Lord Summoner's Freedom Philosophy: Grimoire of Love
Chapter 358: The Hidden Woman

Chapter 358: The Hidden Woman

The gates of Hektor’s stronghold creaked as Lyan walked through, his dark cloak trailing behind him. The air outside felt heavy, weighed down by the aftermath of the battle. The cheers of his soldiers, the scent of smoke from the torches, and the clinking of armor from his troops should have filled him with a sense of victory. And yet, it didn’t. Victory was clear—he had taken Hektor’s stronghold, defeated his forces, and the remnants of resistance were scattering like frightened birds. But it wasn’t a sweet victory. War never was.

Lyan’s steps slowed as the memories started creeping in, unbidden but relentless. Flashes of his former life—images he had buried deep but could never truly forget—surged through his mind. His comrades. One by one, they had fallen in the endless war against the demons, their faces seared into his memory. The sounds of battle, the cries of pain, the endless march of death had been his constant companions. Back then, he had managed to tolerate it, to push forward, because it had been a war between demons, a fight for survival. But now...

His hand clenched tightly around the hilt of his glaive, the cool metal grounding him in the present. Now, it was different. This was a war between humans. He had once fought for the human race, bled for them, stood at the frontlines as their protector. And now, here he was, cutting them down. Killing them. He shook his head, the weight of his own hypocrisy pressing down on him. He felt like a hypocrite, a man who had turned his back on the very people he once swore to defend.

The faces of the soldiers he had killed today blurred together in his mind, nameless, faceless men who had likely been fighting for their families, their homes, just like he once had. And yet, he had cut them down without hesitation, driven by the necessity of war. His eyes grew distant as he remembered his old comrades, the way they had laughed and fought side by side with him. One by one, they had died, their laughter replaced by silence, their warmth by cold, unfeeling bodies lying in the mud.

Lyan felt his breath hitch, his chest tightening with a familiar sadness that he hadn’t felt in years. He had nearly lost himself back then, almost gone mad from the weight of the endless carnage. And now, here he was again, fighting another war, except this time, it wasn’t against demons. It was against his own kind. The thought twisted inside him like a knife, leaving him feeling hollow.

But he kept walking, forcing himself to stay present. The battle was over, but the weight of its aftermath was only beginning to settle in. His soldiers had done their duty, and so had he. But duty, it seemed, had never been more bitter.

Just as he was about to leave the gates behind him, a voice rang out—sharp, fierce, filled with both anger and desperation. "Don’t come any closer!"

Lyan’s ears perked up, and his eyes snapped toward the source of the voice. It was a woman’s voice, strong-willed and protective. His brow furrowed as he quickly followed the sound, his instincts kicking in. His mind flashed back to something—Lucan. Hektor’s son had mentioned his wife in their final moments. A bet, a twisted promise to offer her up if Lucan lost. Lyan cursed under his breath. That bastard had really done it—left his wife and child alone in the chaos.

He moved quickly, weaving through the aftermath of the battle until he found the source of the voice. There, near the back of a crumbling building, he saw her. A woman, standing in front of a small child, her arms spread wide in a protective stance. Her blonde hair caught the light of the torches, and her eyes blazed with defiance. She was cornered by two soldiers, but something was off—Lyan’s sharp eyes picked up on it immediately. They weren’t his men.

Undead hobgoblins clad in knight armor. He sighed in relief, though the woman wouldn’t know it. "Safe," he muttered under his breath. At least the child wasn’t in immediate danger.

As he approached, the woman turned her fierce gaze on him, her voice trembling but strong. "Where is Lucan? My husband swore he would win... where is he?" Her eyes were wide, glistening with tears she hadn’t yet let fall, but her voice remained steady, determined. "He promised me."

Lyan’s heart sank. He could feel the weight of her expectation, the hope she clung to like a lifeline. His lips pressed into a thin line as he considered his words. He couldn’t soften the blow; the truth was too harsh, too final.

"He lost," Lyan said quietly, his gaze meeting hers. "To me. And so did Hektor."

The woman’s face twisted in disbelief, and she took a step back, her grip on her child tightening. "No... that can’t be..."

"This place," Lyan continued, his voice steady but firm, "is under the jurisdiction of Grafen now. The throne has sanctioned the takeover. Everyone, including Hektor’s family, will face consequences. That includes you."

Her hands trembled as she pulled her child closer, her gaze hardening into a glare. "You’re here to punish us then? To take everything from us?" Her voice wavered, but the steel in her eyes remained.

Lyan shook his head. "I’m not here for revenge. But the throne will decide your fate." He glanced down at the child, who was peeking out from behind his mother’s skirts, wide-eyed and confused. The sight stirred something in him, a memory of his own comrades’ children, of those left behind when the war took them.

As Lyan’s gaze lingered on the woman, another thought crept into his mind. He blinked, taken aback for a moment. She was beautiful—no, stunning, with her fierce personality and striking features. Her blonde hair framed her face in soft waves, and despite the situation, she carried herself with a strength that only added to her allure. His eyes, always quick to notice the details of a woman’s body, traced her form, lingering longer than they should have.

(What the hell am I thinking?)

He mentally shook himself, trying to push the thought away. Was it the adrenaline from the battle? The surge of excitement that always followed a fight? Whatever it was, he needed to focus. He wasn’t here for that. This woman and her child needed protection, not his wandering thoughts.

Lyan cleared his throat, forcing his gaze away from her figure and back to her eyes. "Your child needs shelter," he said, his voice softer now. "And so do you. I’ll see to it that you’re both safe, for now."

He removed his cloak and draped it over her shoulders, his fingers brushing against her arm as he did. Her body tensed, and she looked up at him, startled.

"Go back to your chambers," Lyan whispered, his voice low. "Lock the doors. It’s not safe here for long." He turned his attention to the undead hobgoblin knights nearby and signaled one of them. "Guard her. Make sure no one gets near."

The hobgoblin knight gave a low grunt of acknowledgment, stepping forward to stand watch over the woman and her child.

She stared at him, her eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and anger. "You’re just going to leave us? After everything... after Lucan..."

Lyan placed a hand over his mouth for a brief moment, trying to keep his emotions in check. "This is for the good of your son," he murmured, his eyes briefly flicking to the boy. "You’ll be safer if you stay hidden."

Before she could respond, he turned on his heel and walked away, his mind already racing with the next steps he needed to take. Her voice called out after him, but he didn’t stop, didn’t look back. He had given her what protection he could for now. There were bigger battles yet to come, and he couldn’t afford to be distracted.

But as he walked away, his mind drifted back to her face, her fierce gaze, and for just a moment, he couldn’t shake the thought that maybe—just maybe—he had been more distracted than he’d like to admit.

As Lyan strode away, his thoughts wandered back to the woman, and he couldn’t help but replay the image of her fierce gaze in his mind. But it wasn’t just her determination that lingered—it was her body. He caught himself imagining the subtle curve of her chest beneath the cloak he’d draped over her.

(Her breasts... they must be full,)

He thought, his mind slipping back to how she had held her son. She was still breastfeeding, no doubt, and the thought only made the image more vivid. Her figure was curvy, her body full in ways that made him swallow hard. The way her waist tapered down, the soft lines of her hips. And her face—gorgeous, framed by that golden hair, with a fire in her eyes that had stirred something primal within him.

He shook his head, forcing himself to focus.

(What the hell am I thinking? After a battle like this...)

He glanced at his hands, still trembling slightly from the adrenaline. He clenched them into fists. "I need to have the girls relieve me first, I guess," he muttered under his breath, his thoughts drifting to his trusted companions, knowing they’d help ease the tension coursing through him.

Of course, through pleasure.