Lord Summoner's Freedom Philosophy: Grimoire of Love
Chapter 322: The Mountain Tribes (2) The Chief Tournament

Chapter 322: The Mountain Tribes (2) The Chief Tournament

The tournament’s first round concluded with a cheer from the crowd as the victor raised his fists in triumph. Lyan watched closely, noting the nuances of the fighters’ techniques and the reactions of the tribe. The mountain tribe’s customs were on full display, a blend of primal strength and deep-rooted traditions.

As the next round began, Lyan stepped into the arena. His opponent was a burly warrior named Grom, known for his brute strength and aggressive fighting style. Grom’s body was covered in scars, each one a testament to battles fought and survived. He stood with a confident grin, sizing Lyan up.

"You small," Grom taunted, his voice rough and deep. "Not much meat. You break easy."

Lyan smiled, rolling his shoulders to loosen up. "We’ll see about that," he replied calmly, his eyes focused on Grom’s every move.

The elder, overseeing the tournament, signaled for the fight to begin. Grom lunged forward, his massive arms swinging with surprising speed. Lyan sidestepped the first blow, feeling the rush of air as Grom’s fist grazed past him. The crowd gasped, clearly impressed by Grom’s strength and Lyan’s quick reflexes.

Lyan moved with a fluid grace, his movements precise and controlled. He ducked under another wild swing, stepping in close to deliver a sharp jab to Grom’s ribs. Grom grunted, more surprised than hurt, and swung his arm back in a sweeping arc. Lyan ducked again, his eyes never leaving Grom’s, reading the warrior’s intentions with practiced ease.

"Fast! Too fast!" one of the tribesmen shouted, his voice filled with awe.

"Like wind! Can’t catch!" another added, eyes wide with excitement.

Grom growled in frustration, his movements becoming more erratic. He swung wildly, trying to corner Lyan against the edge of the arena. But Lyan was always one step ahead, dodging and weaving with a dancer’s agility. He countered with quick strikes, targeting Grom’s joints and weak spots, each hit precise and calculated.

The crowd watched in growing anticipation, murmurs of approval and surprise rippling through them. Lyan’s strategy was becoming clear: wear Grom down, let him tire himself out. It was a stark contrast to the tribe’s usual brute-force approach, and the people were intrigued.

"Smart fight," a woman commented, nodding thoughtfully. "He use brain, not just muscle."

"Yes, but can he last?" another man questioned, his tone skeptical. "Grom strong, can take many hits."

Grom, panting and visibly frustrated, bellowed in rage. "Fight like man! Stand and fight!"

Lyan smirked, dodging another swing. "You want me to stand still? That doesn’t seem very smart, does it?" He ducked under a haymaker and delivered a swift kick to Grom’s knee, causing the larger man to stumble.

With a roar, Grom charged again, but his movements were slower, more desperate. Lyan seized the opportunity, darting in and delivering a flurry of punches to Grom’s midsection. Grom doubled over, gasping for breath, and Lyan finished with a solid uppercut that sent the big man crashing to the ground.

The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, clearly impressed by Lyan’s performance. The elder raised her hand, declaring Lyan the winner. Grom, groaning, slowly got to his feet, nodding in grudging respect.

"You strong. Not just muscle, but smart too," Grom admitted, rubbing his jaw. "You fight good."

Lyan nodded, offering a hand to help Grom up. "Thank you. You fought well too. Strong and fierce."

Grom grinned, showing a missing tooth. "Maybe you right for chief. We see."

As the day wore on, Lyan faced several more challengers. Each match was a test not just of physical strength, but also of strategy and leadership. One match involved a puzzle that required quick thinking and problem-solving, another tested their knowledge of the tribe’s history and customs. Lyan excelled in each, using his analytical mind and adaptability to outmaneuver his opponents.

One of the more challenging matches was against a warrior named Roga, known for his speed and agility. The two danced around the arena, trading blows and feints. Roga was quick, almost too quick for the eye to follow, but Lyan kept up, matching his speed and predicting his moves.

Roga smirked, circling Lyan. "You fast too, like wind. But wind can be caught."

Lyan chuckled, keeping his stance light. "Maybe, but I’m more like a storm. Harder to pin down."

