Lord Summoner's Freedom Philosophy: Grimoire of Love
Chapter 203: The Summoner’s Composure

Chapter 203: The Summoner’s Composure

(Are you sure it’s fine? Leaving that lovely girl just like that~) (Lilith)

A mischievous voice, tantalizingly familiar, echoed within Lyan’s thoughts, as if it were woven into the very fabric of his consciousness.

"You mean Wilhelmina?" Lyan’s tone feigned ignorance, though his mind danced with the recognition of that playful presence.

(Isn’t her mind currently in disarray? This might be the perfect moment to exert your influence, you know. She’s no ordinary maiden, after all. Just nudge her desires a bit, and she could be under your spell.) (Lilith)

Lilith’s words bore a teasing edge, a dance of jest and cunning. But beneath the jest lay a deeper intention, one that alluded to the extraordinary gifts and powers that Wilhelmina possessed. She was a being of unparalleled rarity, her very essence a tapestry of uniqueness. Aligning with her could undoubtedly yield a trove of advantages.

(Lilith... Your audacity knows no bounds...) (Arturia)

Arturia’s reproving voice chimed in, brimming with dissent toward Lilith’s coarse language.

(The truth is, Master, individuals consumed by the flame of vengeance are often blinded by their own wrath. Yet, despite Lilith’s colorful choice of words, she speaks a kernel of truth. Wilhelmina’s alliance could indeed bestow considerable advantages upon your journey or whatever purpose you harbor.) (Arturia)

Arturia’s voice, while measured and rational, carried a subtle air of concurrence.

"Well, you do bring up a valid point," Lyan’s voice reverberated through the chamber, a calm cadence that echoed his contemplation. The words of the ethereal Arturia and mischievous Lilith were woven into his consciousness, a complex tapestry of counsel that urged him to consider his options. Wilhelmina’s extraordinary potential lay beneath a veneer of confusion, an offering ripe for the taking in her current state. The notion of manipulating her vulnerability tugged at the corners of his thoughts like an alluring mirage.

"But... I cannot assume the role of her savior," Lyan continued, his voice carrying a resolute timbre. "Vengeance, or any life-altering decision, should always be a choice owned by the individual. It’s not my place to impose my will upon her. Forcing her into a decision, even one that seems advantageous now, might imprison her future options. I bear no desire for such a responsibility."

(But you intervened, you saved her life. You once mentioned that when you offer assistance, you stand by until the end, didn’t you?) (Hestia)

Hestia’s voice entered the discourse.

Lyan’s lips quirked, his response laced with equanimity. "Distinguishing between offering aid and dictating choices is crucial. I may have saved her life, but that doesn’t grant me authority over her life’s course. I am not her parent, and I possess no entitlement to decide for her. To impose my will upon her would be to infringe upon her autonomy. I have no intention of assuming such a mantle. Saving her life doesn’t entail her life belonging to me."

His words hung like a weighty shroud in the air, a testament to his commitment to principles that transcended his own desires. The room itself seemed to hold its breath, suspended between diverging paths. The eight high spirits could see that his words are genuine, and a glimpse of him being the hero of two realms could be seen for a moment.

(So, what then? What’s your plan, master?) (Lilith)

Lilith’s question broke the silence. Lyan’s presence returned to his usual aloof state as if the other state of him was just a glimpse or even a mirage.

"The plan of my travel in the north would remain the same. But of course, I’ve prepared the countermeasure for the problem with what that guy called Ravindor or whatever made," Lyan answered nonchalantly with a shrug.

In the shadowed realm of demons, Lyan’s past life as a seasoned warrior bestowed upon him a profound reservoir of experience—a tapestry woven with the threads of wars, battles, and the subtle art of deception. As he ventured deeper into the heart of the demon domain, still shrouded in his human guise, he honed his faculties to a razor’s edge. His mind became a crucible where strategies were forged, and his perception grew so keen that it could pierce the very veils of treachery.

But even after his transformation into an incubus, Lyan could discern a stark power differential between himself and the other denizens of this infernal realm. It was a realm where brute strength and primal forces reigned supreme. To bridge this yawning gap, Lyan knew he had to be not just cunning, but brilliant, not just strategic, but ingenious.

In his battles of intellect, Lyan was no mere contender; he was a maestro orchestrating symphonies of destruction. Each move was calculated, each strategy a masterpiece of tactical brilliance. He was not content with narrow victories; he sought to triumph with an overwhelming, awe-inspiring certainty that left his foes gasping for sIn the crucible of conflict, he was the strategist, the puppeteer pulling strings from the shadows. His victories were not pyrrhic; they were unequivocal, rendering his adversaries helpless and obsolete. Lyan had a penchant for devising schemes so intricate that they left even the most cunning of demons baffled, their nefarious plots unraveled before their eyes.

