Lord Summoner's Freedom Philosophy: Grimoire of Love-Chapter 438: The Covert Operation

The city lay cloaked in the shroud of night, its tall stone walls casting long shadows under the moonlight. The faint, silvery glow peeked through the wisps of clouds above, offering just enough light to outline the city’s silhouette. Lyan crouched low in the underbrush, his dark attire blending seamlessly with the surrounding shadows. Beside him, Ravia and the infiltrators waited, their breaths quiet and controlled. The tension in the air was palpable, each soldier’s focus honed to a razor edge. The faint swing of lanterns atop the walls created rhythmic patterns of light and darkness, illuminating the Varzadian patrols pacing methodically along the parapets.

Lyan’s sharp eyes narrowed as he observed the patrols atop the city walls. His gaze darted across their movements with the precision of a master strategist, noting the rhythm of their pacing, the angles of their lanterns, and the subtle hesitations in their routes. The lanterns swung in predictable arcs, casting fleeting glimmers over the parapets, and Lyan could already pinpoint the areas where their vigilance waned. One guard scratched his head absently, stepping slightly out of formation to lean against the wall for a moment longer than he should have. Another paused briefly at the edge of his route, his gaze fixed downward, lost in thought.

His mind worked like clockwork, cataloging every weakness with the detached focus of an investigator.

(Too predictable. These guards are either overconfident or undertrained. Their patrol overlaps are sloppy, and they rely too much on their walls for security.)

He gestured subtly to Ravia, who was beside him, her form still and calm despite the tension. She nodded in understanding, raising her hand to signal the group to halt. The infiltrators froze in place, their silence absolute. Ravia’s dagger twirled briefly in her hand before vanishing back into its sheath—a reassurance of her readiness.

Ahead of them, Lyan’s Shadow Servants slithered across the terrain like living shadows, their movements eerily silent as they melted into the darkness. They glided across the stones, testing weak points in the wall’s foundation and silently marking areas where footholds were secure or where stones were less sturdy. Lyan’s sharp gaze followed them, noting their findings and weaving them into his growing mental map of the city’s defenses.

(Convenient indeed,)

Griselda mused, her voice tinged with sharp amusement.

(But don’t mistake carelessness for an easy win. Overconfidence has killed better men.)

Arturia’s voice followed, stern and focused.

(Remain vigilant. Justice must be swift and precise. You have no room for mistakes.)

(He doesn’t need your knightly sermon, Arturia. He’s fine,)

Lilith teased, her tone light and sultry.

(Though, I do enjoy the thrill of all this sneaking about. It’s... intimate.)

Lyan shook his head slightly to refocus and gestured again. The group moved forward, as silent as whispers in the dark. The patrol’s lantern light swept across the underbrush, narrowly missing them as they crept closer to the base of the wall. His eyes flicked to the grappling hook coiled at his side, weighing its heft and angle before deciding on the best point to launch. As the hook sailed upward, he felt the reassuring thud of its claws digging securely into the stone edge above.

Ravia went first, her lithe form scaling the wall with practiced ease, her feet finding natural holds in the uneven stone. Her movements were fluid and confident, her grip unwavering as she ascended. Lyan followed, his motions deliberate and economical, his sharp eyes continuously scanning for threats. As he climbed, he caught sight of subtle details—a faint smudge where a guard’s boot had dragged, a chipped section of the wall that could serve as a foothold, even the distant flicker of another patrol’s lantern. Every observation added to his mental map, sharpening his understanding of the enemy’s vulnerabilities.

At the top, a guard turned just as Ravia reached him. Her dagger flashed once, and he crumpled soundlessly to the ground. She dragged the body swiftly out of sight, her movements efficient and practiced. Lyan stepped over the fallen guard, his boots silent on the stone as the rest of the group climbed up. The infiltrators moved with precision, securing the area and blending seamlessly into the shadows of the parapet. Lyan crouched near the edge, his eyes scanning the city below with the intensity of a hawk. The layout matched Abraham’s reports—narrow streets converging toward the main square, where the enemy’s command post loomed like a dark monolith within the city’s core.

