Lord Summoner's Freedom Philosophy: Grimoire of Love-Chapter 453: The Cracks Beneath the Walls (2)

The cavalry rode out at first light, hooves spanking the dew-soaked grass until the ground trembled beneath their weight. Raine and Surena led the column, their banners snapping in the wind: Astellian blue edged with silver. Each banner bore the rising sun emblem, a promise of new beginnings—and of inevitable doom for those who would stand in its path.

Raine’s lungs burned with exhilaration as she urged her steed forward. The cold morning air sliced across her cheeks, but she barely noticed; her focus was on the glint of armor before her, the swirl of cloaks behind. She reveled in the surge of power, the synchronized dance of twelve hundred horses learning to think as one. Freedom and fury churned in her blood.

Surena’s shout carried like thunder over the ranks. "Push them back! Show them the folly of standing in our way!"

Raine grinned, voice lost to the wind, but her eyes never left the horizon. Far ahead, the ancient stone walls of Lisban were bathed in that gray dawn, their towers huddled against the rising mist. Sentries on the ramparts squinted down, rifles and bows raised—but too few, and too uncertain, to stop this tide.

Arrows glittered in the pale sky, arching toward them. Raine’s heart leapt as she saw the first volley launched from the parapets. The sound of twanging bowstrings was distant, almost playful, against the hoofbeats now thundering like a heartbeat. Sentries scrambled along the wall, but hesitation slowed them; horses charged, painting the ground in thunder and dust.

Surena’s laughter rang out—a sharp, triumphant sound. She spurred her mount into a high, arcing charge that forced the enemy’s focus. Defenders shifted nervously, uncertain whether to hold their bows or retreat behind the crenellations. "They’re shitting themselves!" Surena roared, the words carried away on the wind.

Raine’s eyes snapped to the far treeline. A handful of dark shapes slithered through the mist, slipping among the bracken and rocks. Varzadian skirmishers, cloaked in gray, creeping closer under cover of the morning haze. Even a fool could see the threat: a blade at the flank could shatter this charge before it reached the walls.

She cursed, kicking her heels into her mount’s ribs. The horse whinnied, its flank muscles bunching under Raine’s leg. "Left flank, thirty meters!"

A taut line snapped in her chest as she jerked her horse’s reins to the left, hooves skidding on slick grass. The world unfurled in a burst of motion: Surena’s cavalry thundered onward, banners snapping like war calls, while Raine pivoted her blade to ward off the first volley of arrows loosed from the hidden skirmishers. Each arrow’s hiss through the dawn air felt personal, a reminder that death often came quietly—and hoped for her hesitation.

She planted her feet in the stirrups and leaned forward, voice sharp above the pounding of hooves. "Hold steady! Keep your line!" The riders responded without falter, knees bent, shields lifted just so. The front rank brushed past her, their armor a wall of steel reflecting the meek gray light. Dust plumes billowed behind them, drifting like ghosts toward the distant walls.

Shouts rose on the left as the Varzadian skirmishers slipped through a gap in the ridge. Raine’s pulse leapt: from here, she could barely see their dark shapes, but she recognized the armor pattern—light leather, ideal for darting in and out of cover. A trick of the ridge terrain had concealed them until now.

(They thought they buried that threat,) Eira’s voice hissed, ice along Raine’s spine.

Raine clenched her teeth. "Alice’s archers!" she yelled. "Send them flares! No mercy!"

Above the ridge crest, slender figures emerged, sparring with tinder in shaking hands. Pressing her horse into a canter, she signaled to surge forward. The flank skirmishers, momentarily caught between the cavalry’s advancing thunder and Alice’s rising flares, faltered. Light arcs tipped their heads back as flares ignited overhead in searing red bursts.

(Blinded, startled,) Cynthia noted.

Raine bit her lip to hold back a triumphant shout as the skirmishers, disoriented, scattered back into the misty treeline. She whipped her horse around, weaving between her sisters-in-arms. Surena’s roar of victory beat in rhythm with the hooves. Raine dipped her blade in salute as Surena thundered past, the larger woman’s laughter rolling behind her like distant thunder.

(Charging into the breach,) Griselda purred. (Beautiful, ruthless.)

