Lord Summoner's Freedom Philosophy: Grimoire of Love-Chapter 433: The First Battle Victory’s Night

The camp was alive with celebration, the golden glow of countless campfires flickering like stars against the darkening sky. Soldiers laughed and cheered, their voices carrying through the air as they basked in the euphoria of their first victory. Hearty meals of roasted meat and fresh bread were passed around, their aroma mingling with the earthy scent of the forest. Dice games were in full swing, with men betting their modest spoils of war, their faces lit by both firelight and the rare freedom of a night without immediate danger. Music flowed from a small group of soldiers who had unearthed instruments, their tunes weaving joyfully through the camp.

Lyan stood at the edge of the festivities, his sharp gaze taking in the scene. A rare smile tugged at his lips as he watched his soldiers. The victory had brought more than just tactical gains; it had lifted their spirits in a way that no speech or strategy could. These moments of respite were as vital as any maneuver on the battlefield.

The flickering light highlighted the calm confidence etched on his features, though his mind remained a fortress of calculation. He knew better than anyone that victories like these came with a limited window of safety. The Varzadian main army would take time to regroup, but once they did, the fight would escalate. For now, they had a chance to breathe, to prepare for the next step.

Drawing a deep breath, Lyan turned his thoughts to securing their position. He raised his hand, the subtle glow of mana enveloping it as he summoned his Acid Ants and Shadow Servants. They emerged soundlessly, their forms blending seamlessly with the surrounding darkness. The ants scattered into the underbrush, their movements precise and systematic, while the shadowy figures melded with the camp’s natural shadows, extending his watchful eye far beyond the immediate area.

(Sending your little friends again?) (Hestia)

(It’s necessary.)

(Always the cautious one. How... predictable.) (Hestia)

(That predictability keeps us alive, Hestia.)

Unbeknownst to Lyan, another figure moved silently beyond the camp’s boundaries. Abraham had slipped away, his experienced steps barely disturbing the forest floor. The old warrior’s sharp instincts guided him as he scouted the terrain, his keen eyes scanning for anything amiss. The terrain’s familiarity reassured him, but he never allowed himself to grow complacent. His movements were methodical, his mind a repository of years spent navigating hostile lands.

Back at the camp, Lyan adjusted his cloak and began walking toward the main tent. The path was quieter here, lined with sentries who saluted him as he passed. Ahead, the imposing figure of Vilgira Void stood at the entrance. his blackened armor gleamed faintly under the torchlight, his hand resting on the hilt of her blade. his presence was both commanding and unyielding, a sentinel guarding the prince and his trusted commanders.

"Baron Evocatore," Vilgira said, his tone flat but respectful as he stepped aside to allow him entry.

Inside, the air was charged with purpose. A large table dominated the space, covered in maps and documents. Prince Erich stood at one end, his regal demeanor softened by the warmth in his expression as he greeted Lyan. Beside him, Commander Arnold leaned over the table, his thick arms crossed as he studied the maps. Julius was present as well, his calm eyes betraying a hint of curiosity. Notably, his knights were absent, a detail Lyan filed away for later consideration.

"Baron Evocatore," Erich began, stepping forward and extending a hand. "You’ve exceeded every expectation. Your tactics turned what could have been a grueling battle into a decisive victory. For that, you have my deepest gratitude."

Lyan realized that they are going straight to the serious discussion as he hear Erich called him as Baron Evocatore.

Lyan shook the prince’s hand, inclining his head slightly. "I’m glad we could deliver results, Your Highness. But the credit belongs to the soldiers. They fought with unmatched resolve."

Arnold grunted in agreement, his gruff voice cutting in. "A good leader makes all the difference. Your strategy ensured minimal casualties—only two hundred lost out of fifteen thousand. The southeastern front is ours, and the Varzadians are licking their wounds."

Erich gestured to the maps. "We’ve fortified our position with the supplies captured from their camp. Rations, weapons, medical supplies—enough to sustain us and reinforce the main army. Still, the Varzadian main force remains a threat. They’ll regroup, and when they do, they’ll come back stronger."

The discussion shifted to their next steps. Arnold’s finger traced a route on the map. "We’ll press the advantage while we have it. Coordinated attacks from the north and east will draw their focus, allowing our main army to advance. Baron Lyan, you’ll lead the southern vanguard. It’ll be a hard push, but if you break through, the Varzadians will crumble."

Erich nodded. "We’re adding to your forces—four thousand soldiers. Your vanguard will include twelve hundred infantry, eight hundred archers, a thousand cavalry, four hundred engineers and support units, and six hundred specialized troops. Timing and communication will be crucial. We’ll rely on your leadership to strike with precision."

Erich’s expression was grave. "You’ll need every advantage. Their commanders are cunning, and their elite units are relentless. But I trust in your ability to lead. Together, we’ll crush their resistance."

The briefing continued, the group meticulously planning their movements. Maps were marked with strategic routes, orders were drafted with precise details, and contingencies were debated and refined. The air inside the tent carried the weight of their resolve, every participant deeply invested in the success of their campaign.

When the final details had been solidified, Prince Erich turned to Lyan, his expression a mix of gratitude and solemnity. Extending his hand, he spoke with a tone that carried both trust and expectation. "Baron Evocatore, the spearhead is yours. Lead us to victory. Your insight and bravery have already turned the tide once. I am confident you’ll do so again."

Lyan clasped the prince’s hand firmly, his eyes unwavering. "The spearhead shall strike true, Your Highness. I will ensure this war bends to our will." novelbuddy-cσ๓

Commander Arnold, standing nearby, gave a satisfied grunt. "We’re putting our best in the south. Don’t let us down, Baron Evocatore."

