军令在身，无法违抗。十字文枪猛地荡开胡桃的长枪，逼退重云的冰棱，拨转马头。
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“璃月……我记住了！”他深深地看了一眼那四个让他无功而返的年轻人，又望了一眼远处始终屹立不动的萧山篱，率领着残余的赤备骑兵，如潮水般退去。
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随着武田军如退潮般撤离战场，震天的喊杀声渐渐平息，取而代之的是伤兵压抑的呻吟和失去同袍者的低声啜泣。
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夕阳，终于挣脱了血与火的纠缠，将最后一片残光投射在轻策庄前这片巨大的坟场上。
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那光，是暗红色的。
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目光所及，一片狼藉。原本金黄的稻田被践踏成了污浊的泥沼，破碎的兵刃、插满箭矢的楯牌、撕裂的旗帜散落得到处都是。而更多的，是尸体。层层叠叠，堆积如山，几乎填平了庄前的沟壑。璃月士兵的玄甲与武田军的赤备、足轻的杂色服装混杂在一起，难分彼此。凝固的血液将泥土染成了深褐，空气中弥漫着令人作呕的浓重血腥和内脏破裂的恶臭。
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整整四万具尸体，绝大多数属于进攻方，横陈于此。武田军那曾经耀武扬威的“风林火山”军旗，此刻有几面斜插在尸堆之中，沾满血污，破败不堪，在渐起的晚风中无力地耷拉着。
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萧山篱依旧站在隘口，身形仿佛化作了一座石雕。他缓缓环视着这片他用三万子弟兵性命守护下来，却也付出了惨重代价的土地。归终机过热产生的青烟在山头袅袅升起，如同祭奠的香火。
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重云挂剑而立，微微喘息，白色的道袍下摆已被血污浸透。行秋默默收剑入鞘，俊朗的脸上满是疲惫与凝重。嘉明解下腰间的水囊，狠狠灌了一口，却忍不住咳嗽起来，吐出的带着血丝。胡桃将护摩之杖顿在身边，望着眼前这无边无际的死亡，脸上那惯常的、捉摸不定的笑容消失了，取而代之的是一种深沉的静默，她轻轻哼起了往生堂的安魂曲，调子悠远而空灵，飘荡在血色弥漫的战场上。
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活着的士兵们开始默默地打扫战场，从尸堆中寻找尚存气息的同伴，动作麻木而机械。没有人欢呼，哪怕他们刚刚击退了数倍于己的敌人的两轮疯狂进攻。因为所有人都知道，武田信玄的主力犹在，那如同乌云盖顶般的十二万大军，只是暂时退去，舔舐伤口。
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更大的风暴，还在后面。
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轻策庄的黄昏，被血与火浸透，寂静而漫长。
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