Lord Summoner's Freedom Philosophy: Grimoire of Love
Chapter 355: Time To Finish The War

Chapter 355: Time To Finish The War

Lucan’s final scream tore through the battlefield as he charged, his sword blazing with the remnants of his magic. His legs pushed him forward, even though they trembled under the weight of exhaustion. His heart pounded in his chest, louder than the clashing of steel and the cries of soldiers.

(One last strike...)

The world seemed to blur around him as he focused solely on Lyan. He could barely feel the burning heat of his enchanted sword, barely notice the weight of his armor. All he could see was Lyan, calm and poised, the massive glaive shimmering in the pale moonlight, waiting for him.

And then, in an instant, it was over.

Lyan moved. His glaive, with a single, graceful arc, sliced through the air faster than Lucan could process. Lucan’s body, still in mid-stride, didn’t even have a chance to react as the gleaming blade cleaved through him.

The world seemed to slow down for a moment. Lucan’s vision blurred as his sword fell from his hands, the flames extinguishing before the blade even hit the ground. He felt weightless, as though his body had lost all connection to the earth. His vision tilted, and before he realized what had happened, his head was no longer attached to his body.

The sound of his head hitting the dirt echoed louder than the clamor of battle, and for a moment, the battlefield stilled as if the world itself was holding its breath.

Lucan’s body slumped to the ground, his once proud stance now nothing more than a crumpled heap of armor. Blood soaked the dirt, glistening under the moon’s soft glow.

The fight that had raged within him—the desperation, the pride, the need to prove himself—all disappeared in that single moment. His head rolled a few feet away, eyes still wide in shock, as if they hadn’t fully comprehended the reality of defeat.

Lyan stood there, his glaive lowered, watching Lucan’s headless body collapse to the ground. There was no malice in his eyes, no gloating in his stance. He didn’t relish this victory. He had merely done what needed to be done.

"He fought well," Lyan murmured under his breath, his voice almost respectful, as if he were offering a tribute to the fallen. He wiped his glaive clean of the blood and sheathed it behind him. The battlefield had grown eerily quiet, the soldiers around them seeming frozen in place, too stunned to react.

Not far from where the duel ended, Lyan’s Valkyries—Alice, Surena, Emilia, Wilhelmina, Josephine, Raine, and Ravia—had been watching the battle unfold. They had each been locked in their own fierce fights, but the moment Lucan’s head hit the ground, their attention shifted to Lyan.

"He killed him with one strike," Alice said, her voice barely above a whisper as she sliced through another enemy soldier, her eyes locked on Lyan’s figure. "Just like that."

"It’s like watching art," Surena muttered, her daggers flashing as she dispatched the last of her opponents. "Graceful... but deadly."

Emilia, her greatsword resting on her shoulder as she surveyed the field, chuckled darkly. "I told you. Lyan never fights without holding back. When he decides to end it, he ends it."

Josephine, standing a few feet away, blasted an enemy soldier with a pulse of magic, sending the man flying. She frowned slightly as her gaze shifted to the lifeless body of Lucan. "That boy... Lucan. He was supposed to be one of the strongest warriors in Hektor’s army."

Raine, her bow still drawn as she picked off the last of the stragglers, nodded. "He was. And yet, Lyan made it look like he was fighting a child."

Wilhelmina watched Lyan from a distance, her sharp eyes never leaving his form. "It’s not just strength. It’s control. Every move, every strike—it’s precise. He’s too strong for his own good."

Ravia, standing beside her sister, her blade still gleaming with the blood of her enemies, added, "And he does it with such ease. There’s no wasted movement. It’s like watching a predator hunt."

The women continued to fight, though the battle had already begun to tip in their favor. Lyan’s army, bolstered by their leader’s dominance, surged forward with renewed strength, cutting through Hektor’s forces with brutal efficiency.

But as they marveled at Lyan’s victory, their eyes were drawn to a different scene. Amidst the chaos of battle, a figure slipped through the shadows, retreating toward the safety of the stronghold.

It was Hektor.

Josephine’s eyes narrowed as she spotted him. "Look at him... He’s running."

Alice, still cutting down soldiers with deadly precision, glanced in Hektor’s direction. "Of course he’s running. He’s abandoning his son to save himself."