With a final nod from Prince Erich, the meeting concluded, leaving behind a palpable sense of determination and unity. As Lyan stepped out of the tent, the cool night air greeted him, carrying the faint sounds of the soldiers’ distant celebration. Each step back to his camp felt heavier with the weight of the trust and responsibility placed upon him, but Lyan’s resolve only hardened. Victory was within their grasp, and he intended to seize it.

Lyan’s walk back to his camp was slower, his thoughts lingering on the trust placed in him. The soldiers he passed saluted him with renewed respect, their confidence in his leadership evident. When he reached his camp, he stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening slightly at the sight before him. A massive tent had been erected—a gift from Erich, its size and grandeur rivaling the prince’s own quarters. It was a symbol of recognition, and Lyan couldn’t suppress the faint smile that crept onto his face.

Entering the tent, he found his women already gathered, their presence immediately dispelling the lingering tension from the day’s events. The air inside was warm, imbued with a sense of camaraderie that contrasted sharply with the grim battlefield they had just left behind. Outside, the mountain tribeswomen laughed and bonded with the winter wolves, their carefree joy underscoring the unity forged through countless trials. Lyan paused at the threshold, observing the scene with a faint smile that belied his usual stoic demeanor.

He hadn’t expected this level of mental resilience, especially considering the toll war often exacted on its participants. The Varzadians had fallen in droves, and the sight of allies and friends collapsing on the battlefield could easily haunt anyone’s mind. For the women, this challenge was no less grueling. While they carried themselves with grace and strength, Lyan knew the unspoken burdens they bore—the vivid memories of battles fought and lives lost. War wasn’t just a physical test; it clawed at the psyche, leaving scars that words could never fully heal. Yet, here they were, finding solace in each other and in moments of shared humanity.

He exhaled softly and stepped inside, letting the warmth of the space envelop him. "It seems the wolves are better companions than I am," he quipped lightly, his voice drawing the attention of those within. His words were met with soft chuckles and smiles, the tension in the room further easing. It was a rare moment of levity, and Lyan was determined to let it linger, if only for tonight.

Josephine was the first to break the silence, her voice light but curious. "So? What’s the next step, Lyan?"

He removed his cloak, draping it over a chair before sitting down. "We’re advancing. The southeastern front is secure, but the Varzadians won’t stay idle for long. I’ll lead a southern vanguard to strike their weakest points while the main army presses from the north and east."

Wilhelmina nodded thoughtfully. "Logistics will be key. With a larger force, supply lines become more vulnerable. We’ll need to ensure everything moves seamlessly."

Alice leaned back, her sharp eyes gleaming with determination. "We should take a city as a base. Holding a strongpoint in their territory will keep them on edge and give us a fallback if things go south."

Emilia chimed in, her voice steady. "Morale and discipline will be vital. A larger force means more complexity, and we can’t afford cracks in the chain of command."

Josephine smirked. "And Lyan, you’ll need more than just Gareth as your adjutant. He’s good, but with four thousand soldiers, you’ll need a full command structure."

The discussion was lively, each woman offering insights that complemented the others. Lyan listened carefully, his sharp mind weaving their ideas into his strategy. Wilhelmina’s tone was precise, outlining logistical hurdles they might face as their forces expanded. "Managing this many troops is no small feat. Supply lines, reinforcements, the timing of everything—it all needs to be flawless."

Alice leaned forward, her sharp eyes sparkling with excitement. "And that’s why we need to secure a forward base. Taking control of a city will force them onto the back foot and give us a secure point to operate from." She smirked. "Besides, it’ll be nice to sleep in an actual bed for once."

Emilia crossed her arms, her thoughtful expression belying the fire in her voice. "True, but morale goes beyond a comfortable bed. The men need to see strong leadership—commanders they trust and respect. That’s where you come in, Lyan. You can inspire them like no one else."

Josephine chimed in, her tone lighter, almost teasing. "Not to mention, we’ll need more than Gareth at your side. He’s good, but he’s not a miracle worker. You’ll need a proper chain of command to handle a force this size."

Xena, who had been quietly sipping from a flask, finally spoke up, her voice playful. "I don’t care about the details. As long as I get to fight by your side, I’m happy." She winked at Lyan, her carefree attitude breaking the tension in the room.

As the conversation wound down, Lyan leaned back, his gaze softening as he looked around the tent. These people, this makeshift family, had become his greatest strength.

Josephine’s light curiosity gave way to a teasing smile, while Wilhelmina sat with her usual thoughtful composure.

Clarisse leaned against a corner, her arms crossed, her quiet presence reassuring, but her expression betrayed an eagerness for the plans ahead. "I follow whatever you say," she finally said with a shrug, cutting through the solemn atmosphere.

Solie giggled softly, perched near the tent’s edge, her voice light as she chimed in, "I don’t care where we’re going. Just as long as we all stick together, that’s enough for me."

Surena, her posture relaxed but her eyes sharp, added with a confident smirk, "And don’t worry about the cavalry. We’ll run circles around the enemy no matter where you point us."

Belle spoke up next, her calm, even voice steadying the room. "The mountain tribes and wolves are ready, Lyan. You’ve seen how quickly they’ve bonded. They trust you, just like we do."

Lastly, tiny Tesha clambered onto a stool to make herself seen, her high-pitched voice carrying surprising conviction.

"I might be small, but don’t count me out, Master. I’m not staying behind while everyone else moves forward." Her words drew chuckles and nods from the group.

Lyan couldn’t help but smile wider. Each of them brought something unique, their unwavering confidence bolstering his own. He let the warmth of the moment settle in his chest before speaking, his voice warm and steady.

"But tonight," he said, his eyes meeting each of theirs in turn, "let’s enjoy the night."

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