Lord Summoner's Freedom Philosophy: Grimoire of Love
Chapter 352: The War of Nobles (4) The Pincer Began

Chapter 352: The War of Nobles (4) The Pincer Began

Lyan’s forces moved with the silent grace of predators. The cold air of the night brushed against their skin as they slipped through the narrow cave passages, their footsteps muffled by the rocky ground beneath them. The moon was high in the sky, casting a faint glow over the hills that surrounded Hektor’s stronghold. Lyan, at the head of his soldiers, kept his gaze sharp, every sense attuned to the subtle signs of movement around them. His mind, as always, was focused on the task at hand. There could be no mistakes.

The plan had been simple enough—Wilhelmina’s forces would lead a frontal assault, drawing Hektor’s attention while Lyan’s forces moved in from the rear. They’d catch Hektor’s army in a deadly pincer, crushing them between two fronts before they had a chance to react. It was a strategy Lyan had used before, but tonight the stakes were higher. Hektor, humiliated after the defeat at Grafen, was desperate. He would fight harder than ever, and desperate men were dangerous.

Surena, who was leading the vanguard, halted just ahead of him, her hand raised in a signal. Lyan’s forces came to a stop behind her, the quiet rustle of armor the only sound that filled the cave. She turned, her expression unreadable, but her eyes gleamed with the thrill of the hunt.

"We’re close," she whispered, her voice barely a breath in the cool air. "No sign of patrols. Hektor’s focused on the front."

Lyan nodded, his eyes narrowing as he thought through the next steps. "Good. We’ll keep it that way. How far until we emerge from the caves?"

"Just a little further. We’ll be right behind them," Raine replied, glancing over her shoulder at the small flicker of light from Hektor’s campfires in the distance.

Lyan’s heart quickened as he felt the moment approaching. Victory was close, and the anticipation of it thrummed through his veins like a pulse. He turned to the men behind him—his soldiers, trained by the Valkyries, hardened by the battles they’d fought at his side. Their eyes gleamed with the same quiet determination.

"Remember," Lyan whispered, his voice carrying just enough weight for his troops to hear. "No mercy. Hektor thinks he can rebuild his forces. We’ll show him he’s wrong."

The men nodded silently, and Lyan’s gaze flickered to Abraham, who stood a little further back, cloaked in shadows. The assassin was always quiet, always calm, but there was an intensity in his eyes tonight. His mission was clear—eliminate Hektor’s commanders, cause chaos in their ranks, and weaken the leadership. Abraham caught Lyan’s gaze and gave a slight nod. He knew what had to be done.

They moved again, slipping through the caves until, finally, the passage widened, and they emerged at the rear of Hektor’s camp. The enemy soldiers had no idea they were there. Lyan could see Wilhelmina’s forces in the distance, already clashing with the front lines of Hektor’s army. The sounds of battle echoed through the valley—metal clashing against metal, the cries of soldiers, the distant roar of siege engines.

"Go," Lyan whispered to Surena, his voice steady. "Begin the attack."

With a nod, Surena signaled the vanguard, and within moments, Lyan’s forces surged forward, breaking out of the shadows and crashing into Hektor’s rear lines. The enemy soldiers barely had time to react. Their confusion was immediate—shouts of alarm rose as Lyan’s men struck hard and fast, cutting down the first line of defense with brutal efficiency.

The chaos was everything Lyan had hoped for. As his forces tore through Hektor’s rear guard, the soldiers who had been focusing on Wilhelmina’s assault turned in confusion, realizing too late that they were surrounded. The pincer maneuver had begun to take effect, and Hektor’s army was caught between the two fronts, their formations breaking down as panic spread through the ranks.

Lyan moved like a shadow through the battlefield, his blade flashing in the dim light as he cut down one soldier after another. His movements were fluid, calculated—he wasted no energy, every strike deadly and precise. His focus was unwavering, his senses sharp, but even in the midst of battle, his thoughts were already on the next step. Hektor. He had to find Hektor.

