Down the column of their Extending Snake, the cavalry were growing more and more confident, pushing closer to the centre. They did not pause their charge for a single second and only continued to sweep up and down, before circling back and hitting the other side of the column.

Matsudaira delivered the order as quickly as he was able, and now the spear-wielding peasants protected all sides, their points facing outwards, the perfect counter to the cavalry. Or it would have been had the strength of their leading man not been so strong that any counter was rendered obsolete.

As the younger brother of Shingen, Ichijo had spent much of his life walking in his brother's shadow. He weighed up loyalty against ambition and determined that he would never betray the cause of the Takeda family, but nor would he be defeated and completely bested by his sibling. It had resulted in a single-minded obsession with the blade – the one art that he was confident he could defeat his brother in.

The peasants jabbed at him half-heartedly, not willing to commit to an attack. He swept through their ranks like a wave, brushing aside their weapons. Seeing the destruction that he was capable of, the only thing they wanted to do was flee. It was to their credit that they had not yet completely routed.

Their Grand General watched the destruction unfold with gritted teeth. Seeing so many of his allies falling with each charge, many men would have been inclined to feel hopeless, but with his experience, he knew the tides of battle were not yet against them. It only required a single misstep and they would overturn their entire army. So far, they had not put a foot wrong and so Shingen had not been able to seize a suffocating advantage.

He had a board in front of him so he could better keep track of the battle. Every piece was meticulously placed. They were far from using all their cards, but the same could be said for the Takeda. The game now was to force the enemy to engage all their pieces without being destroyed and whilst saving Gengyo for the crucial moment – he was the blade that would secure victory, they merely needed to find the chink in the armour.

He shifted two pieces forward and lifted his head to observe the changes they had upon the field.

"It's our turn? FORWARDS MEN! WE'RE BREAKING THROUGH!" Jikouji caught the signal and rallied his troops. They were only too eager to move forward and escape the continual jabbing of the remaining bow samurai.

"DO NOT GIVE AN INCH OF GROUND! WE ARE THE STRONGEST THIS DAY!" Togashi bellowed, his beard trembling.

"GAHHHH!" The assortment of elite and peasant soldiers sprinted forwards together, their spirits roused, stepping through the ominous keyhole and over the many corpses that had been left inside.

A pitiful amount of allied men were still standing, with Morohira, Rokkaku and Sasaki still engaged in mortal combat with the Takeda Generals. But amongst the many corpses, there seemed to be an equal amount of Takeda men, even if their continually replenishing encirclement gave the appearance of invincibility.

As for the second piece that Matsudaira moved, it came in the form of five hundred trembling hooves.

"He's rather impertinent, that boy. Leaving us waiting for so long before finally making use of us. Do you think we schooled him poorly?"

"I would agree there, after all we've done for him, you would think he'd show more respect for his elders, wouldn't you?"

"You do talk about some pointless things. I'm more interested in testing what this generation has to offer."

The three elders were able to gallop at full speed whilst maintaining such casual conversation in the meantime. Their troops fell into arrowhead formation behind them, and like a guided missile, they aimed towards the flank of the Ichijo's cavalry.

Their soldiers raised the mon of the Matsudaira clan proudly, letting the enemy know who it would be that claimed their heads. Each and every one of them were relics of the past. A once-dominant force made to disappear for the sake of politics. They were beyond veteran. None of them would have dreamed that they would have the chance to return to the battlefield. Now with the opportunity here, they would not put it to waste.

They were the worst kind of soldiers to deal with, for these men actively sought death, knowing this might be their last opportunity to die a warrior's death. Their morale was godlike. Unmatchable by any force. They sped forward as though intoxicated, starving for blood.

Ichijo caught them out of the corner of his eye and tutted, whirling his force around in time to negate some of the damage to his flank, though the enemy still plunged in deeply.

Their arrowhead forced the unit apart, with the three old men forming a tip of hardened steel encapsulated in flame. It was disturbing the ease with which they slew what was in front of them.

Rather than katana, these men wielded the longer and heavier tachi. When swung down from horseback, it made for a deadly strike. The heavy weapon was an extension of their own arm and they had no trouble bringing it up for strike after strike.

Their men bellowed behind them like bloodthirsty wild animals. They spared no time for a defence. They did not slow no matter how they were wounded. They coated themselves in head to toe with blood, but still they were not satisfied.

Before they knew it, they had punctured straight through the cavalry column and emerged on the other side, leaving nearly a thousand men dead. It was a matter of course for these Matsudairan soldiers though. They did not pause to admire their carnage, but circled back around to deliver another crushing charge.

There were men amongst them with guts hanging over their saddle like dirty washing, but their grip on their reigns only tightened and they joined their brothers for the next attack.