Lord Summoner's Freedom Philosophy: Grimoire of Love
Chapter 267: The Greedy Mouse Lord (2) The News

Chapter 267: The Greedy Mouse Lord (2) The News

Count Havton was a man who thrived on indulgence. His castle was filled with luxuries and vices, reflecting his insatiable appetite for pleasure and power.

"Ahahaha! You love it, right, you bitch!?" The Count shouts as his fat body collides with the tied up woman in front of him.

The woman is absolutely not in a situation where she could continue the intercourse, but for Count Havton, it’s something that does not concern him.

"Slaves like you have your lives right on my palms! It’s a great honor for you to have my noble thing inside, you right!!" He shouts as he pants. A truly, disgusting pant.

Yet, beneath the layers of extravagance, he was a man of great fear. As he sat in his opulent chamber, the news of the ambush on his supply caravan reached his ears, shattering the illusion of security he had built around himself.

"Count Havton," his chief advisor, Marlowe, a weaselly man with a knack for survival, addressed him with a deep bow. "Our supply line has been compromised. The ambush was swift and devastating. Our men were overwhelmed."

Havton’s face reddened with anger and fear. He slammed his fist on the table, causing the ornate silverware to clatter. "Damn those Astellian crown prince! How could this happen? We must respond immediately!"

Marlowe, ever the opportunist, nodded vigorously. "Yes, my lord. We need to assess the damage and formulate a strategy. Shall I gather the council?"

"Do it," Havton growled, his eyes narrowing with a mix of rage and trepidation. "And make it quick."

As Marlowe scurried away, Havton stared out the window of his castle, his mind racing. The fortress city of Grafen was his stronghold, a symbol of his power and wealth. He could not afford to lose it. The walls were high and thick, the gates reinforced with iron, and his personal guard of two thousand men were among the best mercenaries money could buy. And his soldiers reached the number of five thousand ready to be dispatched. Yet, the Astellian army was formidable, and the news of the ambush had shaken his confidence.

Within the hour, Havton’s council of advisors gathered in the war room. The air was thick with tension as they awaited his commands. Marlowe had assembled a mix of military officers, corrupt officials, and other sycophants who depended on Havton’s favor.

"Gentlemen," Havton began, his voice attempting to mask his underlying fear, "we face a dire situation. Our supply lines have been attacked, and the enemy is at our gates. We must act swiftly and decisively to defend Grafen."

General Corbin, a grizzled veteran with a reputation for brutality, stepped forward. "My lord, we should bolster our defenses immediately. Reinforcements must be sent to key positions around the city to prevent any breaches."

"Yes, yes," Havton agreed, his hand waving dismissively. "Do whatever is necessary. General Corbin, you will oversee the deployment of our troops."

Corbin nodded, his expression grim. "I will ensure our defenses are impenetrable, my lord."

Marlowe chimed in, "We should also consider fortifying the inner castle, just in case the outer defenses are compromised."

Havton’s eyes widened with fear. "You think they could breach the outer walls?"

Marlowe hesitated, then spoke cautiously. "It’s a possibility we must prepare for, my lord. The Astellians are resourceful and determined. We cannot underestimate them."

Havton’s mind raced as he considered the implications. "Very well. Fortify the inner castle as well. And what about our allies? Have we received any word from Duke Ravindor?"

A murmur of uncertainty swept through the room. Marlowe shifted uncomfortably. "There has been no response, my lord. It appears our messengers have not returned."

Havton’s face turned crimson with frustration. "Curse that duke! We cannot rely on anyone but ourselves. Send out a call for all available mercenaries. We need every man we can get."

As the council dispersed to carry out their orders, Havton was left alone in the war room, his mind a whirlwind of fear and anger. He paced back and forth, his thoughts dark and chaotic. He had spent years amassing his wealth and power through ruthless and often unsavory means. Now, it seemed, all of it was at risk.

