Lord Summoner's Freedom Philosophy: Grimoire of Love
Chapter 273: The Wolf Duke (1) The Southeast Army

"We’ll attack head-on," Lyan declared, his eyes gleaming with determination. "No elaborate tricks, just a swift and brutal assault. We’ll form a spearhead to break through their defenses quickly. Borton, you, me, and the Brave Rings will lead the charge to maintain momentum."

Borton chuckled, slapping Lyan on the back. "That’s bold, Baron. I like it. We’ll hit them hard and fast, break their lines before they know what hit them."

"Stop it. Just call me Lyan," Lyan uttered with a wry smile. Being called Baron still feels weird for him.

The mercenaries and soldiers of their combined force listened intently, adrenaline coursing through their veins. As dawn broke, they moved out, advancing through the forest with the stealth of predators.

As they approached the enemy camp, Lyan mounted his aggressive black horse, a beast as fierce and battle-hardened as its rider. Borton and the Brave Rings, his elite mercenaries, formed up beside him, their weapons glinting in the early morning light.

The enemy camp came into view, soldiers milling about lazily, unaware of the impending assault. Lyan raised his hand, signaling his forces to halt. He could see the Duke’s men clearly now—rows of tents, stacks of supplies, and men going about their morning routines.

Lyan turned to his men, his voice low but charged with energy. "This is it. We strike now. For Grafen, for the crown, and for victory!"

A chorus of whispers echoed his sentiments, and then he gave the signal. With a roar, they charged.

Lyan’s horse surged forward, its hooves thundering against the ground. He swung his glaive in a wide arc as he closed the distance, cleaving through the first line of unsuspecting soldiers. The blade sliced cleanly through armor and flesh, felling three men in an instant.

"To arms! We’re under attack!" a panicked enemy soldier shouted, but his warning was cut short as Borton’s greatsword cleaved through his neck.

Lyan dodged an incoming spear by a hairbreadth, his reflexes honed to perfection. He thrust his glaive forward, impaling another soldier before wrenching it free in a spray of blood. His black horse slammed into the enemy ranks, trampling those too slow to get out of the way.

"Slow down, Shadow, You aggressive horse!" Lyan shouts, but the horse doesn’t give any sign of slowing down, seeming to get too excited by the battle.

The chaos of battle enveloped him. Shouts, screams, and the clash of steel filled the air. Lyan moved with deadly precision, his every strike was purposeful. He spun his glaive, decapitating one enemy while slashing another across the chest. He caught sight of an officer trying to rally his men and rode him down, the weight of his horse crushing the man into the dirt.

A soldier lunged at him with a sword, but Lyan parried the blow, spinning his glaive to slice the man’s arm off. The soldier screamed, dropping his weapon, and Lyan ended his suffering with a swift stab to the heart.

"Hold the line! Hold the line!" another enemy officer screamed, but it was futile. The Brave Rings fought like demons, their ferocity unmatched. Borton was a whirlwind of destruction beside Lyan, his axe carving through enemy ranks with brutal efficiency.

As the battle raged, Lyan noticed a group of archers taking aim from a ridge. He knew their arrows could decimate his troops if left unchecked. With a swift command under his breath, he summoned the Rock Golem, crashing through the archers as a boulder, and wreaking havoc there.

"Keep them busy!" (Lyan)

The Rock Golem replied with a nod and a powerful smash to the ground.

The semi-encirclement plan was put into action. At a single signal, the rest of Lyan’s forces moved in to complete the maneuver. The Duke’s soldiers found themselves surrounded, their panic palpable. The mercenaries and soldiers cut them down mercilessly, showing no quarter.

"Fall back! Fall back!" one of the enemy commanders shouted, but there was nowhere to retreat. Lyan’s Winter Wolves, led by their alpha, emerged from the forest, their white fur streaked with blood. They hunted down the fleeing soldiers with savage precision, their howls echoing through the trees.

Lyan rode through the enemy camp, cutting down any who dared to stand against him. He felt a surge of triumph as the last pockets of resistance crumbled. He glanced at Borton, who was grinning fiercely as he swung his greatsword in a wide arc, decapitating another enemy soldier.

