Lord Summoner's Freedom Philosophy: Grimoire of Love
Chapter 431: The Layered Message

Chapter 431: The Layered Message

The dense forest loomed ahead, shrouded in mist and shadows as Ravia guided her small escort through the winding pathways. The trees were ancient, their twisted roots snaking across the damp earth, creating natural obstacles at every turn. The air was thick with tension, the faint rustling of leaves and occasional bird calls doing little to ease the unease that had settled over the group.

Ravia moved like a shadow, her steps deliberate and soundless. Her sharp eyes scanned the terrain, catching every flicker of movement, every shift in the foliage. She raised a hand, signaling for the group to halt. The soldiers accompanying her obeyed without question, their trust in her evident. Abraham had trained her well, and she carried his lessons in every fiber of her being.

Ahead, a small Varzadian scouting party emerged, their voices low but audible in the stillness. Ravia crouched low, her fingers tightening around the hilt of her daggers. She motioned for her team to stay back, her calm demeanor masking the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

The Varzadians hadn’t noticed them yet. Ravia took a deep breath and sprang into action. Her movements were fluid, precise. In one swift motion, she silenced the first scout, her blade flashing as it found its mark. The others turned, startled, but Ravia was already upon them. Her escort joined the fray, their swords clashing against the surprised Varzadians. The fight was quick and brutal, ending with the enemy crumpled on the forest floor.

"No time to waste," Ravia whispered, her voice steady despite the close call. "Move."

The group pressed on, navigating around a ravine that had once been bridged but now lay in ruins. The detour was longer and fraught with danger, but there was no other choice. Ravia’s focus never wavered, her thoughts a mix of determination and reflection. Lyan’s hesitant approval of her mission lingered in her mind, along with Abraham’s unwavering faith in her abilities.

She remembered her grandfather’s words before she left. "You’re ready, Ravia. You’ve always been ready. Trust yourself as I trust you."

By dawn, they reached the outskirts of the Astellian encampment. Ravia’s keen senses caught the rustle of scouts in the underbrush, and she raised her hands in a gesture of peace. The scouts emerged, their wary expressions softening as they recognized her.

"It’s her," one whispered. "She moves just like Abraham. The White Shadow lives on."

Ravia smirked faintly but said nothing, her focus on the task at hand. She was escorted to the heart of the bustling camp, where the command tent stood like a fortress among the organized chaos of soldiers preparing for battle.

Inside, the air was heavy with tension. Commander Arnold stood hunched over a map, his brow furrowed as he discussed strategy with Crown Prince Erich. Both men looked up as Ravia entered, her calm and composed presence drawing their attention. However, before she could present the message, the atmosphere shifted. A figure moved from the shadows—a tall, imposing woman clad in blackened armor that seemed to absorb the light around her. Vilgira Void, the prince’s personal bodyguard, stepped forward with predatory grace, her hand resting on the hilt of her blade.

"State your allegiance," Vilgira commanded, her voice low and sharp, like the edge of a dagger. Her eyes glinted with suspicion, locking onto Ravia as if attempting to read her very soul.

Ravia, unfazed, met her gaze head-on. "Baron Evocatore. I bring a message for the Crown Prince and Commander Arnold."

Vilgira’s expression didn’t waver. In a blur of motion, she drew her sword, its dark steel flashing in the dim light of the tent. "Words mean little. Prove it."

Ravia sidestepped the sudden slash with practiced ease, her movements fluid and precise. Her daggers appeared in her hands as if summoned from thin air, their edges gleaming menacingly. Vilgira pressed forward, her strikes fast and unrelenting, but Ravia matched her, parrying and dodging with an almost effortless grace.

The clash of steel filled the tent as the two women exchanged blows. Ravia moved like a shadow, slipping under Vilgira’s guard and aiming a swift counterattack. A poisoned knife gleamed in her hand, aimed for a vital point, but just as it was about to connect, another blade intercepted it. The force of the block sent a jarring vibration up Ravia’s arm.

"Enough," Julius, the knight captain, stepped between them, his broad frame imposing as he held his sword steady. His voice boomed with authority as he turned to Vilgira.

"She’s an ally. From Baron Evocatore himself. Stand down."

Vilgira hesitated, her sharp gaze flicking to Julius and then back to Ravia. After a tense moment, she sheathed her blade with a sharp click, her movements deliberate. "You trust too easily, Julius."

"And you’re too quick to draw," Julius countered, his tone firm but lacking malice. He turned to Ravia, inclining his head slightly.

"My apologies. Vilgira is... cautious. Please, proceed."

Ravia, though her breathing had quickened slightly from the encounter, remained composed. She straightened, tucking her daggers away with practiced efficiency. "No harm done," she said evenly, stepping forward to present the sealed message. "A layered plan from Baron Evocatore. The first details our strategy to disrupt the Varzadian forces. The second confirms its success, signaling the main army to strike."

Erich took the message, breaking the seal and scanning its contents. His expression shifted from skepticism to intrigue. "He’s bold," the prince murmured. "This plan... it’s risky, but if it works, it could turn the tide."

Arnold grunted, leaning over the map. "Lyan’s reputation precedes him, but even for him, this is ambitious. The main army can’t afford to act prematurely. We’ll hold until his second message arrives."

Ravia’s calm voice cut through their deliberations. "Baron Evocatore understands the stakes. He’s accounted for every variable. Trust in his strategy, and Astellia will prevail."

