Lord Summoner's Freedom Philosophy: Grimoire of Love-Chapter 577: Violence as Therapy (End)

"Wait," he blurted. "Aren’t you—"

Erich elbowed him in the face.

"No," he said. "I’m Milo."

Within a few minutes, the clearing went quiet except for groans.

One bandit crawled away on hands and knees, clutching his side, muttering something about going straight and opening a bakery.

Lyan bent and picked up a scrap of stiff parchment from beside the overturned cart. It was a crude map—crossed lines, little circles, and notes like "good trees" and "fat traders." One circle sat near a charcoal scribble that looked like a mountain.

"Interesting," Lyan murmured.

Erich wiped a streak of dust from his cheek.

"I feel slightly better now," he said.

"Violence as therapy," Lyan said. "Very healthy, Your Highness."

Erich squinted at him.

"Don’t call me that when my hair looks like this," he said.

A wind stirred the trees. Somewhere far ahead, beyond the low hills, the faint outline of a mountain range clawed at the sky.

Lyan folded the bandit map and tucked it into his belt.

"Come on," he said. "Your specialist won’t cure you if we never arrive."

Erich sighed and climbed back onto his horse.

"Do you think she’ll be kind?" he asked.

(Real saintesses are kind to fools,)

Cynthia said.

(Real saintesses send fools back down the mountain until they learn humility.)

Arturia added.

Lyan adjusted his reins.

"We’ll find out," he said.

He nudged his horse forward. The road wound on, toward rain and wolves and a village that hadn’t asked for them—but would need them anyway.

Day three brought rain.

Not a polite drizzle. Real rain. Heavy, cold drops that slid down the back of Lyan’s neck and found every gap in Erich’s cloak.

The road turned to mud under the horses’ hooves. Their progress slowed to a miserable squelch.

"Remind me," Erich said through gritted teeth, "why we didn’t wait one more day in a room with a roof."

"Because you said ’I can’t stand another day in this town,’" Lyan said.

"I was emotional," Erich snapped.

"You’re emotional now," Lyan said.

Azelia sighed in his mind.

(Rain is good for the land.)

Griselda crackled.

(Rain is good for lightning.)

"Rain is bad for my mood," Erich muttered.

By evening, they found a half-collapsed shepherd’s hut on a rise, just enough shelter to get their heads out of the downpour. They ate hard bread and dried meat in silence, listening to the water drum on the broken roof.

Day four was kinder.

The sky cleared to thin blue. The world glittered with leftover drops.

Far ahead, the mountains finally showed themselves properly—dark, jagged shapes rising above the foothills, their tops still crowned with mist.

Erich followed Lyan’s gaze.

"That’s it?" he said.

"That’s it," Lyan said.

"It looks far," Erich said.

"It is," Lyan said.

By day five, the road had narrowed to more of a trail.

The last farmhouse fell behind them in the morning. By afternoon, the only signs of people were old fire pits and the occasional shrine stone half swallowed by moss.

The trees changed too—taller, denser, their branches knitting overhead in places. Shadows stacked between their trunks.

Lyan felt the shift in the air.

"We’re close to the foothills," he said.

"Good," Erich said. "Maybe the ground will stop attacking my spine soon."

It was almost sunset when the wolves came.

They weren’t normal wolves.

Their eyes had a faint green shine to them in the dim light, and their fur looked too thin, patchy in places like something had gone wrong. Their ribs showed under their pelts.

The first growl slid out of the underbrush on Lyan’s right.

He raised his hand slightly.

"Stop," he said.

Erich pulled his horse up beside him.

"What?"

Another growl, this time from the left.

Then the first wolf stepped onto the path.

It bared yellow teeth at them, hackles up.

More shapes moved in the shadows behind it.

"Wonderful," Erich muttered. "Even the wildlife wants a piece of us."

Lyan dismounted in one smooth motion, ignoring his legs’ complaint.

"Stay by the horses," he said. "Don’t let them spook."

A second wolf slipped out of the trees, then a third. Six in total that he could see, maybe more hidden.

He drew no steel yet. He let his weight sink slightly into his stance, eyes tracking.

One wolf’s head twitched. Its gaze fixed on Erich, who was still on his horse.

It crouched.

Lyan saw the muscles bunch.

He moved as it leaped.

The wolf went for Erich’s leg. Its jaws closed on air.

Lyan’s arm hooked around its neck mid-air and yanked it sideways. They hit the ground together. The impact jolted his bruises. The wolf snarled and twisted. Lyan’s forearm locked tighter.

He rolled, brought his knee up, and drove it under the wolf’s ribs. Air blasted out of its lungs in a shocked huff.

