Lord Summoner's Freedom Philosophy: Grimoire of Love
Chapter 317: The Mountain Barbarians (3) Let Me Handle Them

Chapter 317: The Mountain Barbarians (3) Let Me Handle Them

Lyan and his companions gathered in the castle’s war room, the tension palpable as they discussed the fate of the two surviving mountain barbarian women. The room, adorned with maps and charts detailing Grafen and its surrounding territories, seemed almost too serene for the gravity of the conversation. The air was thick with a mix of curiosity and unease as the group debated how best to handle the situation.

Josephine leaned back in her chair, her fingers drumming a steady rhythm on the wooden table. Her eyes were sharp, calculating. "These women could have valuable information," she said, her voice low and thoughtful. "They were part of the attack, and they might know more about other barbarian tribes or any plans against Grafen."

Alina nodded in agreement, her expression serious. "But how do we get them to talk? They’re loyal to their people and might not be willing to share anything easily."

Xena, ever the pragmatist, smirked. "We could scare them into talking. Maybe a little intimidation, make them think they’re next if they don’t cooperate."

Raine, her white hair gleaming under the soft glow of the room’s candles, frowned slightly. "I’m not sure fear will work with them. They come from a warrior culture; they might resist out of sheer stubbornness."

Emilia, with her fiery red hair and fierce demeanor, crossed her arms over her chest. "Or we could try something more... persuasive. A little pain can go a long way in loosening tongues."

The suggestion hung in the air, the room falling silent as the implications of Emilia’s words settled over the group. It was a grim proposal, one that carried a weight none of them could ignore. Belle shifted uncomfortably, her usually gentle eyes hardening. "I’m not sure if that’s the right approach," she murmured. "There’s always a risk with methods like that. We could end up breaking them without getting the information we need."

Lyan, who had been listening quietly, finally spoke up, his voice cutting through the growing tension like a knife. "I don’t think we need to resort to such measures," he said calmly. His gaze swept across the room, meeting the eyes of each of his companions in turn. "Let me handle the interrogation. I have... a way with words that might prove more effective."

There was a pause, then Althea, who had been watching Lyan with a curious expression, nodded slowly. "You think you can get them to talk without using force?" she asked, her tone skeptical but intrigued.

Lyan smiled, a confident glint in his eyes. "I believe so. These women come from a culture that respects strength and dominance. They might respond to a different kind of persuasion."

Josephine raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a knowing smirk. "I see where you’re going with this," she said, a hint of amusement in her voice. "Just be careful, Lyan. These women are still enemies, and they could be dangerous."

Lyan nodded, his expression serious. "I understand. But I believe this is the best course of action. Let’s see what we can learn from them."

The decision made, the group dispersed, each member returning to their respective duties. Lyan made his way to the castle’s private prison, where the two women were being held. The prison, located in a secluded wing of the castle, was a stark, cold place, designed to contain the most dangerous of enemies. The air was thick with the scent of damp stone and iron, and the faint sound of dripping water echoed through the dimly lit corridors.

As Lyan approached the cell, he could hear the low murmur of voices. The two women, bound and sitting on the cold stone floor, were speaking in their harsh, guttural language. Their expressions were a mix of fear and defiance, their eyes darting nervously around the cell. They looked up as Lyan entered, their gazes sharpening with suspicion and a flicker of recognition.

The women were guarded by two statues, seemingly lifeless but ever watchful. These living statues were part of the magical defenses of the castle, animated guardians that responded only to Lyan’s command. The women eyed the statues warily, clearly unsettled by their presence.

Lyan stepped into the cell, his eyes fixed on the two women. They were striking, even in their current state—strong, with sharp features and eyes that held a fierce, wild spark. They were the Chief’s newlywed wives, and their loyalty to him had been evident in the battle.

Lyan addressed them in their language, his voice smooth and calm. "You are safe here," he began, watching their reactions closely. "No harm will come to you if you cooperate."

The women exchanged glances, their expressions skeptical. The taller of the two, her hair a dark tangle around her face, spoke first. "What you want from us?" she demanded, her voice rough and hesitant.

Lyan smiled slightly, leaning against the cell door. "I want to understand your people," he said, his tone gentle but firm. "Why you attacked us, what your plans were. I’m offering you a chance to avoid any further conflict."

The second woman, shorter but equally fierce, snorted. "You think we tell you? You kill our people, take us prisoner. We have nothing to say to you."

Lyan nodded, as if considering her words. He stepped closer, his eyes never leaving theirs. "I understand your anger," he said softly. "But your chief is dead. You have a choice now: to honor his memory by continuing this cycle of violence or to choose a different path."

The taller woman narrowed her eyes. "What path? We are warriors. This is our way."

Lyan’s smile widened, a hint of something more dangerous in his expression. "Perhaps. But there are other ways to fight, other ways to prove your strength." He paused, then added, his voice dropping to a lower, more intimate tone, "And other ways to find pleasure in this world."

The women blinked, their confusion evident. Lyan took another step closer, his presence almost magnetic. "I can show you things you’ve never experienced," he murmured, his voice like silk. "But you have to trust me. Let go of your fear, and let me show you a different kind of power."

As he spoke, Lyan subtly cast a spell, a gentle wave of aphrodisiac magic that filled the cell. The magic was designed to heighten the senses, to stir the blood and inflame desire. It was a skill he had honed during his time as an incubus, and he wielded it now with practiced ease.

The women stiffened, their eyes widening as the magic took hold. They exchanged another glance, this one filled with a mix of uncertainty and something else—something more primal. Lyan watched them, his smile deepening as he saw the effect of his magic.

He reached out, gently touching the taller woman’s cheek. She flinched but didn’t pull away. "What’s your name?" Lyan asked softly, his thumb brushing over her skin.

The woman hesitated, then answered, her voice barely a whisper. "Tara."

Lyan nodded, then turned his gaze to the second woman. "And you?"

The second woman swallowed hard, her eyes locked on his. "Lara," she replied, her voice trembling slightly.

Lyan’s smile widened, and he stepped even closer, his presence dominating the small space. "Tara, Lara," he murmured, his voice like a caress. "You are both beautiful, strong women. I can see why your chief chose you."

He leaned in, his breath warm against Tara’s ear. "But he’s gone now," he whispered, his tone soothing. "And you’re here, with me. I can give you a new life, a new purpose. All you have to do is trust me."

Tara shivered, her breath hitching as she felt the full force of Lyan’s magic. The aphrodisiac spell was working its way through her system, heightening her senses and making her acutely aware of every touch, every breath. She glanced at Lara, seeing the same effect in her eyes—dilated pupils, quickened breathing.

Lyan’s hand slid down to Tara’s neck, his fingers gentle but insistent. "Let me show you," he murmured, his lips brushing against her skin. "Let me make you feel things you’ve never felt before."

Tara’s resolve wavered, her body responding to Lyan’s touch despite her instincts to resist. She glanced at Lara again, seeing the same conflict in her eyes. But there was also a spark of curiosity, of something deeper—an unspoken desire to experience the unknown.

Lyan sensed their hesitation, and he pressed his advantage. He leaned closer, his lips just a breath away from Tara’s. "I promise, you won’t regret this," he whispered, his voice a seductive purr.

Tara’s breath caught in her throat, her body trembling with anticipation. She glanced at Lara one last time, then slowly nodded. "Show us," she murmured, her voice barely audible.

Lyan’s smile widened, and he closed the distance between them, capturing Tara’s lips in a slow, deliberate kiss. She gasped, her body reacting instinctively to the intensity of the sensation. The kiss deepened, Lyan’s tongue exploring her mouth with a practiced skill that left her breathless.