The battlefield was a swirling mass of chaos—soldiers clashing, screams of pain, the sounds of armor crashing to the ground as bodies fell. Through it all, Lyan kept moving forward, his eyes scanning the battlefield for the one man who mattered most. Hektor wouldn’t be hiding behind his walls. He was too proud, too desperate to leave the fight to his soldiers.

And then, in the distance, Lyan saw him.

Hektor emerged from the stronghold, his armor gleaming in the flickering light of the campfires. His expression was twisted with fury, his eyes wild as he surveyed the chaos around him. He barked orders to his commanders, rallying what remained of his forces, trying to salvage a battle that was already slipping out of his control.

"Rally the men! Hold the rear! Don’t let them through!" Hektor’s voice boomed over the battlefield, his presence unmistakable.

Lyan’s lips curled into a grim smile. This was it. The endgame.

But before Lyan could close the distance, a wave of enemy soldiers surged toward him, their swords raised. Lyan’s blade flashed, parrying one attack, then another. The clash of steel rang out as he fought his way through them, his movements a blur of deadly precision. His focus never wavered, but the fight was fierce—Hektor’s commanders had managed to rally parts of the army, and the close combat was intense.

It was then that Lyan saw a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. Abraham, cloaked in darkness, had slipped into the heart of Hektor’s camp. The assassin moved like a ghost, his daggers flashing in the dim light as he struck down one of Hektor’s officers with a swift, silent blow. Then another. The commanders who had been rallying Hektor’s forces began to fall, one by one, their leadership crumbling under the precision of Abraham’s strikes.

With each death, the chaos in Hektor’s army grew. Soldiers, confused and leaderless, began to break formation, retreating in disarray as Lyan’s forces pressed the attack. The pincer was closing, and Hektor’s men were being crushed between the two fronts. But even as his commanders fell, Hektor refused to back down.

The desperate lord let out a roar of fury and charged forward, his sword gleaming as he led a group of his personal guard in a last, desperate attempt to turn the tide of battle. Lyan watched as Hektor cut through the lines, his strikes powerful but wild, driven by desperation. His personal guard followed, their loyalty unwavering as they fought with a savage intensity that even Lyan’s forces struggled to contain.

For a moment, it seemed as though Hektor might rally his men. But Lyan was ready.

He pushed through the enemy lines, cutting down any who stood in his way, until finally, he found himself face to face with Lucan. Hektor’s son, his expression twisted with conflict, stood in the midst of the battlefield, his sword drawn but his posture hesitant.

"You don’t want this," Lyan said, his voice calm despite the chaos around them. "This is your chance to end it. Walk away."

Lucan’s grip tightened on his sword, his eyes flickering with uncertainty. Behind him, the battle raged on, but in that moment, it was as though the world had narrowed to just the two of them.

"I can’t," Lucan said, his voice hoarse. "I can’t leave him."

Lyan sighed, a flicker of sympathy crossing his face. "You don’t owe him anything, Lucan. You know that."

But Lucan shook his head, his jaw set with grim determination. "He’s my father."

Lucan’s eyes flickered with uncertainty, but the moment he tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, Lyan knew there would be no turning back. The young warrior had made his choice, even if it was one rooted in loyalty and fear rather than strength. Lyan could respect that. But respect wouldn’t stop the inevitable.

William also told him to eradicate Hektor. It means that he’s the enemy of the kingdom as well.

"As a newly appointed noble, I need to butter up the upper echelons, after all,"

Without a word, Lucan charged, his blade flashing in the dim light of the battlefield. Lyan stood his ground, his expression calm as he raised his hand, and with a surge of magical energy, brandished his glaive into existence. The massive weapon that he drew shimmered with arcane power, the blade gleaming like a crescent moon as it hovered in the air before settling into Lyan’s grip. The air seemed to vibrate around him as he twirled it once, its sheer weight and presence sending a gust of wind that scattered dust and debris.

Lucan reached him, his sword raised high. He swung with all the fury and desperation of a son fighting for his father, but Lyan moved with the grace of a predator. The glaive met Lucan’s sword with a resounding clang, and the force of the impact sent vibrations up both their arms. Lucan staggered back, his eyes wide with shock, but Lyan merely shifted his stance, his expression unchanged.

The fight had begun.