Lord Summoner's Freedom Philosophy: Grimoire of Love
Chapter 402: The Mouse in The Party

Chapter 402: The Mouse in The Party

Lord Garrick moved with unease through the castle’s dimly lit side corridors, his eyes constantly darting about, searching for anyone who might be watching him. The banquet hall, filled with music, laughter, and noblemen enjoying themselves, was a distant echo behind him now. He’d chosen to slip away early, unnoticed among the hundreds of guests, each focused on their own enjoyment. A drop of sweat rolled down his temple as he hurried forward, the sound of his boots muffled against the carpeted floor.

The castle seemed different at night, away from the banquet—the corridors felt endless, the walls narrowing with every step he took, as if closing in on him. Garrick hated the silence; it was unnerving, and it made his fear bubble up. His hands shook slightly as he adjusted his cloak, making sure it covered most of his face. He was a man with much to lose, and this meeting was a reminder of just how much danger he had put himself in. Still, he had no choice—he needed the money, and the promises he’d received from the Varzadians were too tempting to pass up.

The corridor twisted and turned, leading him into a more secluded section of the castle, a place where very few ventured, especially during festivities. It was perfect for what he needed—a private meeting, hidden away from prying eyes. He finally stopped in front of an old wooden door, its surface scarred and worn from years of use. He glanced around one last time, ensuring he wasn’t being followed, then pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The room was dim, a single candle flickering on the table in the center, casting long, wavering shadows across the walls lined with books. The air was heavy, thick with the scent of old parchment and dust. Garrick moved towards the table, pulling out the chair and sinking into it. He drummed his fingers nervously, his eyes flicking towards the door every few seconds, waiting. He hated waiting—it only gave him more time to think about all the ways this could go wrong.

After what felt like an eternity, the door creaked open. Garrick’s heart jumped in his chest, and his eyes snapped towards the figure that slipped inside, closing the door silently behind them. The figure moved with confidence, their steps light, their hood drawn low to obscure their features. But Garrick knew who they were—he recognized the way they moved, the air of quiet authority they carried.

The hooded figure approached the table, their gloved hands resting on the back of the chair across from Garrick before they finally sat down. For a moment, silence hung between them, the only sound the crackling of the candle’s flame. The figure spoke first, their voice low, almost a whisper.

"You were late."

Garrick swallowed, his throat dry. "I had to make sure I wasn’t being followed," he replied, his voice cracking slightly. "This place is crawling with people tonight."

The figure leaned back, their face still obscured by the hood. "You should be more careful. If anyone suspects—"

"No one suspects anything," Garrick cut in, though his voice lacked conviction. He shifted in his seat, his fingers drumming against the table again. "I made sure of it."

The hooded figure was silent for a moment, then reached into their cloak, pulling out a rolled-up parchment. They placed it on the table, sliding it towards Garrick. He stared at it for a moment before hesitantly picking it up, unrolling it to reveal the contents. His eyes scanned the words, his face growing paler with each line.

"These are the updated instructions," the figure said, their tone cold. "We need everything—the current positions of the military, the forces aligned with the royal faction, and any plans for restructuring. You promised you could deliver."

Garrick’s hands trembled as he reached into his own cloak, pulling out a series of notes he’d prepared in advance. He placed them on the table, his gaze darting nervously to the figure. "It’s all here," he whispered. "Every detail you asked for. But..."

The figure’s head tilted slightly, a hint of impatience in their posture. "But what?"

Garrick licked his lips, his voice dropping to a desperate whisper. "I need more time. And more gold. This—this is dangerous. If anyone finds out, if they even suspect..."

The figure leaned forward, their face still hidden, but Garrick could feel the weight of their gaze on him. "You agreed to the terms, Garrick. You knew what was at stake. There is no turning back now." They tapped the parchment with a gloved finger. "The information had better be accurate. If it isn’t—or if you even think about betraying us—you know what will happen."

Garrick’s mouth went dry, and he nodded quickly, his eyes wide. "I—I know. I promise, it’s all accurate. Every word. Please, you have to understand—I’m risking everything here. I need assurances. I need to know that you’ll protect me."

The figure was silent for a long moment, then let out a quiet, almost disdainful sigh. "Assurances? Protection? You think Varzadia is in the business of offering protection to traitors?" They shook their head slowly. "You are valuable to us only as long as you provide useful information. Fail us, and you’ll be discarded—no one will even know you existed."

Garrick’s face went pale, and he swallowed hard, his eyes dropping to the notes on the table. He knew the risks—he’d known from the start. But hearing it put so plainly, so coldly, made his stomach twist in fear. He nodded slowly, his voice barely a whisper. "I understand. I’ll... I’ll keep delivering. Just... just keep your end of the deal."

The figure reached out, gathering the notes and slipping them into their cloak. They stood, their movements smooth and deliberate. "We will see. For your sake, Garrick, I hope you are telling the truth."

Garrick watched as they turned to leave, his heart pounding in his chest. But before they reached the door, the figure paused, glancing back at him. "And remember—if you are caught, if you so much as breathe a word of this to anyone... we will know. And you will not live to see another day."

Garrick’s breath caught in his throat, and he nodded frantically, his voice trembling. "I—I understand. I won’t say anything."

The figure watched him for a moment longer, then turned and slipped out of the room, the door closing softly behind them. Garrick let out a shaky breath, his entire body trembling. He felt as though the weight of the world was pressing down on him, and for a moment, he could barely move. He knew he had to get out of here, had to get back to the banquet before anyone noticed his absence.

He stood, his legs shaky as he moved towards the door. His hand lingered on the handle for a moment, his eyes staring at the closed door, almost as if expecting the figure to return. When nothing happened, he let out a soft, shaky breath and pulled the door open, slipping out into the corridor.

The castle felt colder now, the once familiar walls seeming more like a cage than a place of refuge. He moved quickly, his footsteps quiet as he retraced his steps back towards the banquet hall. He had to act normal—he couldn’t afford to let anyone see how shaken he was. His life depended on it.

As he reached the entrance to the banquet hall, he paused, taking a deep breath to steady himself. He adjusted his cloak, trying to wipe the fear from his face. He had to blend in, had to look like any other nobleman enjoying the festivities. He pushed open the doors, slipping back into the hall, the warmth and noise washing over him like a wave.

The music played, the laughter echoed, and the nobles danced and talked, oblivious to the danger that lurked in the shadows of their own castle. Garrick moved among them, his face pale, his heart pounding as he forced himself to exchange pleasantries, to smile and laugh as though nothing had happened. But every time someone looked at him, every time someone spoke to him, he felt his heart skip a beat, terrified that they somehow knew what he’d done.

He saw Lyan across the room, surrounded by a group of nobles, his expression calm and confident as he spoke with them. Garrick’s stomach twisted at the sight, and he quickly looked away, his eyes darting to the floor. He couldn’t let himself think about it—couldn’t let himself consider what would happen if someone like Lyan found out what he’d done.

He took a deep breath, his hands trembling slightly as he reached for a glass of wine from a passing servant’s tray. He downed it in one go, the warmth of the alcohol doing little to calm his nerves. He had to keep it together, had to keep playing his part. His life depended on it, and he wasn’t ready to die—not yet.

The Varzadian envoy, meanwhile, slipped out of the castle, their movements swift and calculated. They blended into the darkness of the night, disappearing into the shadows as though they had never been there. Their mission had been successful, and now they had the information they needed—the information that would help Varzadia take the next step in their plan, a step that could change the fate of Astellia and beyond.