But Raine didn’t have time to savor triumph. Ahead, the eastern gate’s splintering hinges sent a resonant crack through the gloom—Wilhelmina’s charges had done their quiet work. The massive wooden doors, weakened at critical joints, surrendered with a thunderous crash, sending wood fragments flying like lethal confetti. Raine’s eyes caught the gap yawning in the wall, large enough to drive an entire squadron through in a single bound.

"Through the gate!" she barked, spurring her mount onward. Steel and leather sliced through the breach like water over a dam. Her heart hammered, the thrill of the charge overwhelming the chill in the air.

Surena roared at her side, brandishing her lance in a glittering arc. "This is ours!" she shouted, veering at the last moment to intercept the few defenders who mustered near the shattered gate.

Raine’s voice cut through the din. "Push to the inner courtyard! Show no mercy for those who stand!"

They poured through, a tide of Astellian blue and silver that washed over Lisban’s stunned defenders. Raine ducked a clumsy sword strike, her blade flashing in a tight arc before it found flesh. The man crumpled without sound, his face frozen in disbelief. She spurred her horse forward, mane tangling like dark fire in her helmet’s plume, and laid into the next opponent with a swift thrust that sent him skidding across the wet cobble.

(The battlefield sings your praises,) Lilith purred.

The courtyard opened before them like a ruined theater. Jagged battlements loomed overhead, their damaged stones still bristling with crossbows trained on the gate. Men-at-arms hurried to reposition behind shattered benches and collapsed barrels, their cries fractured and panicked. Raine reined in her stallion, leather reins pressing into her palms, and turned in a circle to survey the chaos.

"Regroup!" she urged, voice steady but urgent. The cavalry re-formed, horses stamping water from their flanks, hooves sparking against stone. Shields locked into overlapping pattern—an impervious ring of steel around her.

Surena dismounted in a single fluid motion, boots splashing in pooled rainwater. She slammed her fist into her palm. "We hold here. Let them come!"

Raine nodded, sliding free of her saddle. The thunder of hoofbeats gave way to the softer clank of armor as riders dismounted. Splinters of splintered gatewood lay underfoot, slick and treacherous, but Surena’s grip on Raine’s shoulder steadied her.

(The storm gathers,) Arturia whispered.

Raine crouched, sweeping the courtyard with a cold gaze. "Positions!" she called. "Archers up top—cut off any retreat! Ranged unit, flank that alley—no one slips through!"

In moments, they were spread across the courtyard like chess pieces: archers clambering onto broken crates to nock arrows at the windows of the citadel tower; spearmen forming a bristling hedge of steel along the street mouth; scouts slipping into side passages to seal off any dark corners. Even in Lisban’s stone heart, the invaders moved with disciplined precision.

Her eyes flicked to the battered walls, where a handful of crossbowmen loosed bolts at her. Without hesitation, Raine sprinted to the nearest overhead arch, vaulted up the rubble with lithe grace, and dropped behind one defender. His bolt whined past, too slow. She sank her dagger into his armor joint, quiet as a cat, then kicked the bolt from his crossbow and hurled it aside. A second bolt rattled against a broken beam; she turned, chest heaving, and smacked the remaining archer across the face with her gauntlet until he taped out.

(The shadows cling to you,) Eira observed, approval in her tone.

Raine dropped down and signaled to Surena, who was already setting a warhorn to her lips. The deep note cut through the morning air, a rallying cry that sent a jolt through all of Astellia’s forces in the courtyard.

"Yes!" Surena bellowed, lifting her lance high. "For Astellia!"

Shouts answered her across the stone: "Charge!" "Forward!" "For the Baron!"

Raine felt the surge of their spirits align with her own heartbeat. This wasn’t just a raid; it was a declaration of dominion. She pivoted, scanning the courtyard’s far side where a cluster of defenders tried to form ranks near the inner keep’s steps. Their arms trembled; their helms were dented; their hopes, she saw, were threadbare.

With a roar, she led the charge straight for them. Steel rang against steel in a cacophony that shattered dawn’s stillness. She parried a thrust, rolled under a swing, and sprang up with her blade arcing in a graceful bow that stopped her foe’s heart. Another lunged; she sidestepped, kicked his knee, and watched him buckle. She laughed—a sound raw with triumph and ferocity.

(You are storm and spear,) Griselda praised.

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