"Victory!" Borton shouted, raising his bloodied greatsword high. The cry was taken up by their men, a triumphant roar that echoed through the battlefield.

Lyan dismounted, surveying the carnage. The Duke’s hidden army was no more. They had not only won the battle but also seized the enemy’s supplies—food, weapons, and other essential resources.

The battle had been fierce and brutal. Lyan’s forces had taken losses, but the victory was decisive. He walked among his men, checking on the wounded and offering words of encouragement. The soldiers respected him not just as a leader but as a warrior who fought alongside them, sharing in the dangers and triumphs.

As the sun set, casting a red hue over the battlefield, the camp settled into a quieter, more reflective mood. The fires burned bright, and the men gathered around them, tending to their wounds and recounting the day’s events. Lyan knew the importance of this time, to allow his men to process the battle and bond over their shared experiences.

The pile of corpses was piled up by the men, while their deceased were buried respectfully. Lyan took about 100 corpses and sent them to the grimoire’s space after freezing them to make sure they wouldn’t smell and enrage the high spirits. He make sure to put them at quite a distance, and on top of the colony of the acid ants.

(It’s been a while and lots of things have happened since they last contacted me. What were they doing at the Space, I wonder? Did they get addicted to another game again?) (Lyan)

Lyan approached a group of his soldiers, noting the tired but proud expressions on their faces. One of them, a young soldier with a bandaged arm, looked up at him with admiration.

"You fought bravely today," Lyan said, placing a hand on the soldier’s shoulder. "Rest and heal. Your courage did not go unnoticed."

"Thank you, Evocatore- I mean Baron Evocatore," the soldier replied, his voice filled with gratitude. "Well, we’ll live our best with the rewards when the crown prince paid us in honor of our brothers,"

Lyan smiled, feeling a deep sense of pride in his fellow mercenaries. He moved on to another group, where Borton was sharing a flask of ale with some of the Brave Rings. The camaraderie and mutual respect were evident in their interactions.

"Baron," Borton called out, raising the flask. "Join us for a drink. To victory and to our fallen comrades."

"I said stop with that Barong thing already..." Lyan accepted the flask, taking a deep swig of the strong ale. "To victory and to those who gave their lives for it," he echoed, his voice solemn.

As the night wore on, Lyan found himself standing at the edge of the camp, looking out over the battlefield. The memories of the day played out in his mind—the screams, the blood, the fierce determination of his men. War was brutal, but necessary. Just like the wars he faced before.

A gentle nudge at his side brought him back to the present. The Winter Wolf Alpha, its fur glowing softly, looked up at him with intelligent eyes. Lyan smiled, feeling the bond between them.

"You did well today," he said, scratching the wolf behind its ears. "We all did."

The wolf nuzzled his hand in response, a gesture of comfort and companionship. Lyan knew that the battles ahead would be just as challenging, but with his loyal companions and the support of his men, they would prevail.

As Lyan back to the camp, he found Borton again, who was poring over a map with some of the other commanders. "We need to prepare for our next move," Borton said as Lyan approached. "The Duke will not take this defeat lightly. It would be best if we could support the prince as soon as possible,"

Lyan nodded, joining them at the table. "We need to capitalize on our momentum. The supplies we’ve captured will give us an advantage, but we must stay vigilant."

The commanders discussed their next steps, planning their strategy carefully. They knew that the Duke’s forces were still a formidable threat, and they needed to be ready for whatever came next.

As the meeting concluded, Borton clapped Lyan on the shoulder. "Get some rest, Baron. We’ll need you at your best for what’s to come."

Lyan nodded, exhaustion beginning to set in. "You too, Borton. We’ve earned it."

He made his way to his tent, the events of the day still fresh in his mind. As he lay down, he thought of Althea, of their home in Grafen, and of the future they were fighting for. Sleep came quickly, a welcome respite from the rigors of war.

The next morning, the camp was abuzz with activity. The soldiers were preparing for the day ahead, their spirits bolstered by the previous day’s victory. Lyan emerged from his tent, feeling refreshed and ready for the challenges to come.

Borton was already up, barking orders and organizing the men. He spotted Lyan and walked over, a determined look on his face. "We’ve received word from our scouts. The Duke’s main force is on the move. We need to be ready."

"Yes. Time to finish this war,"