Lord Summoner's Freedom Philosophy: Grimoire of Love
Chapter 316: The Mountain Barbarians (2) The Battle and Aftermath

Chapter 316: The Mountain Barbarians (2) The Battle and Aftermath

Just as the barbarians began to regroup, thinking they could still overwhelm the statues through sheer numbers, a new threat emerged. From the shadows of the surrounding forest, an army of skeleton warriors advanced. Led by hobgoblin skeletons, these undead soldiers moved with eerie coordination. Their bony feet made no sound as they closed in, their hollow eyes glowing with a spectral light.

The skeletons fell upon the barbarians like a tidal wave, their weapons clashing against those of the living warriors. The hobgoblin skeletons led the charge, their larger frames and superior armor making them formidable opponents. One skeleton, wielding a rusted but still deadly sword, hacked through the neck of a barbarian, the blade cleaving flesh and bone with ease. Another drove its spear through the chest of a warrior, the pointed tip emerging from the man’s back.

The Chief’s forces were now fighting a battle on three fronts: the animated statues, the acid ants, and the skeleton warriors. The barbarians’ attempts to form defensive lines were repeatedly shattered by the relentless assaults. The Chief himself was locked in a fierce struggle with a hobgoblin skeleton, their weapons clashing in a brutal contest of strength. Despite his formidable size and strength, the Chief found himself hard-pressed to keep the undead warrior at bay.

Amidst the carnage, the ground shook with the approach of yet another force. A pack of winter wolves, their fur a stark white, bounded into the fray. These wolves, larger and more ferocious than any natural predator, leaped at the barbarians with jaws snapping and claws slashing. The wolves tore through the ranks with savage efficiency, their icy breath freezing the limbs of those they bit, leaving the warriors vulnerable to the killing blows of the skeletons and statues.

The Chief, realizing the hopelessness of their situation, tried one last desperate gambit. "Fall back! Retreat to the hills!" he shouted, his voice barely carrying over the din of battle. But it was too late. The barbarians were surrounded, their escape routes cut off by the statues and the advancing undead. The acid ants, still swarming, made the ground itself a dangerous place to tread, their venomous bites adding to the chaos.

One by one, the barbarians fell. The Chief fought with all the ferocity of a cornered animal, but even he could not stand against the combined might of the statues, skeletons, and wolves. As he swung his axe at a stone sentinel, a skeleton seized the opportunity, driving a blade into his side. The Chief grunted in pain, staggering back as blood poured from the wound. He turned, only to see the pack of winter wolves descending upon the last of his warriors, their icy breath freezing the life from the men.

In the midst of the slaughter, the Chief’s eyes caught sight of his two wives, fighting bravely but hopelessly against the onslaught. His heart clenched with a mixture of pride and sorrow. They had come here as tradition demanded, to fight alongside him, to share in his glory and his fate. But this was no battle of glory; it was a massacre.

The Chief fell to his knees, his strength failing. As his vision blurred, he saw a figure approaching through the haze of battle—Lyan, the orchestrator of this devastating ambush. Lyan’s expression was calm, almost sorrowful, as he looked down at the dying Chief.

"You fought well," Lyan said softly, his voice carrying a note of respect. "But this land is protected, and its people will not be harmed."

The Chief coughed, blood flecking his lips. He looked at the two surviving women, now the only barbarians left alive, their faces pale with shock. "Spare them... please," he rasped, his voice barely a whisper.

Lyan nodded. "They will be spared. They will be treated with respect and given a chance at a new life."

The Chief managed a weak smile, his eyes closing. "Good... someone... survives..." With those final words, his life slipped away.

As the Chief’s body slumped to the ground, the battlefield fell silent, save for the crackling of flames and the distant howls of the retreating winter wolves. The barbarians lay defeated, their bodies strewn across the ground, a grim testament to the might of Grafen’s defenders. The statues stood vigilant, their stone eyes unblinking, while the skeleton warriors and acid ants retreated to their hidden posts.

Lyan stood amidst the fallen, his heart heavy with the weight of the lives lost. It had been a necessary battle, a defense of his home and the people under his protection. But the cost of war was always steep, and the sight of the dead and dying was a sobering reminder of the reality of conflict.

As the villagers emerged from their homes, cautiously approaching the scene, Lyan turned to the two surviving women. They looked up at him with a mixture of fear and defiance, their hands trembling. Lyan’s expression softened, and he extended a hand to them.

"Relax, you won’t die here," he said gently.

