The greatest general of the losing side had come to this: hiding in a mountain village near Mount 伊吹 (Ibuki), dressed like a peasant, wracked by illness, waiting for nothing in particular. Ten days had passed since the Battle of 関ヶ原 (Sekigahara) swallowed the Western Army whole in a single afternoon. Ishida Mitsunari (石田三成, Ishida Mitsunari) was 41 years old, and the life he had built — twenty years in 豊臣秀吉 (Toyotomi Hideyoshi)'s service, the meticulous administration, the careful maneuvering to protect the young heir 豊臣秀頼 (Toyotomi Hideyori) — was finished.

After the collapse at Sekigahara, Mitsunari had fled the field on horseback and pushed alone into the mountains, abandoning his surviving retainers. He sought shelter at 法華経三十一院 (Hokekyo Sanju-in) temple near Mount Ibuki — the head priest there had been his teacher as a child. Even in flight, he ran toward the fragments of his past. According to some accounts he was disguised as a peasant and suffering from dysentery; other sources simply place him hiding in a cave on the mountain slopes, in the cold of late October.

The man who found him was 田中吉政 (Tanaka Yoshimasa), a former ally who had been sent by 徳川家康 (Tokugawa Ieyasu) to track down the Western Army's leadership. The location was the village of 伊吹古橋村 (Ibuki no Furuhashimura). Ieyasu had understood something useful about humiliation: it lands harder when administered by someone who once called you a friend.

Mitsunari was brought before Ieyasu at 大津 (Ōtsu). The victor adopted a magnanimous tone. "This kind of thing has happened since ancient times," Ieyasu said. "There is no need to be ashamed." Mitsunari, by multiple accounts, received this with composure and replied: "It was heaven's will." A later text, the 18th-century 常山紀談 (Jōzan Kidan), records a sharper exchange between Mitsunari and his guard 本多正純 (Honda Masazumi), who lectured him that he should have guided the Toyotomi heir toward peace rather than starting a ruinous war. Mitsunari refused the framing entirely. He had lost a battle he should have won, he said, through traitors. He had no regret.

What followed was designed as public spectacle. He was dressed in a degrading red-and-white short-sleeved kimono, a metal ring placed around his neck, and loaded into a large open crate for a procession through 大阪 (Ōsaka) and onward to 京都 (Kyōto). In Osaka he was required to shout his own alleged crimes aloud to the crowds gathered to watch. The message was deliberate: this is not a soldier's death. This is erasure.

A story attached itself to the road to his execution — widely told, almost certainly legendary. Offered a persimmon on the journey, Mitsunari refused, saying it would be bad for his digestion. His fellow condemned prisoner 小西行長 (Konishi Yukinaga) laughed at the absurdity: they were about to be beheaded, so why fret over indigestion? Mitsunari's answer has the ring of something polished over generations: "A man of ambition takes care of himself until the very last moment. One can never know how things will turn out." Historians note the story does not appear until later records. But it is perfect — so perfectly in character that people have chosen to believe it anyway.

On November 6, 1600, Mitsunari, Konishi Yukinaga, and 安国寺恵瓊 (Ankokuji Ekei) were beheaded at 六条河原 (Rokujōgahara), the dry bed of the 鴨川 (Kamo-gawa) in Kyoto. They were not granted 切腹 (seppuku) — the warrior's privilege of a self-administered death. Their heads were displayed on 三条大橋 (Sanjō Ōhashi) bridge until the head priest of 大徳寺 (Daitokuji) requested they be taken down. Mitsunari was later buried at 三玄院 (Sangen'in) temple in Kyoto, where he remains.

He was 41.