Lord Summoner's Freedom Philosophy: Grimoire of Love
Chapter 229: Trouble at Arkansas (2) The Concerning Information

Chapter 229: Trouble at Arkansas (2) The Concerning Information

As Lyan slipped out into the night, his senses heightened, he made his way through the labyrinthine streets of the city. He knew where to gather the most pertinent information—the notorious tavern known as The Black Cat, a place where shadows whispered secrets and deals were struck in hushed tones.

Having learned about the tavern through his interactions with the locals, Lyan knew it was the perfect place to glean valuable information. Tonight, however, his visit held a particular purpose—it was frequented by the Duke’s men and other influential figures of the empire according to the surveillance of his summoned gargoyle, Grinzam and his summoned stone beasts, making it a prime location for gathering intel.

Entering the dimly lit establishment, Lyan cast a discerning eye over the motley crowd that populated the tavern. Finding a secluded corner, he settled in, blending seamlessly into the background as he listened intently to the murmurs and whispers that filled the air.

Summoning the bartender with a casual wave, Lyan ordered a glass of ale, choosing his words carefully to avoid drawing undue attention. The bartender, a weathered figure with a scar etched into his rugged features, regarded Lyan with a mix of curiosity and wariness as he prepared the drink.

With a nod of thanks, Lyan accepted the tankard, taking a sip as he continued to eavesdrop on the conversations swirling around him. The frothy ale provided a welcome distraction, but Lyan remained focused, keenly attuned to the information that floated through the tavern like wisps of smoke.

"Thank you," Lyan replied with a nod, flashing the bartender a disarming smile. "Rest assured, I’m just here for the ale and a bit of company. No trouble from me."

As he sipped his drink as the bartender lost his interest, his ears tuned to the conversations around him, and he caught snippets of interest.

"...Duke Ravindor’s plan..."

"...Arkansas..."

"...seizing control..."

(Arkansas?) (Lyan)

Lyan’s curiosity piqued as he honed in on the group of cloaked figures nestled in the shadowy corner booth. With a deft flick of his fingers, he cast a subtle spell to amplify sound, allowing him to eavesdrop on their conversation without drawing attention to himself.

As their hushed voices reached his ears, Lyan leaned in, his senses sharpened to catch every word.

"The Duke’s men are already in position," one of the figures murmured, their voice barely more than a whisper. "The trade routes will be cut off by next week, and our agents within the merchant guilds will sow the seeds of unrest."

"Excellent," another figure replied, their tone filled with quiet satisfaction. "Once the city is destabilized, it will be vulnerable. Ravindor’s forces will move in swiftly, and Arkansas will fall under his control without resistance."

Lyan’s heart raced as he processed the implications of their conversation. Duke Ravindor, a powerful and ambitious noble with designs on expanding his influence, was plotting to seize control of Arkansas—the very city where some of Lyan’s loved ones resided. This could not be allowed to happen.

"I need to know more about this," (Lyan)

As Lyan meticulously trailed the enigmatic figure through the labyrinthine streets of the medieval city, his senses were on high alert. Every shadow seemed to hold a secret, every flicker of movement a potential clue. With each careful step, he felt the weight of anticipation grow heavier in his chest.

As he followed the figure’s winding path through the dimly lit alleys, Lyan couldn’t help but notice the eerie stillness that hung in the air. The usual bustle of the city was noticeably absent, replaced by an ominous quietude that sent shivers down his spine. It was as if the very streets themselves were holding their breath, waiting to reveal their secrets.

Despite the darkness that enveloped him, Lyan’s senses remained keenly attuned to his surroundings. The faint rustle of fabric, the distant echo of footsteps – each sound served as a breadcrumb guiding him closer to his elusive quarry. He moved with the cautious precision of a hunter, his movements calculated and deliberate.

As they approached a particularly secluded section of the city, Lyan’s sharp eyes caught glimpses of weathered buildings and cobblestone streets. It was a forgotten corner of the capital city, a place where the city’s underbelly thrived in the shadows. Yet amidst the decay and neglect, there was a palpable sense of danger that hung in the air, a warning that Lyan dared not ignore.