"I wonder how he’s going to make his move, I hope he doesn’t turn out to be a fool," Lyan uttered under his breath with a smirk imprinted on his face.

(Master, you’re smiling) (Arturia)

Arturia’s voice returned Lyan back from being immersed in his world of memories of wars and battles of his previous world.

"Sorry, the problem with the Duke seems to make me a bit too excited," (Lyan)

*******************************

*SLAM!*

The door’s thunderous closure reverberated through the dimly lit passage, its echo a tangible testament to the intensity of the moment.

Wilhelmina stood there, her breath uneven, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, and her thoughts a chaotic whirlwind.

Lyan’s resolute refusal replayed in her mind like a haunting refrain. The way he had articulated the concept of revenge, his analogy as sharp and piercing as a blade, had compelled her to confront an uncomfortable truth. His demeanor had been a study in unshakable composure, his voice a soothing balm over the searing wound of her desire for vengeance.

"I understand," she whispered to herself, her words an intimate confession weighted with the gravity of realization. "I grasp the futility, the corrosive decay born of vengeance. But what recourse remains for me? My people, my homeland, my family—all torn asunder by his malevolent hand. How can I not nurture this seething enmity, this insatiable thirst for retribution?" Wilhelmina channeled her turbulent emotions into words, and in that moment, her memories resurfaced like a tempest within her mind: the invasion of her country, the bloodshed of her parents, her own capture and enslavement.

Her breath grew even more ragged, her eyes threatening to spill tears of crimson rage. But just before the madness threatened to consume her and plunge her into the abyss, the words of Lyan echoed in her head.

"The flame of hatred not only consumes your target but also scorches you and your surroundings," his voice reverberated within her consciousness.

It was as if a deluge of icy water had doused the raging inferno within her. Slowly, the incandescent fury dwindled, extinguished like a candle snuffed out by a passing breeze. Even Wilhelmina herself was astonished by the sudden tranquility enveloping her.

"You are a leader," the unremembered words of Lyan resonated within her mind, imbued with his calming and resolute cadence. "Those around you will follow you, even into the fiery depths of hell. This, my dear, is no longer justice."

In that moment, Wilhelmina felt a profound shift within herself—a transformation from a vengeful avenger to a leader burdened with the responsibility of her people. The embers of hatred still smoldered, but she knew now that her path must be one of tempered resolve, not blind retribution. The choices before her were fraught with complexity, but she was determined to lead her people towards a brighter future, free from the suffocating shackles of hatred.

"A step forward, huh..." Wilhelmina murmured under her breath. With newfound composure, she reflected on how perilously close she had come to making a reckless, emotion-driven choice.

"Indeed," she mused aloud, the weight of responsibility settling upon her shoulders like a regal cloak. "In the end, I must also safeguard my dignity."

A different light shone within the fallen noble’s eyes.

___________________________________________________________________________

Name: Lyan Arkanium Evocatore

Occupation: Mythril-ranked Mercenary

Money: 3,797,710,950 Elnes / 3797 gold 71 big silver 9 big coppers 5 coppers

Weapon: Magic Glaive, 1 (Decent) One-handed Sword, 2 (Good-Quality) One-handed swords, 1 (Decent) bow

Equipment: Black leather cloak, Leather Armor, Breastplate, 2 Health Potions, 2 Poison Vials

Grimoire’s Companions: 8 High Spirits, 3 Valkyrie, Shadow Goblin Lord (Lv. 5), Papilio Slime (Lv. 45), Galewing Butterfly (Lv. 45), Rock Golem (Lv. 50), Deadlight (Lv. 63), Moonlight Butterfly (Lv. 45), Ice Golem (Lv. 50), Acid Ant Queen (Lv. 9), Magma Bear (Lv. 1), Fey Mammoth (Lv. 1), Arcane Retriever (Lv. 1), Winter Wolf Alpha (Lv. 12), Fenris (Lv. 1)

Grimoire’s Army: 6 Shadow Servants, 800 Skeleton Army (24 Goblin Champion Skeletons, 226 Hobgoblin Skeletons, 550 Goblin Skeleton Army, 20 Acid Ants Workers, 10 Acid Ants Soldiers, 4 Female Winter Wolves)