Lord Summoner's Freedom Philosophy: Grimoire of Love-Chapter 490: The Secret Thrill (1)

The first light of dawn seeped through the mist-shrouded forest, painting the Astellian camp in pale, silvery hues. Birds whispered timid notes in the branches above, and the cool morning breeze carried the earthy scent of damp leaves and dew-laden grass. Yet beneath the tranquil atmosphere, a different kind of tension rippled through the camp—one hidden beneath red cheeks, awkward laughter, and the unmistakable shuffle of unsteady steps.

Lyan adjusted his cloak, the silver clasp catching a faint glint of sunlight. His gaze swept the camp as he rolled his shoulders, feeling a lingering, pleasant ache in his muscles. His own stride remained steady, but he couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at his lips as he noticed the others.

Wilhelmina, always so composed, stood at the main supply cart, her pink braid swaying gently with each step. But there was a slight wobble in her usually perfect posture, her grip on the quill wavering as she marked supply logs. One of her aides, a young scout with sharp eyes, approached cautiously. "Commander... are you feeling alright? You seem a bit... unsteady."

Wilhelmina’s cheeks flushed a faint rose, but her voice remained even. "Just... a slight cramp. Nothing to worry about. Ensure the archers have their fletchings checked."

Further down the camp, Xena stretched beside the horses, her green eyes narrowing with focus. But each time she tried to bend forward, a faint wince crossed her face, and her balance wavered. A stable hand tilted his head, curious. "Lady Xena? Did you... strain something?"

"Horses were restless last night," Xena lied smoothly, though the color in her cheeks betrayed her. "A bit of a struggle."

Ravia, sharpening her blade by the edge of the supply tent, seemed determined to hide her slight limp, but the slow, careful way she lowered herself onto a crate didn’t escape her squad’s notice.

"Lady Ravia, are you—"

"Fine," she snapped, perhaps a bit too quickly. Then, softer, she cleared her throat. "Just... overdid the sword practice."

Josephine lounged against a tree, her fiery red hair cascading down her shoulder. She tried to maintain her usual confident smirk, but even leaning there, a subtle tremor ran through her legs. One of her cavalry officers approached. "Ma’am, you seem... tired."

"I’m just... getting in the mood for the march," Josephine quipped, forcing a grin. But the warmth in her cheeks said otherwise.

Alicia, usually so stoic, nearly tripped over her own cloak as she prepared her spell components. Her silver eyes darted nervously, and her fingers fumbled with the runes. A junior mage beside her noticed. "Lady Alicia, is everything alright?"

"Yes! Perfectly fine! Just... trying a new spell configuration," she blurted, the sudden pitch of her voice betraying her.

Belle, for her part, stood by the main path, her emerald cloak wrapped around her, face positively radiant with satisfaction. Yet her walk had an unmistakable sway, each step a gentle wobble. Her scouts, accustomed to her grace, exchanged confused glances.

"Captain Belle... are you feeling unwell?"

Belle’s smile didn’t falter. "Oh, I’m feeling better than ever." She giggled, a slight pink tinge on her cheeks.

Lyan finally made his way to the center of the camp, where the officers were supposed to assemble. One by one, they converged, each trying to maintain their usual poise. But the subtle stiffness in their movements, the light pink on their cheeks, the way they exchanged knowing glances—none of it went unnoticed by the nearby soldiers.

Wilhelmina cleared her throat, regaining her authoritative air. "We march in an hour. Ensure supplies are loaded. Belle, scouts at the forward flanks. Xena, Ravia, keep the vanguard ready."

They nodded, trying to maintain their composure, but the faint shuffles, the hesitant steps, and the occasional wince betrayed them. Lyan stood at the center, suppressing a smile.

A voice called out from the rear, one of the junior sergeants. "Commander Wilhelmina! Are you sure you’re well enough to march? You seem—"

"I am perfectly capable," Wilhelmina snapped, the pink in her cheeks deepening. "Focus on your duties."

As the soldiers scattered to prepare for the march, Lyan exchanged a glance with his companions. Their slightly embarrassed smiles, the way they fidgeted, the lingering flush in their cheeks—it was a quiet, shared secret, one that only they understood.

And as the camp came alive with preparation, Lyan’s gaze lingered on each of them. His heart swelled—not just with desire, but with a deep, fierce affection. They weren’t just his companions or lovers. They were his family, bound together by more than just shared battles.