The crowd laughed at the banter, clearly enjoying the spectacle. The match continued with Roga launching a series of rapid strikes, each one deflected or dodged by Lyan. The two fighters moved in a blur, their movements a testament to their skill and training.

In a decisive moment, Lyan feigned a stumble, drawing Roga in. As Roga lunged, Lyan sidestepped and caught him with a spinning kick to the side. Roga went down, rolling to absorb the impact, but Lyan was on him in an instant, pinning him to the ground.

Roga grinned, tapping the ground in submission. "Good fight. You fast, like wind and storm."

Lyan helped him up, smiling. "You too. Fast and clever."

The crowd cheered again, clearly impressed by Lyan’s versatility and skill. The elder nodded approvingly, her eyes gleaming with interest. "He not just strong. He think, he adapt. Good qualities for chief."

As the sun began to set, the final match was announced. Lyan would face the tribe’s strongest contender, a warrior named Krog. Krog was a giant of a man, towering over everyone else, his muscles rippling with power. He had a reputation for being nearly unbeatable, his strength and endurance legendary.

The tribe gathered around the arena, the atmosphere electric with anticipation. This was the match everyone had been waiting for, the final test to determine if Lyan was truly worthy of being chief.

Krog stepped into the arena, his expression stoic but intense. He looked down at Lyan, his eyes narrowing. "You strong, fight good. But I stronger. I chief."

Lyan met his gaze, unflinching. "We’ll see, won’t we?"

The elder signaled for the match to begin, and the crowd fell silent. Krog moved with surprising speed for his size, lunging at Lyan with a powerful swing. Lyan dodged, but the force of the blow sent a gust of wind past him, a testament to Krog’s strength.

Lyan knew he couldn’t match Krog’s raw power, so he focused on outmaneuvering him. He danced around the larger man, darting in with quick jabs and kicks, aiming for weak spots. Krog grunted with each hit but seemed unfazed, his thick skin absorbing much of the impact.

The crowd watched in rapt attention, murmurs of awe and concern rippling through them. "Can he do it? Krog too strong," one man muttered.

"He fast, but Krog like mountain. Hard to move," another agreed.

Krog swung again, this time catching Lyan off guard. The blow grazed Lyan’s shoulder, sending him stumbling back. The crowd gasped, and Lyan felt the sting of pain shoot through his arm. He shook it off, focusing on his breathing and stance.

Krog advanced, his fists clenched. "You good, but not enough. Give up."

Lyan smirked, wiping a trickle of blood from his lip. "Not a chance."

He feinted to the left, then darted right, aiming a low kick at Krog’s knee. The larger man staggered but recovered quickly, swinging a backhanded fist at Lyan. Lyan ducked, rolling to the side and springing to his feet. He knew he needed to find an opening, a way to exploit Krog’s size and strength against him.

As Krog advanced again, Lyan saw his chance. He feinted another attack, then dropped low, sweeping Krog’s legs out from under him. Krog fell with a thud, the ground shaking from the impact. The crowd gasped, leaning in closer to see the outcome.

Lyan didn’t hesitate. He jumped onto Krog’s back, wrapping an arm around his neck in a chokehold. Krog roared, struggling to shake him off, but Lyan held on, tightening his grip. The larger man thrashed, trying to stand, but Lyan’s weight and leverage kept him pinned.

The crowd watched in stunned silence as Krog’s struggles weakened. Finally, with a low growl, Krog tapped the ground in submission. The elder stepped forward, her voice ringing out.

"Lyan win! Lyan new chief!"

The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, their excitement palpable. Lyan released Krog, helping him to his feet. Krog looked down at Lyan, a grudging respect in his eyes.

"You strong. You chief now," Krog rumbled, nodding.

Lyan smiled, clasping Krog’s hand. "Thank you. You fought well."

The tribe gathered around, cheering and clapping, their faces alight with excitement. The elder approached Lyan, placing a ceremonial headdress on his head.

"You prove strength, wisdom, and respect. You earn right to be chief. Lead us well," Lara said, her voice filled with pride.

"Yes! Lyan’s strong! You suit to be chief! Very strong!!" Tara followed, her voice brimming with pride as well.

The both of them immediately ran towards Lyan, holding him like the both of them are his bride, while Josephine and the others looks at him with a chuckle.

But suddenly, a voice of condemn appeared.

"I don’t agree! You don’t suit as chief!!"