Arnold studied her for a moment before nodding. "Your courage does your commander proud. We’ll be ready when the time comes."

Erich’s gaze lingered on Ravia, admiration flickering in his eyes. "You carry yourself well, like your grandfather. Astellia is fortunate to have you."

Ravia inclined her head, her composure unwavering. "I’ll return to my commander now. The plan must proceed without delay."

Arnold studied her for a moment before nodding. "Your courage does your commander proud. We’ll be ready when the time comes."

The command tent fell silent as Ravia stood just outside, her keen eyes scanning the forest edge while she awaited the Crown Prince’s final confirmation. The moments stretched, the tension in the air palpable as she stood motionless, like a statue carved from shadow. Scouts and guards around her exchanged whispers, marveling at her composure.

Inside, Erich exchanged a final glance with Commander Arnold, then nodded resolutely. "Go. Inform Baron Evocatore that we’ll await his signal."

Ravia inclined her head in silent acknowledgment, a faint glimmer of satisfaction in her gaze. With fluid, near-silent movements, she disappeared into the dense foliage, the shadows seemingly swallowing her whole. For a moment, even the guards stationed outside the tent could hardly believe she had been there at all. She moved like a phantom, her presence as fleeting as mist in the morning sun.

____

Lyan’s army worked tirelessly to fortify their position, the dense forest serving as both a shield and a weapon. Soldiers reinforced barricades, laid traps, and scouted for signs of enemy movement. The air buzzed with quiet determination as Lyan gathered his commanders around a large table laden with maps and notes.

"The Varzadian forces are regrouping," Abraham reported, his voice calm but firm. "Their supply lines are exposed here, here, and here." He pointed to marked areas on the map. "We can cripple their cohesion with targeted strikes."

"Precision is key," Alice interjected, her arms crossed. "Hit their supplies, cut their lines, and leave them scrambling. No need for prolonged engagements."

"Logistics will be critical," Wilhelmina added, her sharp gaze fixed on the map. "We’ll ensure our stolen supplies are utilized efficiently. Josephine, organize the medics for quick extractions."

Lyan listened, his sharp mind piecing together the strategy. He leaned over the table, his fingers tracing the planned routes. "We’ll split into teams. Alice, take raiding parties to target their wagons. Wilhelmina, oversee the distribution of supplies. Abraham, continue scouting and update us on their movements. I’ll lead the main force to their heart."

His commanders nodded, their trust in him evident. Lyan’s calm confidence inspired his troops, their morale bolstered by his unshakable presence.

As the forest darkened, the first wave of Varzadian forces arrived. They moved cautiously, their confidence shaken by the relentless guerilla tactics of Lyan’s army. But the Astellians were ready. Traps sprung with devastating precision—pits concealed by foliage, collapsing trees, and tripwires that unleashed a hail of arrows.

From the shadows, Alice’s raiding party struck the rear, severing the Varzadians’ retreat. Her voice carried over the chaos, sharp and commanding. "No mercy! Cut them off!"

Lyan emerged at the forefront, his glaive flashing as he charged into the heart of the enemy formation. His movements were precise, his strikes devastating. Each swing of his weapon carved through the chaos with deadly efficiency, and the Varzadian officers who had been rallying their men fell swiftly to his blade. The fall of these leaders sowed further confusion and panic among the ranks. The soldiers around Lyan could feel his presence, a calm yet overwhelming force cutting through the enemy like a storm. His glaive glinted in the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees, each strike deliberate and precise, leaving no room for counterattack.

Nearby, his soldiers surged forward, emboldened by his example. Arrows rained down from the concealed positions in the trees, pinning down any Varzadian reinforcements attempting to regroup. Lyan’s commanding voice rang out above the din, directing his troops with sharp, concise orders that turned the tide decisively in their favor.

One particularly bold Varzadian officer, seeing Lyan’s devastating impact, charged forward with a determined shout, his blade aimed squarely at the Baron. Lyan sidestepped with ease, his glaive spinning in a deadly arc that disarmed the man in one fluid motion. Before the officer could recover, Lyan’s weapon found its mark, sending the man crumpling to the ground. The surrounding Varzadians hesitated, their resolve faltering as the sight of their leaders falling became too much to bear.

"Push forward! Leave no gap!" Lyan bellowed, his voice steady and commanding. His soldiers responded with a resounding cheer, their movements synchronized as they pressed the attack.

The forest battlefield became a scene of orchestrated destruction. Flanking units closed in under Alice’s command, their precision strikes severing supply lines and cutting off escape routes. Meanwhile, Wilhelmina’s logistical expertise ensured reinforcements and supplies flowed seamlessly to the frontline, fortifying their position further. Every move felt like a calculated step in a larger game of chess, and Lyan, with his glaive and sharp mind, was always three steps ahead.

As the Varzadian forces began to crumble, Lyan stepped back for a moment, his keen eyes scanning the battlefield. He could see the ripples of chaos spreading through the enemy lines, the once-cohesive formation now splintering into isolated pockets of resistance. He nodded in satisfaction, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he turned to his commanders.

(You enjoy this too much.) (Griselda)

(Not now, Griselda.)

The battle was chaos, but it was controlled chaos—every move calculated, every strike deliberate. Lyan’s forces dismantled the enemy with minimal losses, their morale soaring as the Varzadian ranks crumbled.

As the dust settled, Lyan stood tall, his glaive resting against his shoulder. He turned to his commanders, his voice steady. "Prepare the second message. Let the main army know: the path is clear."