The women exchanged glances, their fear slowly giving way to confusion and uncertainty. One of them, her voice barely a whisper, asked, "Why... why spare us?"

Lyan met her gaze, his eyes steady and kind. "Because not all battles are fought with weapons. Sometimes, mercy is the greatest victory."

Lyan stood at the edge of the battlefield, surveying the aftermath of the fierce clash with the mountain barbarians. The once peaceful village was now a tableau of destruction, littered with the bodies of fallen warriors and broken weapons. The animated statues stood sentinel, their stone faces expressionless but their postures vigilant. The air was thick with the scent of blood and sweat, mingling with the acrid tang of magic.

As the dawn broke, casting a soft golden hue over the scene, Lyan gave a nod to his companions. The group moved with purpose, orchestrating the cleanup with practiced efficiency. The skeleton warriors, clad in their concealing armor, began the grim task of gathering the corpses. The statues, their movements graceful despite their size, assisted in stripping the bodies of their equipment. Weapons and armor were carefully piled to one side, a testament to the spoils of battle.

The winter wolves, their fur glistening with dew, prowled among the fallen, occasionally dragging a body towards the center of the clearing. The acid ants, now significantly increased in number, scuttled over the ground with military precision. With their nest having grown to accommodate the influx of food from recent hunts, they were now a formidable force in their own right. The 200 acid ant workers and 80 acid ant soldiers worked tirelessly, moving the bodies to a designated pile.

As the winter wolves and acid ants approached the pile, tension crackled in the air. The wolves, driven by their predatory instincts, snarled at the ants, their hackles raised. The acid ants, undeterred, clicked their mandibles threateningly, ready to defend their newfound territory. The scene teetered on the brink of chaos as the two groups faced off, eyes locked in a silent challenge.

Just as the tension threatened to spill over into violence, Honda, the Castle Guardian Hound, stepped forward. The massive hound, its presence commanding, barked sharply, drawing the attention of both the wolves and the ants. Honda moved between them, its eyes flashing with an authoritative gleam. The wolves hesitated, their snarls fading into low growls. The acid ants, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, backed down, their mandibles retracting.

Lyan and the girls watched the scene unfold, a mixture of amusement and relief on their faces. "Looks like Honda’s taken to leadership quite well," Belle remarked, her voice tinged with admiration. The others chuckled in agreement, the tension of the moment dissolving into shared mirth.

With the situation defused, the work continued smoothly. The statues, once again demonstrating their uncanny coordination, stripped the barbarians of their remaining belongings. The equipment was gathered and organized, ready to be transported back to the castle for assessment and potential use. The acid ants, under the watchful eye of Honda, resumed their task of transporting the bodies. They moved the corpses to a hidden hole, a discreet entrance to their massive underground nest beneath Grafen. This nest, a labyrinthine complex of tunnels and chambers, served as a food reserve, ensuring the ants’ continued growth and survival.

As the cleanup progressed, a curious spectacle unfolded. The statues, having completed their tasks, formed a neat formation. The stone soldiers, bearing the captured equipment and the prisoners—two surviving mountain barbarian women—stood at attention. Lyan, standing at the forefront, gave a signal, and the group began a slow, deliberate march towards the castle. The scene was almost ceremonial, a parade of victory and vigilance.

The villagers, having cautiously emerged from their homes, watched in awe as the procession moved through the village. Whispers and murmurs filled the air, quickly swelling into cheers and applause. "The lord has saved us again!" one man exclaimed, his voice filled with gratitude. "Praise Baron Evocatore!" another shouted, raising his fist in the air. The sentiment was echoed by the crowd, their voices a chorus of relief and admiration.

Lyan acknowledged the villagers with a nod and a wave, his expression calm and composed. As the procession passed through the village gates and approached the castle, the atmosphere was charged with a sense of triumph. The skeleton warriors, blending seamlessly into the procession with their armor, added to the imposing spectacle. The villagers continued to watch, their eyes filled with a mixture of awe and respect for the man who had once again proven himself a capable and compassionate leader.

Arriving at the castle, the group halted in the courtyard. The statues stood silent, their task complete, while the skeletons took up positions around the perimeter, their armor clinking softly in the morning breeze. The captured mountain barbarian women, bound but unharmed, were gently brought forward. The two women, their faces pale and eyes wide, looked around in confusion and fear. They were starkly different from the fierce warriors they had been just hours earlier; now, they were simply survivors, caught in a whirlwind of events beyond their control.

"Now what should we do with these girls,"