Lord Summoner's Freedom Philosophy: Grimoire of Love
Chapter 254: Protect Arkansas (5) Smooth Plan

Chapter 254: Protect Arkansas (5) Smooth Plan

"There you are," Varkas uttered in disdain.

The battle commenced with a fierce intensity. Varkas’s strategy was clear: eliminate Lyan, the lynchpin of Arkansas’s defense, and the city would fall. Varkas watched as his soldiers surged forward, clashing with the defenders in a maelstrom of steel and screams.

Lyan moved through the chaos like a phantom, his glaive flashing in the moonlight as he cut down enemy soldiers with practiced precision. His presence seemed to bolster his troops, their formation shifting and adapting to his commands with an almost preternatural fluidity. It was as if the defenders could anticipate every move Varkas’s forces made, always one step ahead, always in perfect sync.

"Focus on Evocatore!" Varkas shouted, rallying his men. "Cut off the head, and the body will fall!"

The battle raged on, and despite their best efforts, Varkas’s forces struggled to gain ground. Lyan’s strategic prowess was evident; his formations shifted like the tides, making it nearly impossible for Varkas to adapt. Every attempt to flank or outmaneuver was met with a swift and decisive counter.

But Varkas was a veteran and a skilled strategist. He observed, analyzed, and adapted. Gradually, he began to discern patterns in Lyan’s tactics. With careful maneuvering, he succeeded in encircling Lyan, his forces closing in from all sides.

"Now!" Varkas roared, signaling his men to tighten the noose around Lyan.

Just as it seemed the defenders would be overwhelmed, a trumpet blast echoed through the night. From the shadows of the forest, a massive contingent of soldiers emerged, their armor gleaming in the dim light. They charged into the fray, smashing into Varkas’s forces with unrelenting force.

"Reinforcements?" Varkas spat, his eyes narrowing. "Where did they come from?"

He had no time to ponder. The new arrivals fought with a ferocity that rivaled his own men. Varkas found himself at the forefront, his sword slicing through the air as he engaged the enemy.

The battle grew more chaotic, the lines blurring as both sides clashed with renewed vigor. Hours passed, and the fighting showed no sign of abating. Varkas’s sword arm grew heavy, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Yet, despite their efforts, the defenders seemed unyielding, their numbers inexplicably undiminished.

"This doesn’t make sense," Varkas muttered, cutting down yet another soldier. "There shouldn’t be this many of them. Arkansas couldn’t possibly have this many troops."

His mind raced with questions. The soldiers he faced bore the marks of seasoned knights, not the ragtag band of mercenaries and militia he had expected. Their discipline, their skill—it was all too coordinated, too perfect.

"Damn it," he swore, glancing around at his men. They were growing weary, their initial vigor waning in the face of the relentless assault. "Hold your ground! Don’t let up!"

But even as he urged his soldiers on, a gnawing doubt crept into his mind. Something was wrong. The numbers, the tactics—it didn’t add up. As the hours dragged on, an unsettling pattern emerged. The soldiers they fought seemed almost ethereal, their forms flickering and shifting.

Varkas cleaved through another knight, only to watch in shock as the figure dissolved into mist. "What in the blazes...?" He turned, slashing at another, and the same thing happened. Mist. Everywhere he looked, the enemy soldiers were turning into vapor, their forms dissipating like smoke on the wind.

"An illusion!" Varkas roared, his face contorting with rage. "It’s all an illusion!"

He looked around frantically, searching for Lyan. The enigmatic leader of the defenders had vanished hours ago, and now it was clear why. They had been fighting phantoms, wasting their strength against nothing but air.

"Pull back!" he shouted, veins bulging with fury. "Retreat! It’s a trap!"

But it was too late. The realization spread through his ranks, sowing chaos and confusion. His soldiers, already exhausted and demoralized, faltered. The illusion had sapped their strength and their will, and now the truth left them reeling.

Varkas’s hands trembled with rage as he surveyed the battlefield. "Evocatore!" he bellowed, his voice echoing through the night. "Show yourself, you coward!"

But there was no response, only the eerie silence of the night. Varkas clenched his fists, his mind racing. Lyan had outmaneuvered him, using illusions to wear down his forces and sow discord. It was a masterstroke of deception, and it left Varkas seething with impotent fury.

"Fall back!" he ordered again, his voice a harsh rasp. "Regroup and fall back! We’ll find another way to take this city."

As his men stumbled back from the illusory battlefield, Varkas swore to himself. This was far from over. Lyan had won this round, but Varkas would not rest until he had turned the tables and claimed victory. Arkansas would fall, and Lyan would pay for this humiliation. But for now, he had to pull his shattered forces back and plan his next move. The war was far from over, and Varkas was determined to see it through to the bitter end.

___

Lyan rode back into the city on his black horse, Shadow, the brisk night air filled with the scent of damp earth and the distant echo of battle. As he approached the gates of Arkansas, a group of figures emerged from the shadows, waiting eagerly. The girls—Alina, Xena, Belle, Josephine, Raine, and Ravia—stood together, their eyes lighting up as they spotted him.

"Lyan!" Alina called out, rushing forward.

He dismounted smoothly, a warm smile breaking through his battle-worn demeanor. One by one, he greeted each of the girls, wrapping them in his arms and pressing a kiss to their lips. Alina’s lips were soft and eager, her arms clutching him tightly as if ensuring he was truly there. Xena, fierce and passionate, kissed him with a fire that mirrored the battles they’d fought together. Belle’s kiss was tender and sweet, a moment of calm amidst the storm. Josephine, ever the ferocious lioness, kissed him with a quiet strength, grounding him. Raine’s kiss was playful and full of warmth, bringing a lightness to his heart. Finally, Ravia, always composed, kissed him with a deep, lingering passion that spoke of unspoken promises.

