Lord Summoner's Freedom Philosophy: Grimoire of Love
Chapter 353: The War of Nobles (5) The Peculiar Noble Son

Chapter 353: The War of Nobles (5) The Peculiar Noble Son

Lucan’s heart pounded in his chest as he squared off against Lyan, his grip tightening around the hilt of his flaming sword. His armor, glowing faintly with the enchantments woven into it, seemed to pulse in rhythm with his heartbeat. The air between them was thick with tension, the battle raging around them fading into the background as Lucan focused solely on the man before him.

(He’s strong...)

Lucan thought, sweat dripping down his brow. The very presence of Lyan was overwhelming, like a force of nature that couldn’t be contained. His eyes flickered to the massive glaive in Lyan’s hand, the blade shimmering with magical energy. One swing from that weapon had sent soldiers flying, cutting through steel and bone like they were nothing. Lucan had seen it with his own eyes, had watched as men who tried to help him were blasted away in the blink of an eye. And yet, Lyan stood there, calm and unshaken, as if this battle was nothing more than a mild inconvenience.

Lucan’s magic sword flared to life, flames licking up the blade as he readied himself. His mind raced, searching for an opening. (I guess I should attack from here!) His thoughts sharpened, and with a quick chant under his breath, he moved.

He lunged forward, his sword blazing through the air toward Lyan’s flank. The heat from the blade shimmered in the cold night air as it arced down in a perfect strike. Lucan could feel the anticipation rise in his chest—this was it. He had found a weak spot, he was sure of it. But just as his sword was about to connect, Lyan’s glaive shifted, moving with impossible speed for its size.

CLANG!

The sound of metal on metal echoed, and Lucan’s sword was deflected with a casual flick of Lyan’s weapon.

"You’ll have to do more than that," Lyan said, his voice calm, almost amused.

(How... how did he block that?)

Lucan’s heart dropped for a moment, his breath catching in his throat. He leaped back instinctively, his eyes wide as Lyan stood there, unharmed and unmoved.

(That’s close...)

He could feel his chest tighten, but he forced himself to focus. There was no time to panic.

He rushed in again, this time weaving between the soldiers that tried to engage Lyan. A pair of them swung their blades at Lyan’s back, but with a single sweep of his glaive, they were thrown off their feet, their armor crumpling under the sheer force. It was like watching a storm tear through a forest, Lyan’s movements precise and devastating, his massive weapon dancing in his hands like it weighed nothing at all.

Lucan gritted his teeth. He couldn’t allow himself to be distracted.

(Focus... focus!)

He channeled his magic through his sword, the flames intensifying. This time, he would attack with everything he had.

"Flames of the inferno, grant me strength!" Lucan muttered the chant under his breath, and his sword flared even brighter, the fire swirling around the blade, growing more intense with each passing second. He dashed to Lyan’s side, his sword a blur of fiery light as he aimed another strike at Lyan’s midsection. The heat of the blade burned through the air, crackling with power.

(There!)

Lucan thought as the blade neared its target.

(I got-)

CLANG!

Lyan blocked again, his glaive meeting Lucan’s fiery sword with a swift and effortless motion. The clash sent sparks flying, the force of the blow reverberating up Lucan’s arms. He stumbled back, his heart pounding in his chest, the weight of Lyan’s words hanging heavy in the air.

"Better," Lyan said, his tone still calm. "But not enough."

Lucan’s heart felt like it had turned to ice.

(That was my strongest strike...) He jumped back, putting distance between them, his chest heaving with exertion.

(How is he so strong? How can he fight like this, like it’s nothing? I supposed to be quite strong in this kingdom as well!)

The thought raced through his mind, but he forced it down. He couldn’t let doubt creep in now.

(One more... one more strike.)

He steadied himself, his eyes narrowing. He would end this with one final blow. Gathering every ounce of strength, every drop of magic, he raised his sword high, chanting softly under his breath. The flames around the blade grew hotter, wilder, licking at the sky as he poured all of his magic into the weapon.

Lyan, standing a few paces away, watched him calmly, the faintest hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. He twirled his glaive once, the air humming with power as the massive weapon cut through it. His eyes met Lucan’s, and in that moment, Lucan knew that Lyan understood exactly what he was planning.

