Lord Summoner's Freedom Philosophy: Grimoire of Love
Chapter 432: The Successful Plan

Chapter 432: The Successful Plan

The forest trembled under the weight of conflict, its natural silence broken by the sound of clashing steel, battle cries, and the occasional rumble of a distant explosion. Lyan stood at the edge of the high ground, overlooking the chaos he and his commanders had orchestrated. His sharp eyes scanned the battlefield, analyzing every movement, every opportunity. Below him, his forces moved like a single, cohesive entity, despite being vastly outnumbered by the Varzadian army. He inhaled deeply, steadying himself as he turned to Alice, who was directing a nearby squad with the precision of a seasoned general.

"Alice, how’s the coordination holding up?" Lyan asked, his voice calm but edged with urgency.

Alice barely spared him a glance as she barked another order to a group of archers. "Surena’s cavalry just executed a textbook feint on their left flank. Emilia’s traps are keeping the center from advancing. Wilhelmina’s supply lines are flawless—I’ve got them rotating fresh soldiers into the line like clockwork. We’re holding, Lyan, but we’re running on the edge. One wrong move, and they’ll push us back."

Lyan nodded, his gaze shifting to the group of archers perched on a ridge to the east. Their steady volleys rained down on the enemy, but it was clear they were growing weary. He clenched his fists, drawing on his mana as an idea sparked in his mind. Concentrating, he murmured an incantation, weaving an illusion over the battlefield. As the next volley of arrows flew, they seemed to multiply in the air, creating a cascade of phantom projectiles.

The Varzadian forces below faltered. Soldiers raised their shields, flinching as they imagined being struck by the phantom arrows. Some even dropped their weapons, clutching at nonexistent wounds.

(A clever touch. The fear in their eyes is almost... satisfying.) (Griselda)

(Quite a deceitful move) (Arturia)

(Hush, Arturia. A win is a win.)

Alice turned to Lyan, one brow raised. "That was you, wasn’t it? Nice work. It’s buying us more time."

"Only for now. They’ll adapt soon enough," Lyan replied, his voice steady despite the strain of maintaining the illusion. "What about their spellcasters?"

Alice’s expression darkened. "They’re not traditional mages. Whatever they’re using... it’s strange. Cards, maybe? Wilhelmina’s got her eyes on them, but we’ve never seen anything like it. Magicians are rare to begin with, better to not tell them that having sex with you made all of us the ability of magic,"

Lyan’s gaze followed hers to a cluster of Varzadian spellcasters. They held rectangular artifacts, each inscribed with glowing glyphs. As they channeled their mana into the cards, fireballs and lightning bolts erupted, striking at Astellian positions with alarming precision. He frowned, intrigued despite the urgency of the situation.

(Those aren’t ordinary tools. They’re... fascinating.)

(Focus, Lyan. You can dissect their toys after we survive this.) (Lilith)

"Noted," Lyan muttered under his breath, shaking off his curiosity. "Alice, keep your units fluid. Push them where the pressure is weakest, but don’t overextend."

"On it," Alice said, her voice sharp as she turned back to her soldiers. Her commands rang out like a drumbeat, clear and unwavering. "Surena, fall back and regroup with the archers! Emilia, seal the eastern pass with more traps! Wilhelmina, I need more reinforcements at the western line, now!"

Surena’s cavalry emerged from the forest’s edge, their movements swift and deliberate. They charged into the Varzadian flank with devastating impact, then peeled away just as quickly, disappearing into the trees like ghosts. Emilia’s infantry, meanwhile, worked tirelessly to lay new traps—spiked pits and collapsing barriers—forcing the enemy to navigate a deadly maze. Wilhelmina’s logistical prowess ensured that no unit was left unsupported, her runners darting between lines with supplies and messages.

Lyan watched it all unfold, a subtle smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "We’re making them dance to our tune," he murmured.

A sudden surge of activity drew Lyan’s attention to the Varzadian forces. Their shock troops were advancing, aiming to disrupt the Astellian archers and flank the mobile units. Lyan’s eyes narrowed.

"Alice!" he called. "They’re trying to break our formation. Feint a retreat and lure them into Emilia’s traps."

"Got it!" Alice replied, already signaling her units. The Astellian forces began to fall back in an orchestrated retreat, their movements deliberate. The Varzadians took the bait, surging forward with renewed aggression.

The spellcasters Lyan had been observing unleashed a torrent of magic, creating barriers of flame and bursts of lightning to stall the enemy’s advance. The combined effect was devastating. Varzadian soldiers screamed as fire consumed them or as lightning danced across their armor, leaving charred corpses in its wake. Those who avoided the magical onslaught stumbled into Emilia’s traps, their cries echoing through the forest.