"I’m glad you’re back safely," Ravia murmured, her eyes searching his.

Lyan nodded, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "I’m glad to be back."

He turned to the waiting guards. "Continue the watch. Stay vigilant. We can’t afford any surprises."

The guards saluted, their faces resolute. "Yes, sir!"

With that, Lyan and the girls made their way to the House of Roses, the city’s main strategic point. The grand building, once a symbol of opulence and power, now served as the nerve center of their defense efforts. Inside, the atmosphere was tense but focused, a stark contrast to the chaos outside.

The House of Roses had become a fortress of its own, with maps and plans spread out on grand tables, and armed guards posted at every entrance. The city council members who had betrayed Arkansas were now confined in a secure chamber, thanks to the decisive actions of Guildmaster Gildevart. He had swiftly dealt with their underlings, eliminating the threat from within, and had reached out to unbought mercenaries to bolster the city’s defenses.

Many of these mercenaries were familiar faces from the goblin subjugation campaign. As Lyan entered, he was greeted by cheers and salutes, the warriors acknowledging him as a hero, a general, and a commander. Among them, Borton, the leader of the Brave Rings Mercenary Group, stepped forward.

"Lyan!" Borton called out, his booming voice cutting through the din. He approached with a broad grin, and the two men embraced in a hearty bro hug.

"It’s good to see you, Borton," Lyan said, clapping the big man on the back. "It’s been too long since the goblin king subjugation."

"Aye, too long," Borton agreed, pulling back but keeping a firm hand on Lyan’s shoulder. "We should drink together sometime, catch up on old times. But first things first. I heard the plan from the guildmaster. Is it time for my lads to move and start the guerilla tactics?"

Lyan nodded. "Yes, it’s time. We need to keep the enemy off balance. Your expertise in hit-and-run tactics will be invaluable."

Borton grinned, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Consider it done. We’ll make them regret ever laying eyes on Arkansas. Foolish of them to think we could be bought so cheap,"

With a final nod, Borton turned to his men, rallying them with a fervor that was infectious. The Brave Rings quickly organized and set off, ready to wreak havoc on Ravindor’s forces with their guerrilla warfare.

Inside the House of Roses, the mood was one of determined confidence. Gildevart gathered the key leaders for a briefing. The room was filled with the low hum of conversation, maps and diagrams spread across the large central table, illuminated by flickering lanterns.

"Things are going according to plan," Gildevart began, his voice carrying a weight of authority. "The initial defense was a success, thanks to Lyan’s brilliant use of illusions and our coordinated efforts. Now, we must focus on the next phase."

He pointed to a large map of Arkansas and its surrounding areas. "The enemy is demoralized and confused. Our intelligence indicates they are questioning their own strategy. This is our chance to strike decisively. Borton’s men will continue their hit-and-run tactics, harassing the enemy and cutting off their supply lines."

The gathered leaders nodded, murmuring their agreement. Gildevart continued, outlining the details of the next maneuvers. "We will maintain a strong defensive posture within the city while our forces outside keep the enemy on their heels. Communication and coordination are key. Use the signal fires and messengers to relay information quickly. We need to stay a step ahead."

Lyan listened intently, adding his own insights. "We need to capitalize on their uncertainty. Deploy scouts to gather real-time intelligence and adjust our plans accordingly. Flexibility will be our greatest strength."

As the briefing continued, confidence and morale grew among the assembled leaders. They were united in purpose, driven by the knowledge that they had the upper hand. By the time the briefing concluded, the mood in the room was one of fierce determination.

After the meeting, the leaders dispersed to their respective duties. The House of Roses, once a symbol of opulence, now thrummed with the energy of a well-coordinated defense effort. But amidst the bustle, Lyan felt a pang of unease.

He retired to their private quarters within the House of Roses, a quiet sanctuary amidst the chaos. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of lanterns casting long shadows on the walls. Lyan sat at the bar, his thoughts a turbulent mix of triumph and uncertainty.

Ravia, ever perceptive, joined him. She moved behind the bar, her hands deftly mixing ingredients to craft the perfect drink for him. She slid the glass across the counter and took a seat beside him, her eyes filled with concern.

"Lyan," she said softly, "what’s on your mind?"

He took a sip of the drink, savoring the warmth it brought. "I’m thinking about the battles, the strategies, everything. It all went according to plan, but..."

"But?" Ravia prompted gently, her hand resting on his arm. "It will be fine, you’ve done your best for us,"

For Lyan, war is not a stranger. Not a foreign thing. But because of that very reason.

There are scars that could not be healed.

The battle, the war, the thick scent of blood, the wailing, the roaring, the begging, and everything.

But when Lyan closed his eyes, he could feel a soft sensation in his mouth.

It’s Ravia’s lips.

It’s not a kiss, but a prayer.

A prayer for a peace.

Lyan opened his eyes.

"You have done the best, Lyan," she said firmly. "Let me do my best to ease you as well," Ravia stood and sat on Lyan’s lap. She could feel his gigantic thing excited from her crotch.

"Let me help you drink," Ravia uttered as she put the drink on her mouth, and went for Lyan’s mouth. Her black hair draped across his shoulder, the faint fragrance of soap filling his nostrils.

Their touch met, and Lyan eagerly accepted the drink from Ravia’s mouth, their tongue danced with a sweet liquor.

She pulled away, her hand reaching down and massaging his thing. "Don’t you dare think about anything else, okay?" she whispered, her warm breath tingling in his ear.

Lyan smiled, his hand reached for her face, caressing her cheek. "Thank you, Ravia," he whispered.