Lord Summoner's Freedom Philosophy: Grimoire of Love
Chapter 424: Astellian First Blood

Chapter 424: Astellian First Blood

Lyan stood at the front of his troops, his breath heavy, his eyes focused on the retreating enemy. He raised his glaive, his voice filled with determination as he spoke.

"This is our chance! We’re taking the first blood!"

Lyan rode beside Alice, his expression calm but focused, the shaft of his glaive resting across his back. The horse beneath him stepped confidently, mirroring the aura of its rider. Lyan’s sharp eyes scanned the terrain ahead, taking in every detail, analyzing every rise and dip in the ground, preparing for what was to come. His companions, dressed in uniform armor with the crest of Astellia, followed behind with a precision that spoke of discipline.

Alice rode slightly ahead, her steely eyes reflecting the same determination Lyan wore. She turned to glance back at the troops, her gaze traveling over the focused faces of each soldier. Then, with a nod, Lyan gave her a smile—a signal of trust.

"Alice! I’m leaving it to you!" he called, his voice carrying easily over the rhythmic beat of their horses’ hooves.

Alice met his gaze, her lips curving into a confident smile. She straightened her posture, her presence radiating authority. The soldiers knew of her—the "Small General" of the legendary Mythril-ranked mercenary group, the Valkyries. There was no mistaking the determination in her eyes, and the soldiers listened attentively, their morale lifting as they looked to her for guidance.

"You heard the Baron! Everyone, prepare for engagement! Remember who you are fighting for. We fight for Astellia—for our families, our homes, and each other!" she declared, her voice strong and unwavering.

The soldiers responded with a unified cheer, the sound resonating across the field, filling the air with a sense of unity. Lyan remained silent but calm, his sharp gaze now resting on the horizon. He could see it all—the Varzadian advance, their forces steadily pushing forward, unaware of the trap waiting for them.

Alice raised her hand, and the motion rippled through the ranks like a wave. Soldiers moved into position, executing the orders with practiced precision. The crescent formation began to form, wide and expansive, designed to envelop the Varzadian advance.

"Form ranks!" Alice shouted, her voice cutting through the noise of movement. "Advance with discipline! Do not waver! Follow the Baron!"

The soldiers moved with practiced precision, the crescent expanding as they marched forward. The formation spread out wide, creating multiple points of engagement, intending to draw the enemy in. The confidence on Alice’s face was unmistakable, and her presence commanded the troops’ full focus. Lyan watched as she handled the troops, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"She’s something else," he thought, gripping the glaive across his back. His gaze flickered back to the enemy lines, and his smile faded, replaced by a look of cold determination.

It was time.

Lyan shifted in his saddle, sliding off his horse, his feet landing solidly on the ground. He raised his glaive, his voice ringing out over the battlefield.

"For Astellia! Leave no path for retreat!"

The Varzadian commander across the field turned his head sharply, his eyes widening as he watched Lyan’s forces move into position with unerring precision.

"Impossible!" he muttered, disbelief coloring his voice. "How do they know our moves so well?!"

Lyan gripped his glaive firmly, his gaze steady. He charged forward, his steps quick, his body moving with purpose as he led his forces directly into the heart of the Varzadian line. He could see the confusion in the eyes of the enemy soldiers, their disbelief palpable.

"One," Lyan whispered under his breath, the glaive slicing through the air, finding its mark. A Varzadian soldier fell, his eyes wide in shock. Lyan moved with fluidity, his strikes calculated, each movement precise.

"Two," he counted, his glaive sweeping through another opponent. The soldiers around him moved aside, fear flashing across their faces as they watched him. An officer—his face twisted in panic—yelled out.

"Who is this man?! He fights like a demon!"

Lyan ignored the words, his focus singular. His glaive moved with a rhythm that was almost like a dance, each strike deliberate. He could feel the weight of the battle, the chaos that surrounded him, but he remained unflinching.

"Three," he whispered, cutting down another. His movements were relentless, his strikes unwavering. He could see the fear in the eyes of the Varzadian soldiers, hear the whispers that spread among them as they tried to comprehend the force they were facing.

"Four... five... six... seven... eight..." Lyan’s focus never wavered, each step bringing him deeper into the enemy lines. He moved with the grace of a predator, sensing every shift in the battlefield. Suddenly, he saw someone charging at him from his left, his sword raised high. Lyan dodged swiftly, his body twisting with an agility that seemed almost inhuman. He spun around, his glaive slicing through the air, finding its mark with deadly accuracy. The Varzadian soldier fell, his eyes wide with shock.

"Nine... ten... eleven..." Lyan whispered, his strikes relentless. The soldiers around him hesitated, their fear growing with each of his calculated movements. Each time an enemy tried to attack, Lyan was ready, his glaive moving with precision that left no room for error.