Wilhelmina’s voice cut through the chaos as she directed reinforcements to key positions. "Hold the lines! Rotate fresh troops to the front! Keep the pressure steady!"

Lyan’s focus remained on the spellcasters. He watched as they infused their cards with mana, the glyphs glowing brighter before unleashing their destructive power. It wasn’t traditional magic, but it was effective. He made a mental note to study these artifacts once the battle was over.

(Interesting toys. Perhaps we should take a few for ourselves.) (Griselda)

(Always thinking ahead, aren’t you?)

The tide began to turn as Lyan’s vanguard relentlessly exploited every advantage. The Varzadian forces, once confident in their superior numbers, found themselves disoriented and broken by the masterful coordination of the Astellian troops. Their lines, once so formidable, now wavered under the calculated strikes from every angle. Arrows continued to rain down in deadly precision, both real and illusionary, while the relentless hit-and-run tactics of Surena’s cavalry carved through their ranks like a blade. Emilia’s traps and Wilhelmina’s logistical mastery ensured no avenue for recovery remained. Fear and confusion rippled through the Varzadian ranks, and more soldiers began abandoning their positions, some even turning on their officers in panic.

Just as exhaustion started to creep into the Astellian ranks, the sound of deep, resonant war horns shattered the air. It was a low, steady call, echoing across the battlefield like a herald of hope. Heads turned toward the source, and a collective sigh of relief swept through Lyan’s forces. Over the ridge to the north, banners emerged, their vibrant colors unmistakable against the backdrop of chaos—they bore the sigil of Astellia.

The main army had arrived.

The sight was breathtaking. Thousands of soldiers marched in disciplined formation, their armor catching the sunlight and creating a gleaming wave that seemed to roll over the battlefield. At their forefront, cavalry units charged with unparalleled precision, their lances leveled and glinting. The thunder of their hooves was a sound that seemed to shake the very ground, a promise of salvation to the Astellians and destruction to the Varzadians. Following them, rows of infantry moved with an unyielding resolve, shields locked and spears at the ready. The sheer momentum of their advance crushed the remaining resistance in their path.

Commander Arnold’s voice bellowed across the field, carried by the wind like a rallying cry. "Push forward! Leave no ground unclaimed! Drive them back to the edges of the realm!"

At the head of the cavalry rode Prince Erich, his regal presence commanding the battlefield. His armor, emblazoned with the sigil of the royal family, gleamed as he led the charge with a raised sword. The prince’s cry echoed through the battlefield, igniting a surge of energy among his troops. The Varzadian forces, already demoralized and battered, crumbled under the combined might of Lyan’s vanguard and the main army. Their cohesion shattered, retreat turned into a chaotic rout. Soldiers abandoned their posts, casting aside weapons as they fled in disarray, their cries of fear drowned out by the triumphant roar of the Astellian forces.

Lyan stood tall on the high ground, his sharp eyes taking in the scene with a mix of relief and calculated anticipation. He turned to Alice and his other commanders, their expressions mirroring his determination. "The time for caution is over. Let’s ensure no stragglers survive to report back. We end this here."

Alice, her face streaked with dirt and triumph, grinned. "Ready when you are, Baron."

Together, they led the final assault, their combined forces sweeping through the remnants of the Varzadian army like a storm. The battlefield, which had once been a chaotic clash of wills, fell silent as the last enemy soldier was subdued. Victory belonged to Astellia, and the southeastern front was firmly in their control.

Prince Erich rode at the head of the cavalry, his presence commanding as he led the decisive charge. The Varzadian forces, already disoriented and demoralized, broke under the combined might of Lyan’s vanguard and the main army. Their retreat turned into a rout as Astellian forces pursued them relentlessly.

Together, they joined the final assault, sweeping through the disorganized remnants of the Varzadian forces. The battlefield became a symphony of triumphant cries and the clash of steel, every strike driving the enemy further into chaos. Soldiers, empowered by the arrival of reinforcements, fought with renewed vigor, ensuring that no Varzadian soldier escaped the encirclement.

The southeastern front fell silent as the last skirmishes ended. Here and there, the groans of the wounded echoed faintly, but for the first time in days, a sense of calm began to settle over the contested territory. Smoke from extinguished flames rose in thin tendrils, blending with the golden glow of the setting sun. The Astellian banners, planted firmly in the reclaimed soil, fluttered triumphantly in the soft breeze. The southeastern front was theirs, wrested from the enemy in a show of unyielding resolve and brilliant strategy.

As the dust settled, Lyan approached Prince Erich and Commander Arnold, his steps measured but confident. He stopped before them, his glaive resting on his shoulder, and allowed himself a faint smirk.

"I guess we won the first round," he said.