Lord Summoner's Freedom Philosophy: Grimoire of Love
Chapter 349: The War of Nobles (1) The Suspicions

Chapter 349: The War of Nobles (1) The Suspicions

The clamor of war preparations filled the air. Soldiers in gleaming armor adjusted their shields and tightened their sword belts, while mercenaries checked their arrows and tested their blades. Lucan stood at the edge of the camp, watching as his father’s forces prepared for the coming siege on Grafen. His heart was heavy with doubt, and though his face betrayed none of it, he felt an unease settling deep inside him.

The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows over the camp. The banners of House Ravalos fluttered in the evening breeze, the deep crimson fabric rippling against the sky. The scent of freshly oiled armor and horse sweat mingled with the crispness of the coming night. But as the soldiers moved with purpose, as if on the brink of victory, Lucan could only think of Clarisse and their child back home. The image of her face—her soft smile, her violet eyes—was like a distant beacon in his mind.

The rhythmic thud of approaching footsteps pulled him from his thoughts. His father, Lord Hektor, approached, his armor gleaming in the fading sunlight. His expression was cold, determined, a mask of confidence that had long since become his most recognizable feature. Beside him were Lord Verlan, thickset and full of bluster, and Lady Astoria, her green eyes sharp and calculating as ever.

"Lucan," Hektor said, his voice steady. "It’s time. The final briefing."

Lucan nodded, suppressing the heaviness in his chest, and followed them to the command tent.

Inside, the atmosphere was tense but focused. A large map of Grafen and its surrounding areas was spread across the table, littered with markers representing the various forces in play. Hektor gestured to the southern gate, where Verlan’s mercenaries would lead the charge.

"We strike at dawn," Hektor said, his voice calm but filled with authority. "Verlan, your men will breach the southern gate. They’re stationed and ready?"

Verlan, leaning over the table, gave a short nod. "They’ve been harassing the trade routes for weeks. The people inside are starving. By now, Lyan’s forces will be stretched thin trying to keep order. My men are positioned to take advantage of that chaos."

Hektor turned to Lady Astoria. "And your forces?"

Astoria tapped her finger against the map, indicating the western side of the city. "My men are already inside, working from the shadows. The secret passages are still accessible, and when the time comes, we’ll infiltrate and take control of the key defenses. By the time Lyan realizes what’s happening, his entire army will be surrounded."

Lucan watched as the plan unfolded before him. It was a solid strategy—Verlan’s brute force, Astoria’s cunning, and Hektor’s leadership. But something nagged at the back of his mind. He had heard stories of Lyan Arkanium Evocatore, of the man who had risen from obscurity to rule Grafen, a man who commanded not only an army but strange and terrible creatures. A man who had fought for his power, who had been underestimated time and time again, only to emerge stronger.

"Are we certain about the reports?" Lucan asked suddenly, his voice breaking the quiet discussion. "Everything we’ve seen... it seems too easy."

Hektor’s eyes narrowed slightly, though he smiled at his son’s caution. "You’re right to question, Lucan. But the reports are consistent. Lyan’s forces are divided. His mercenaries grow restless, and his summoned creatures, while powerful, are scattered. He’s trying to hold on to too much. This is the perfect time to strike."

Lady Astoria’s lips curved into a smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. "There’s always a risk in war. But we have the advantage. Lyan’s arrogance will be his downfall."

Lucan nodded, though the unease remained. His father’s confidence was unshakable, and Verlan’s men were poised to tear through the southern gate. The plan was set. The fall of Grafen seemed inevitable. And yet...

Hours later, Lucan found himself standing alone on the outskirts of the camp, watching the moon rise over the distant hills. The soft glow of torchlight illuminated the rows of tents behind him, but his thoughts were far from the coming battle.

He had grown up in the shadow of his father’s ambitions, always striving to prove himself. And yet now, with a wife and child of his own, Lucan found himself questioning the very path he had been set on. The thought of returning home, of holding his son and feeling Clarisse’s warmth, had become more precious to him than all the lands and titles his father had promised.

"Lucan."