"Twelve... thirteen... fourteen..." He could feel the weight of the battle, but he pushed forward, his focus unbroken. A group of five soldiers tried to rush him, their weapons raised in a desperate attempt to bring him down. Lyan moved like a shadow, his glaive spinning, each strike perfectly timed.

"Fifteen... sixteen... seventeen... eighteen... nineteen..." The group fell before they even realized what had happened. Lyan’s eyes were cold, his body moving with an unrelenting rhythm, his glaive cutting through armor and flesh alike.

"Twenty... twenty-one... twenty-two..." The whispers grew louder among the Varzadian ranks, fear evident in their eyes as they watched him. He was unstoppable, a force they could not comprehend.

"Twenty-three... twenty-four..." He caught sight of another soldier lunging at him, and with a swift step, Lyan sidestepped the attack, his glaive cutting cleanly through the man’s side.

"Twenty-five... twenty-six... twenty-seven..." Lyan continued to move forward, his eyes scanning the battlefield, each kill precise, each movement deliberate.

"Twenty-eight... twenty-nine... thirty..." He saw an officer trying to rally his troops, the man’s voice rising above the noise of battle. Lyan’s gaze sharpened, his steps quickening.

"Thirty-one... thirty-two... thirty-three..." He cut down those who stood in his way, his glaive a blur of movement. The officer turned, his eyes widening as Lyan approached.

"Who is this man?! He fights like a demon!" another soldier shouted, his voice filled with terror.

"Thirty-four... thirty-five... thirty-six..." Lyan moved without hesitation, his strikes powerful, his presence commanding. The fear among the enemy was palpable, their resolve crumbling as they faced him.

"Thirty-seven... thirty-eight... thirty-nine..." The officer raised his sword, but Lyan was faster. His glaive struck with precision, cutting the man down.

"Forty... forty-one... forty-two..." Lyan continued, his breath steady, his movements unyielding. The enemy soldiers were breaking, their fear overcoming their will to fight.

"Forty-three... forty-four... forty-five..." He could see their commander, his face pale, his eyes wide in disbelief. The man raised his sword, his voice cracking as he shouted orders to his men.

"Hold the line! Reinforcements are on their way!" he called out, but there was no mistaking the desperation in his voice.

Lyan’s forces surged behind him, their cheers filling the air. The Astellian soldiers rallied to his side, their voices raised as they called out in unison.

"Follow the Baron!" one soldier shouted, his voice filled with fervor.

Another joined in, his sword raised high. "The Baron will lead us to victory!"

Alice, from her position at the flanks, saw the opportunity and took it. Her eyes narrowed, her voice ringing out over the battlefield. "Pincer maneuver! Cut off their retreat! Don’t let them escape!"

The crescent formation tightened, the soldiers closing in from both sides, pushing the Varzadians back into a confined space. The archers, positioned on higher ground, let loose a barrage of arrows, each one finding its mark, adding to the confusion and chaos.

"Engage the chokehold!" Alice commanded, her voice unwavering, her presence commanding.

The Varzadians found themselves surrounded, their space for retreat narrowing with each passing moment. They fought desperately, but the pressure was relentless. Lyan’s glaive moved like a blur, each strike finding its mark, his focus unbroken.

He spotted an officer trying to rally his troops, the man’s voice rising above the noise of battle. Lyan’s eyes narrowed, his steps quickening as he moved towards him.

"Cut them off at the ravine! Make sure no one escapes!" Lyan shouted, his voice carrying over the chaos.

The officer turned, his eyes widening as he saw Lyan approaching. He raised his sword, but Lyan was faster. The glaive struck with precision, the officer falling with a look of shock on his face.

The Varzadian commander watched, his face twisted in disbelief. "Retreat!" he finally shouted, his voice cracking with desperation. "Fall back!"

The Varzadian soldiers, seeing their commander’s fear, began to break. Their once disciplined formation crumbled under the relentless assault of Lyan’s forces. Panic spread like wildfire, their lines faltering, their morale shattered.

Lyan raised his glaive, his eyes cold as he looked at the retreating enemy. "Drive them back. Let them remember today," he said, his voice carrying over the battlefield.

The Astellian forces surged forward, their cheers echoing across the field. They chased the retreating Varzadian forces, their morale at an all-time high. The Varzadians, once so confident, now fled in disarray, their faces filled with fear.

The battle was theirs.

As the Varzadian forces retreated, the Astellian soldiers held their ground, ensuring that they did not overextend. Lyan stood at the front, his breath heavy, his gaze focused on the fleeing enemy. A sense of accomplishment settled over him, the weight of the battle slowly lifting from his shoulders.

But just as victory seemed within their grasp, a scout appeared, his face pale, his breathing labored. He approached Lyan, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Milord, there’s movement in the eastern forest... reinforcements."

Lyan’s eyes narrowed, the realization hitting him like a cold wave. He turned to his men, his voice calm but filled with urgency.

"Prepare to reposition," he ordered, his gaze shifting towards the eastern forest. "The battle is not over yet."