Outside, the fortress city of Grafen buzzed with activity as soldiers and laborers worked tirelessly to enhance the defenses. The high walls were reinforced with additional barricades, and archers took their positions along the battlements. The atmosphere was tense, filled with the sounds of hammers and the barked orders of officers.

Within the castle, Havton’s personal guard of two thousand men prepared for the coming battle. These were not ordinary soldiers but highly paid mercenaries, skilled in combat and loyal only to the coin. They were his last line of defense, and he counted on their prowess to keep him safe.

Amidst the preparations, Havton found himself increasingly frustrated by the lack of response from Duke Ravindor. He had sent multiple messengers, each carrying urgent pleas for reinforcements, but none had returned. It was as if they had vanished into thin air.

"Damn that Ravindor," Havton muttered to himself. "If he thinks he can leave me to fend for myself, he’ll regret it."

In a desperate bid to bolster his forces, Havton instructed Marlowe to hire every available mercenary in the region. Coins flowed freely from the castle coffers as mercenaries from all corners of the land were recruited. They came in droves, lured by the promise of gold and the thrill of battle.

Despite the frantic preparations, tension and resentment simmered within Grafen’s ranks. The soldiers and mercenaries, aware of Havton’s reputation, held little respect for their leader. They despised his cowardice, his indulgence, and the way he treated those under his command. Yet, the lure of payment and the threat of punishment kept them in line.

As the day wore on, the defenses of Grafen took shape. The outer walls bristled with weapons, and the inner castle was fortified to withstand a prolonged siege. General Corbin and his officers worked tirelessly, their grim determination a stark contrast to Havton’s growing panic.

As night fell, Havton stood on the battlements, surveying the preparations. The flickering torches cast long shadows across the stone walls, and the air was thick with anticipation. He knew that the Astellian army was close, and the siege could begin at any moment.

With a deep breath, Havton descended to the courtyard where his troops were assembled. He had never been one for speeches, but he knew he needed to address them. His advisors had convinced him that a show of confidence might bolster their morale, even if he had to fake it.

"My loyal soldiers," Havton began, his voice wavering slightly before he steadied it. "We stand on the brink of a great battle. The enemy thinks they can take Grafen from us, but they are gravely mistaken. This fortress is impregnable, and we will show them the might of our defenses!"

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd, though many eyes remained skeptical.

"Remember," Havton continued, raising his voice, "we fight not just for ourselves, but for our city, our homes, and our families. The Astellians are relentless, but so are we! We will stand our ground, and we will not let them take what is rightfully ours!"

General Corbin stepped forward, his stern gaze sweeping over the assembled troops. "You heard the count. We hold this city at all costs. Failure is not an option."

The soldiers responded with a cheer, though it lacked the fervor Havton had hoped for. Nonetheless, he took it as a sign of support and retreated to the safety of his inner chambers, his mind racing with fear and anticipation.

The final preparations were made, and the city of Grafen braced itself for the impending siege. The air was thick with tension, and every man knew that the coming days would test their resolve and strength. Count Havton, despite his flaws and fears, clung to the hope that his fortress would hold, that his wealth and power would see him through this crisis.

As the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, the Astellian army began to stir. The siege was imminent, and the fate of Grafen hung in the balance. Count Havton, for all his ruthlessness and cowardice, would soon face the ultimate test of his leadership.

And so, the stage was set for the clash of forces, the battle for Grafen. The city’s defenders, driven by a mix of duty, fear, and the promise of gold, stood ready to repel the invaders. The Astellian army, fueled by determination and righteous anger, prepared to breach the formidable defenses.

The tension was palpable, the air electric with the anticipation of battle. Count Havton, his heart pounding in his chest, knew that the outcome of this siege would determine not only the fate of Grafen but his very survival. The battle was about to begin, and the echoes of war would soon resound through the fortress city.

As the first war horns blared from the Astellian camp, the defenders of Grafen braced themselves. Count Havton, despite his cowardice, steeled himself for the coming storm. The siege was upon them, and the city of Grafen would soon become a battlefield.