The voice was soft, familiar. Lucan turned to find Lady Astoria approaching, her elegant figure shrouded in the folds of her dark cloak. Her eyes gleamed in the moonlight, sharp and knowing.

"Lady Astoria," Lucan greeted her with a nod. "Is something the matter?"

She smiled, stepping closer. "I’ve been watching you. You’re troubled."

Lucan tensed slightly but gave a short nod. "It’s nothing. I’m just thinking about tomorrow."

Astoria’s gaze flickered to the horizon, where the distant lights of Grafen could just be seen. "I know the feeling. It’s always darkest before a battle, isn’t it?" She paused, her voice softening. "You’ve been a loyal son, Lucan. But there are times when a man must make decisions for himself."

Lucan’s brow furrowed. "What are you saying?"

Astoria stepped closer, her voice barely above a whisper. "Your father’s ambitions are... bold. But boldness can blind a man to the dangers in front of him. I’ve seen men like Lyan before. He’s not someone to be underestimated. And while your father may be confident in this plan, there are risks that could cost us all."

Lucan stiffened. "Do you doubt the plan?"

Astoria’s smile was thin. "I don’t doubt the plan. But I’m not blind to the possibility of failure. And if things go wrong, you need to be prepared."

Lucan felt a chill run down his spine. "What are you suggesting?"

"I’m suggesting that if the tide turns tomorrow, you think carefully about where your loyalties lie," Astoria said, her voice smooth and persuasive. "There are always ways to protect yourself—and your family."

Lucan’s heart raced. The image of Clarisse and their child flashed in his mind. "You think we’ll lose?"

Astoria’s eyes met his, cool and calculating. "I think there’s always a chance of losing. And if you find yourself on the wrong side of a battle with someone like Lyan, you’ll need to make hard choices."

Lucan swallowed hard, his thoughts racing. "I won’t betray my father."

Astoria’s smile widened slightly, but it wasn’t one of warmth. "Of course not. But remember, Lucan, a man’s first duty is to his family. Sometimes that means making difficult decisions."

With that, she turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving Lucan alone with his thoughts.

___

Dawn broke over the valley, the sky a muted pink and orange as the armies stirred. Lucan stood with his father and the other commanders, the weight of Astoria’s words still pressing on his mind. He glanced at Hektor, who was issuing orders with the same cold confidence as always. Verlan was already riding to the southern front, his mercenaries eager for blood.

The drums of war began to beat.

Lucan mounted his horse, ready to join his father’s forces at the eastern gate. The plan was clear: a multi-front assault to overwhelm Lyan’s defenses, with Verlan’s men breaching the southern gate and Astoria’s forces infiltrating from the west. His father’s soldiers would sweep in from the east, cutting off any escape.

But as the army began to move, Lucan’s eyes drifted toward the distant walls of Grafen, where shadows flickered against the ramparts. Something didn’t feel right. The air seemed too still, the city too quiet.

And then, as if in answer to his doubts, the first sounds of battle rang out. A distant shout, the clash of steel on steel. The siege had begun.

Lucan spurred his horse forward, riding alongside his father as their forces approached the eastern gate. In the distance, he could see Verlan’s mercenaries swarming the southern walls, battering rams in place, arrows raining down from Grafen’s defenses.

But something was wrong. The southern gate was too lightly defended. Lucan’s heart raced. This was supposed to be a heavily fortified position, but there were no signs of the chaos his father had predicted. The defenders were disciplined, precise.

"Father," Lucan said, his voice tense. "Something’s not right. It’s too quiet."

Hektor’s eyes flicked toward the gate, but his confidence remained unshaken. "We have the advantage. Verlan will breach the southern gate soon, and we’ll press the attack."

But even as Hektor spoke, Lucan saw it—the flicker of movement along the walls. A sudden burst of energy as living statues, undead soldiers, and summoned creatures appeared from hidden positions, descending upon Verlan’s mercenaries with terrifying speed.

It was an ambush.

Lucan’s blood ran cold as he realized the truth. They had been outplayed. The southern gate had been left open as bait, drawing Verlan’s forces into a trap.

"Father!" Lucan shouted, pulling his sword free. "It’s a trap!"

But it was too late.