Wilhelmina’s face twisted in disgust as she watched Hektor’s figure disappear behind the stronghold’s gates, followed closely by his guards. "Coward. He didn’t even try to help Lucan."

Raine, loosing another arrow into an enemy soldier, spat on the ground. "What else do you expect? A man like Hektor only cares about one thing—himself."

The Valkyries fought harder, their strikes fueled by a cold fury as they watched Hektor flee. The sight of him abandoning his own son on the battlefield filled them with a burning hatred, and they tore through the remaining soldiers with renewed savagery.

But as the battle raged on, Lyan stood still for a moment, his eyes scanning the field. He had seen Hektor’s retreat as well, but he wasn’t concerned. The fight wasn’t over yet.

Lyan’s voice cut through the air, calm but commanding. "Leave the rest. Focus on the stronghold. Hektor won’t get far."

His words were a signal, and the Valkyries immediately shifted their focus. The remaining soldiers of Hektor’s army scattered like leaves in the wind, realizing that their leader had abandoned them. The battlefield, once filled with the sounds of clashing steel and cries of pain, now fell eerily silent as Lyan’s forces prepared for the final assault.

Josephine, her eyes still burning with rage, turned to Lyan. "What do we do about Hektor?"

Lyan’s gaze remained fixed on the distant stronghold, watching as the last flickers of torchlight from Hektor’s retreating figure disappeared into the gates. His voice was calm, almost cold. "He’s running. But he won’t escape. We’ll finish this."

Wilhelmina, ever the tactician, stepped forward, her brow furrowed as she considered their next move. "He’s lost most of his forces. What’s left of them will barely hold a defense. The stronghold won’t withstand a full assault, not with our army at full strength."

Lyan nodded, his expression unreadable but his intent clear. "We’ll regroup, gather our forces. Then we move in. This ends tonight."

The Valkyries, bloodied but still standing tall, shared a knowing look. They had seen Hektor’s cowardice, had watched him abandon his son and his men without hesitation. There was no mercy left for the man who had turned his back on everything he claimed to protect.

As Lyan’s forces began to gather around him, the battlefield fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the distant crackle of fire and the groans of the wounded. Lyan stood still for a moment, his eyes drawn to Lucan’s lifeless body lying in the dirt. The young man had fought bravely, perhaps even desperately, but bravery alone had never been enough.

Lyan let out a small breath, one that carried both respect and finality. "He had potential," he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else. But even potential couldn’t save someone from the harsh reality of war. Lyan had been through too many battles to know that.

Turning his back on the fallen warrior, Lyan began walking toward the stronghold, his army falling into formation behind him. The night air was thick with the scent of blood and smoke, swirling around them as the battlefield slowly quieted. The flickering flames from the burning siege engines cast long, eerie shadows over the land, dancing across the faces of the soldiers who marched with him.

For a moment, Lyan’s mind wandered to the final confrontation that awaited them. He could feel the weight of it settling over him like a shroud, pressing down with the inevitability of what was to come. Hektor had started this war—driven by greed, ambition, and arrogance—but Lyan would be the one to finish it. There would be no retreat, no negotiation, and no second chances.

As they moved toward the stronghold, the Valkyries marched beside him, their eyes locked on the dark silhouette of Hektor’s fortress in the distance. They had fought beside Lyan in countless battles, but this one felt different. There was an unspoken understanding between them—a knowledge that this was not just a battle for territory, but a reckoning.

The stronghold loomed in the distance, its stone walls tall and foreboding under the dim light of the moon. It was a fortress built to intimidate, to instill fear in those who dared to oppose the ruling lord within. But Lyan’s eyes remained steady, his resolve unshaken by the sight. It was just another wall to be torn down, another obstacle to be crushed underfoot.

He glanced at his army—men who had been hardened by his training, soldiers who had seen what true power looked like. They were ready. They were loyal. And they knew, just as Lyan did, that this night would be the last for Hektor’s reign.

"Prepare yourselves," Lyan called out to his troops, his voice carrying across the ranks. "We’re taking the city by dawn."

The soldiers straightened, their weapons glinting in the faint light as they readied themselves for the final push. There was no hesitation in their movements, no doubt in their minds. They trusted Lyan implicitly, and they knew he would lead them to victory.

And with that, the march toward Hektor’s final stand began, the end of a short, bloody war finally in sight.