"You’re serious, then?" Lyan said, his voice low, but with a strange warmth behind it. He adjusted his stance, readying his glaive.

"Alright. Let’s finish this."

Lyan stood still, watching as Lucan gathered every ounce of his strength for what would clearly be his final strike. The flames around Lucan’s sword grew wilder, casting an ominous glow that flickered and danced in the wind. Despite the intensity of the moment, Lyan’s calm demeanor never wavered. He couldn’t help but feel a sliver of respect for Lucan’s resolve, but that didn’t change the outcome he knew was inevitable.

"You don’t have to do this," Lyan called out, his voice firm yet strangely gentle. "There’s still a chance for you to walk away. No shame in living to fight another day."

Lucan gritted his teeth, his eyes filled with a fire that matched the sword he wielded. "I won’t walk away. This ends here."

Lyan raised an eyebrow, almost impressed by the stubbornness. "You’re willing to throw everything away for this? I admire the spirit, but... you’re outmatched."

Lucan’s expression hardened. He didn’t respond immediately, but there was a glint in his eye, something that Lyan hadn’t noticed before. And then, as the fire around his sword blazed even hotter, Lyan saw it—the way Lucan’s stance subtly changed, the way his chest puffed out just a little more than before. It wasn’t confidence in his sword that Lyan noticed—it was something else entirely.

(What is this guy doing?)

Lyan thought, narrowing his eyes slightly as he observed Lucan. The young noble’s body language seemed odd, like he was trying to strike a pose—an almost heroic, defiant stance, one designed to look more... impressive than practical.

Lyan frowned, momentarily distracted by the strange shift in Lucan’s demeanor. "Wait a second... What’s with this hot pose?" he muttered under his breath, confused. Lucan’s expression had shifted, his eyes no longer just filled with determination but with something else—something that made Lyan feel like he was missing an important piece of the puzzle.

And then it hit him. Lyan’s gaze shifted briefly to the side, where Surena, Alice, Emilia, and the others stood watching the fight. Their eyes were focused on the duel, and Lyan realized with a small, incredulous smirk what Lucan was doing.

"Oh, I see," Lyan said, his tone laced with mild amusement. "You’re the type who gets aroused in battle, huh? You think you’re fighting for some grand prize... a prize like them." He motioned with his glaive toward the women watching from a distance. "Let me guess, you’re imagining them as your prize when you win this fight."

Lucan’s eyes glinted, and the barest hint of a smirk tugged at his lips. "If I win," he said, his voice low and charged with that same strange energy, "I’ll take those women as my reward."

Lyan’s eyes widened in surprise, and then he laughed—a low, disbelieving chuckle. "You think you can win and walk away with them? And here I thought you were the honorable, noble son of Hektor." He shook his head in disbelief. "What would I get if I win, then?"

Lucan’s expression darkened for a moment, and then he replied with a smug grin that seemed entirely out of character from the man Lyan had been fighting. "I’ll give you my wife."

Lyan froze, his face twisted in confusion. For a moment, there was complete silence between them as Lyan tried to process what he’d just heard. Then he blinked, taken aback.

"Wait... what?" Lyan muttered, his disbelief clear in his voice. "Did you just... change from an upright noble son to a perverted bastard in the blink of an eye?!" He stared at Lucan, genuinely unsure of what to make of this sudden shift in character. Just moments ago, Lucan had been full of pride and righteousness, and now... this?

Lucan didn’t flinch, standing his ground as if the bizarre proposition was entirely normal. His smirk remained in place, clearly believing that offering up his wife would somehow rattle Lyan or tip the balance in his favor.

Lyan rubbed his temple, exasperation creeping into his voice. "You’re an odd one, Lucan. Really odd. But alright," he said, lowering his glaive into a ready stance. "Let’s see if you can back up that big talk."

With that, the air around them seemed to grow even more charged, the tension building to a climax as the two warriors prepared for the final clash. The bizarre banter aside, Lucan’s resolve hadn’t wavered. He still meant to strike with everything he had, but now, Lyan couldn’t help but view him in an entirely different light.

This was no longer just a duel—it was a clash between two very different, very peculiar kinds of men.

And as Lyan’s grip tightened around his glaive, a small, amused smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. He had faced all kinds of opponents in his life, but this... this was going to be something else entirely.