(Straightforward, but its simplicity hides its danger,)

Cynthia murmured thoughtfully.

(Be cautious, Lyan. Overconfidence may be their weakness, but it could become ours as well.)

(I trust our dear incubus knows that already,)

Hestia remarked, her tone half-playful, half-commanding.

(But remember, precision isn’t just a skill; it’s survival.)

Lyan exhaled softly, his mind calculating the patrol rotations.

(They’re quite incompetent)

Griselda’s voice cut through his thoughts, sharp and amused.

(Incompetent. But isn’t it convenient for you?)

Eira’s colder tone followed.

(Convenient or not, they’re still obstacles. Handle it quickly.)

Lyan ignored the banter and gestured again. The group moved forward, silent as shadows. The patrol’s lantern light swept across the underbrush, narrowly missing them as they crept closer to the base of the wall. A grappling hook whispered through the air, latching securely onto the stone edge above. Ravia went first, her lithe form scaling the wall with practiced ease. Lyan followed, his movements fluid but deliberate, his gaze constantly scanning for any signs of detection.

He smirked faintly, shaking his head. "Ravia," he whispered, his voice barely audible. She looked to him, her sharp eyes gleaming in the faint light. "Guard posts first. Neutralize them without a sound."

She nodded and signaled to a subset of the infiltrators. They melted into the shadows, their movements precise and synchronized, like phantoms slipping through the fabric of the night. Ravia moved with the grace of a predator, her form blending seamlessly with the darkness. Her daggers flashed under the faint light of the moon, the glint momentary and deadly. Each strike was deliberate, her blades slicing through the air with the precision of a practiced killer. A guard turned, his eyes widening in a moment of realization, but before he could utter a sound, her blade found his throat, silencing him with a muted gurgle. She pressed his body to the stone parapet, lowering it gently to the ground without a whisper of sound.

Lyan crouched behind the group, his sharp eyes scanning the expanse of the wall ahead. His gaze darted between the guards, their lanterns swinging in steady arcs, and the faint shadows of potential blind spots. Each detail painted a vivid map in his mind, the weak points of the enemy’s defenses glowing like beacons in his imagination. His thoughts raced, dissecting their patrol routes with uncanny precision. A lantern swayed slightly too far to the left—its bearer favored his left arm, likely overcompensating for a strain. Another guard leaned heavily on his spear, his shifting weight betraying a subtle limp. Lyan’s mind clicked through these observations like the turning of gears in a well-oiled machine.

(That guard by the southern tower is half-asleep. His head keeps nodding,)

Griselda’s voice cut through his focus with sharp amusement.

(Take advantage of that before he snaps awake.)

(Precisely what I intended,)

Lyan thought back, his lips curving into a faint smirk. His hand extended as he conjured a subtle illusion. Phantom patrols materialized along the distant walls, their forms indistinct but convincing under the flickering lantern light. The real guards stiffened, their gazes snapping to the apparitions. One barked an order, and several moved cautiously in the illusion’s direction, their focus diverted from the infiltrators creeping along the parapet.

Ravia’s team moved further along, their synchronization impeccable. She gestured silently, two of her men splitting off to take out a nearby watch post. Lyan followed her movements closely, his eyes narrowing as he spotted a faint flicker of light from the base of the tower. His sharp mind pieced together the source—a hidden alarm mechanism rigged to a torch.

(They’re not entirely incompetent,)

Eira’s cold voice noted.

(But it won’t matter. You’ve already outplayed them.)

Ravia returned, her silent efficiency matched by the swiftness of her team. Lyan’s hand fell back to his side as he watched her approach, the subtle illusion fading as the last of the guards wandered out of sight, lured by the phantoms.

"Guard posts are clear," she whispered, her voice low and confident. She wiped her blade against a cloth before slipping it into its sheath, her sharp eyes meeting Lyan’s. "They didn’t even see us coming."

Lyan inclined his head slightly. "Good work. Move the rest into position. We’ll press the advantage while we have it."

Ravia nodded, her form vanishing into the shadows once more, her team following close behind. Lyan’s sharp gaze lingered on the parapet, the faintest flicker of satisfaction crossing his features as he turned his focus to the next phase of their operation.