A soft chuckle escaped his lips. "Let’s march," he murmured, and their journey continued.

Last night was intense....

_____

The firelight of the camp cast flickering shadows that danced against the thick canvas walls of the central command tent. A soft, muffled chorus of laughter and whispered protests filled the air as Belle, already flushed and still catching her breath, sat at the edge of the bed, smoothing out her mussed hair.

"You cheated," Josephine teased, arms crossed, one eyebrow arched, her emerald eyes gleaming. "How dare you sneak around with Lyan using your little magic trick."

Belle pouted, her long purplish-pink hair tumbling down her shoulder. "Oh, please. You all already had your fun with him while I was out scouting. Don’t you dare act innocent!"

Ravia chuckled, leaning against the tent pole, her black hair cascading around her in soft waves. "Belle’s right. We were greedy. But she still owes us for sneaking around."

"And you all call me a troublemaker," Xena muttered, crossing her arms, though a playful smirk tugged at her lips.

Alice adjusted her glasses, trying to hide the faint blush on her cheeks. "I-I was just trying to maintain a... a disciplined environment, but..." Her voice trailed off, and she bit her lip.

Wilhelmina remained silent, but the subtle way she shifted, her gloved fingers gently brushing the edge of her pink braid, betrayed her interest. Her icy blue eyes flicked to Lyan, who stood at the center of the tent, bare-chested, his storm-gray eyes glinting with amusement.

"Fine, fine," Lyan sighed, his voice a mix of playful exasperation and deep, rumbling warmth. "But if you all want to play with the same trick Belle used, then..."

"Then let’s all take turns," Josephine declared boldly, her voice rich with mischief. "And let’s see who can handle the most."

Lyan’s grin widened, and he gestured to Belle. "Belle, your magic?"

Belle’s face brightened with a mischievous smile. She clasped her hands, her silver magic weaving and swirling around them. Beside her, the Papilio Slime, Pilia, emerged, its soft, luminescent form glowing gently. "Pilia, help me with the illusion again, okay?"

The slime glowed brighter, its soft form pulsing, and suddenly, the tent’s atmosphere shifted. A shimmer of light rippled, and the entire tent seemed to vanish, replaced by the view of the moonlit forest. The faint sounds of the camp in the distance, the rustle of leaves, and the occasional crackle of a campfire reached their ears. But in reality, they were all still hidden—protected by a perfectly woven illusion of invisibility and soundproofing.

As Josephine clung to Lyan, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, the illusion around them shimmered with a silvery glow, hiding them perfectly from the camp. But what thrilled her most was not just the secrecy—it was the danger. The possibility of being caught, of someone walking straight through their hidden embrace, made her pulse race faster than ever.

Lyan’s strong hands gripped her plush thighs, his fingers sinking into her soft flesh as he lifted her effortlessly, his body pressing against hers. "MMPH... SLURP... MMH..." Their lips crushed together, tongues entwining, and Josephine’s voice was a muffled, hungry melody. Her crimson hair cascaded down, mixing with Lyan’s dark locks, their breaths mingling in the cool night air.

"SLAP... SLAP... SLAP..."

Each wet impact of their bodies sent shocks of pleasure racing through her, her muffled moans growing louder with each thrust. Her emerald eyes, usually so sharp and cunning, now glazed with raw, desperate desire.

"I... I love this...! So good... so good—!!" Her voice was a hushed, breathless whisper, barely audible over the wet, rhythmic slapping of their joining. But Lyan’s kiss swallowed her voice, his hands roaming her body, one squeezing her bountiful rear, the other caressing the curve of her waist.

But then she heard it—faint, muffled laughter from the camp just a few feet away. The voices of the soldiers swapping stories around the campfire, their carefree banter drifting through the air.

"Oh, come on, Jarek! There’s no way you took down three goblins alone!" one of them laughed.

"I’m telling you, they were all smaller than me! It was easy!" another protested.

Josephine’s heart raced faster. They were so close. So close to being seen, being heard. Her body trembled with a new, twisted excitement, her hips instinctively grinding against Lyan’s powerful thrusts. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, her muffled moans becoming even louder, even more desperate.

"SLAP... SLAP... SLAP..."

Lyan’s voice was a low, husky whisper against her ear. "They can’t see us... but if you keep being so loud, they might hear something..."

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