Erich leaned down from the saddle and flung a small arc of fire at another wolf’s paws. The flame licked the ground in front of it. The beast yelped and skidded back.

"That one was rude," Erich said, breathless.

Lyan tightened his grip and pushed the wolf away. It staggered, limped, then thought better of its choices and backed off, hackles still raised.

"It aimed for your face," Lyan said. "Good taste. Bad timing."

Two more wolves circled, snapping. One lunged at Lyan’s arm. He shifted, letting it graze his sleeve, then drove his fist into its temple. It crumpled.

Erich slid off his horse finally, landing with a small grunt.

"Fine," he said. "Team effort."

He raised both hands this time.

A small ring of controlled flame flared up in the dirt between them and the wolves, not high enough to be a wall, just enough to make the beasts think twice.

The fire cast wild shadows on the trees. The wolves whined, backed away, then melted into the forest one by one, eyes glowing like coals before they vanished.

Erich lowered his hands. The fire died to embers and then to smoke.

He panted.

"I hate this mountain already," he said.

"You hate everything that makes you sweat," Lyan said.

They led the horses off the main trail to a small hollow sheltered by rocks. There, they made camp while there was still a little light.

Erich sat on a log, tunic pulled up so Lyan could wrap a cloth around the worst of the bruises on his side.

"Everything hurts again," Erich complained.

"That means you’re still alive," Lyan said. He tightened the cloth. Erich hissed. "If you stop feeling anything, worry."

Erich stared into the small fire they’d coaxed into being.

For a while, the only sounds were crackling wood and distant, uneasy forest noises.

"It’s not just about... that night," Erich said suddenly.

Lyan didn’t look up from the knot he was tying.

"No," he said. "I know."

Erich’s hands curled around his knees.

"I’m supposed to be the future king," he said quietly. "I can’t say that out loud half the time without wanting to punch something, but it’s true. Everything at court is already balanced on ’will he be a good ruler or just pretty armor.’ And then in that room, with that girl looking at me and saying ’weak’..."

He swallowed.

"All I could think," he said, "was, ’if you can’t even do this, how can you rule.’"

Lyan’s fingers paused.

He let the knot sit and leaned back a little, studying the prince’s profile in the firelight.

"You survived a war," he said. "You held a line against demons. You pushed through fear curses and came out laughing. One maid’s careless word doesn’t define you."

"It matters to me," Erich said.

"I know," Lyan said. "That’s why we’re here. So we fix it."

Cynthia’s voice was soft.

(You are kinder than you pretend to be.)

Eira’s answer was dry.

(It is strategically sound. A broken king breaks nations.)

Hestia hummed.

(And broken pride makes foolish deals. Better to mend it now.)

Erich was quiet for a moment.

"Why are you actually helping me?" he asked finally. "You could’ve ignored that letter. Or sent a polite note that said, ’have you tried talking to your doctor.’"

Lyan snorted.

"You would have come to find me anyway," he said. "Probably at a bad moment." 𝚏𝕣𝐞𝗲𝐰𝕖𝐛𝐧𝕠𝕧𝚎𝚕.𝐜𝚘𝗺

"That is not an answer," Erich said.

Lyan poked the fire with a stick.

"You’re a friend," he said simply. "I don’t collect many. And if your pride breaks completely, the kingdom cracks with it. I live in that kingdom. I like my house standing."

Erich huffed a laugh.

"That’s very romantic," he said.

"I am an incubus warlord, not a poet," Lyan said.

"Yeah, right," Erich scoffed.

(You say that,)

Cynthia teased,

(but you just told him you care about him and the people under his future rule.)

Griselda crackled.

(That counts as poetry for men like you.)

"Promise me something," Erich said.

"No," Lyan said automatically.

"You didn’t hear it yet," Erich protested.

"I can guess," Lyan said.

Erich sighed.

"Promise you won’t tell your terrifying wives," he said. "About... all this."

Lyan thought of Lilith’s delighted laughter, Cynthia’s too-knowing eyes, Arturia turning red enough to melt her own armor.

"I can’t lie to some of them," he said.

Erich groaned.

"I’m doomed," he muttered.

"Probably," Lyan said.

They sat in silence a while longer, letting the fire burn down to glowing coals.

Above them, the sky stretched dark and wide, full of unfamiliar stars. Ahead, the mountains waited—stone, mist, and a woman who might or might not be willing to see them.

Behind them, trouble in the lower quarter still simmered, but for now, it felt distant.

The world had shrunk to firelight, pain, and the thin, stubborn line of one man’s pride.

And Lyan, who had seen worse quests, chose to walk this one anyway.