Sylphia’s timid voice broke through his concentration.

(Th-that’s so clever, Master. D-do you think they’ll notice?)

The supply depot was their next target, its location on the outskirts of the city making it a relatively easy mark. Raine led this operation, her mischievous grin contrasting sharply with the seriousness of the mission. She moved like a wraith through the shadows, her team following close behind. Lyan accompanied them, his Shadow Servants flanking their movements.

The depot was sparsely guarded, the enemy’s overconfidence once again playing to their advantage. Raine’s hands moved deftly, planting small, carefully prepared explosives at key structural points. Her quiet hum of concentration was the only sound as she worked.

(I like her style,)

Lilith said, her tone laced with approval.

(Explosions make such lovely chaos.)

(Chaos isn’t the goal, Lilith. Precision is,)

Cynthia corrected, though her voice carried a hint of amusement.

Lyan watched as Raine finished her task, her grin widening as she turned to him.

"Ready when you are," she whispered.

He nodded, his Shadow Servants drifting ahead to immobilize the guards. The team moved back toward their rendezvous point, their footsteps silent against the cobblestones. As they reached a safe distance, the first explosion rocked the depot. Flames burst into the sky, illuminating the city in a fiery glow. Shouts of alarm echoed through the streets as the Varzadian defenders scrambled to respond.

Raine chuckled softly, her eyes glinting with satisfaction.

"That’ll keep them busy."

Lyan nodded, his gaze fixed on the chaos.

"Let’s move."

The final objective was the enemy’s command quarters, a heavily guarded building near the city center. Lyan led the team through narrow alleyways, his senses heightened as they evaded patrols and slipped through blind spots. The air was thick with tension, every step a calculated risk.

Inside the command post, the atmosphere was tense. Elite guards stood at their posts, their sharp eyes scanning for any sign of intruders. Lyan signaled his team to fan out, their weapons drawn. The fight, when it came, was swift and brutal. Lyan’s glaive moved like an extension of his body, each strike precise and devastating. His team fought with equal ferocity, their training and coordination leaving no room for error.

(You’re enjoying this too much,)

Griselda remarked, her tone half-amused, half-critical. ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm

(I’m focused,)

Lyan replied, his movements never faltering.

When the last guard fell, he turned to the desk at the center of the room. A map lay spread across its surface, marked with the Varzadian’s defensive plans. He scanned it quickly, committing the key details to memory.

(Useful information,)

Eira noted, her voice cold and analytical.

Lyan stepped outside, climbing with steady precision to the top of the building. The city spread out before him, a tapestry of chaos woven with flames, smoke, and scrambling defenders. The shouts of panicked soldiers echoed faintly through the night, blending with the crackling of fires that painted the sky in hues of orange and red. His sharp eyes roamed over the disarray, capturing every detail with the precision of a master tactician.

The defenders were scattered, their movements frantic as they tried to extinguish the fires and regroup against an unseen enemy. Lyan’s gaze darted to key positions within the city—a crumbling watchtower where a line of reinforcements hesitated, an armory where panicked guards shouted orders, and a section of wall where the remaining sentries were shifting uneasily. Each observation fed into his mental map, a clear picture forming of their weakened state.

His gloved hand reached into his cloak, retrieving a flare. Holding it aloft, he took a moment to steady his breathing, his expression sharp and resolute. With a swift motion, he ignited the signal, the bright light cutting through the darkened sky like a blazing beacon of defiance. The flare’s glow bathed his face in an ethereal light, illuminating the faint smirk that tugged at his lips.

The signal blazed brilliantly, visible for miles. In the distance, the low, resonant sound of horns answered, their deep tones reverberating across the land. The faint rumble of the advancing main army stirred the night, a harbinger of the storm to come.

Lyan’s gaze swept over the city one final time, his sharp mind already planning the next moves as chaos continued to ripple through the streets below. He tilted his head slightly, his voice low but laced with unmistakable resolve. "Now," he murmured, a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes,

"time for the real party to begin."

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