Finally, the figure came to a stop outside a nondescript warehouse, its stone facade blending seamlessly into the surrounding darkness. Lyan watched intently as the figure exchanged a series of coded knocks with a burly guard stationed at the entrance. The rhythmic pattern of their signals hinted at a familiarity born of clandestine meetings and hidden alliances.

With a silent nod to himself, Lyan knew it was time to make his move. With the grace of a nocturnal predator, he descended from his rooftop vantage point, his movements fluid and silent. Approaching the warehouse with cautious determination, he spotted a partially open window and slipped inside, his senses ablaze with anticipation.

Inside the dimly lit warehouse, a group of men huddled around a weathered table, its surface strewn with an array of maps and documents. Shadows danced across the worn floorboards as the men conferred in hushed tones, their words weaving through the air like whispered secrets. Despite the murmur of conversation, Lyan remained vigilant, his heightened senses attuned to every syllable uttered.

"We must ensure the disruption of the merchant caravans proceeds without a hitch. Our allies within the guild have assured us of their ability to sow enough chaos to divert attention," one of the figures asserted, his finger tracing a precarious route on the map before him.

"And what of the city’s defenses?" another voice interjected, laden with a note of skepticism. The speaker’s furrowed brow betrayed his concern.

"The Duke’s informants have proven invaluable. They’ve furnished us with meticulous details regarding guard rotations and vulnerabilities. Everything we need is right here," the first man declared, punctuating his statement with a tap upon a parchment spread across the table.

Lyan’s heart pounded in his chest as he listened to their conversation. The pieces were starting to come together, but he needed more information to make sure he didn’t make the wrong decision.

Just as he was contemplating his next move, a sudden noise echoed through the warehouse, causing the men to turn towards the disturbance. Lyan seized the opportunity and slipped closer to the table, his movements swift and stealthy as he blended into the shadows. With practiced finesse, he navigated through the maze of crates and barrels, his senses honed to the slightest shift in the environment.

As the men’s attention was drawn elsewhere, Lyan closed the distance to the table with calculated precision. His eyes darted over the documents, searching for any shred of valuable intelligence amidst the sea of ink and parchment. Each passing second felt like an eternity as he scoured the contents before him, his pulse quickening with the weight of his mission.

Amidst the chaos, his keen gaze alighted upon the familiar sketch of Josephine, the cherished matriarch of the House of Roses. His heart clenched at the sight, knowing all too well the danger she now faced. But his apprehension deepened as his eyes trailed over the adjacent drawings—Belle, Alina, and Xena immortalized in ink and paper.

"Not just Josephine, but Belle, Alina, and Xena as well... It’s evident that the House of Roses is entangled in this scheme," Lyan murmured under his breath, his voice barely audible above the din of the warehouse.

With each passing moment, he felt the urgency of his task intensified, driving him to delve deeper into the web of deception unraveling before him. Yet, amidst the chaos and uncertainty, one question remained: did he have enough time to piece together the truth before it was too late?

"Let’s think about it later," With a newfound sense of determination, Lyan pocketed the sketches and slipped back into the shadows, making his way out of the warehouse undetected. His mind raced with thoughts of how to confront Josephine and the others, but he knew he had to tread carefully if he was going to keep them safe.

As Lyan made his way through the winding streets back to the inn, his mind buzzed with the weight of the revelations he had uncovered in the warehouse. Every step brought him closer to the comfort of his room, yet his thoughts remained tangled in the looming threat of danger. Arkansas, the city he had grown quite fond of seems to be under a danger.

But amidst the backdrop of political intrigue, it was the safety of his loved ones that weighed most heavily on his mind. With each passing moment, the faces of Josephine, Belle, Alina, and Xena danced in his thoughts, their expressions etched with worry and fear.

Upon reaching his room, Lyan wasted no time in spreading out the sketches, their outlines illuminated by the flickering candlelight. With trembling hands, he traced the lines of each face, committing their features to memory with a mix of determination and dread. Each stroke of the quill felt like an oath, a solemn promise to safeguard those he cherished.

"I refuse to lose my loved ones again," (Lyan)