Asta Swords Novels & Stories

His sword aura could absolutely break the steel power of Steelification Doyen. Perhaps he would not be able to kill Steelification Doyen, but in terms of damaging power, ten Steelification Doyen could not even compare to one Ghoul Sword. “Kayson, w-who’s he?” Celeste was aghast. She was only a regular girl. How could she have encountered a situation like this? “Ghoul Sword, a criminal and a grandmaster fighter.” Celeste asked worriedly, “I-Is he very good?” “He’s alright.”

Then, Weston burst into tears once again and was crying much worse than ever before. Lucas was delighted within himself. 'Isn't that just the Holy Metallic Huge Sword?' "Stop crying. I'll compensate one for you," Lucas slowly said. Naturally, Weston did not believe that Lucas would compensate him with another Holy Metallic Huge Sword and was still crying. 'Holy Metallic Huge Sword?' 'It is just a huge sword made from the Holy Metal.' Lucas activated the Points Mall in his mind and search through the weaponry column. In no time, he found a huge sword that suited Weston.

Cain stretched his arms out at his sides, a dual sword in each hand. The pommels were silver, swirling and curving like crescent moons as they inched down the obsidian blades. His dark hair cascaded down his shoulders. When paired with the armor and swords, Cain looked as deadly as a warrior for the House Viotto should.

Asura was cautious. Hirayasura dripped his blood onto the Sundapura soil that had turned black. As his blood dripped and seeped into the soil, the turmoil of the ground began to show. Slowly, a sword with a black hilt and a skull ornament with two bull-like horns poked up. The black demon swordsman grasped the black sword tightly and pulled it up. The sword had a saw-like blade. It was jagged and extremely sharp on one side. "It's been a long time since I've summoned this sword. The Tembadau Ireng Sword, an heirloom forged from the marvelous black metal in the depths of hell." Hirayasura smiled while gently stroking the sword.

Celeste Our swords met before either of us finished the first step. The impact echoed across the ridge. He drove forward. I gave ground. Not because I had to. Because I wanted him committed. His blade came from the left. I caught it. He reversed the strike instantly, aiming for my ribs. Steel scraped steel as I twisted my wrist. Sparks burst between us. He spun with the momentum, his cloak sweeping across the stones. The next strike came from an angle I'd never seen before.

He asked anxiously, "Then, when is she coming back? Is she in any danger now?" Leon looked at Vernon and said coldly, "I'm sorry, but you're not research personnel. I'm afraid our information is classified." Vernon frowned as he gave Leon the once-over. Just as the tension began rising between the two of them, one of my bodyguards, Guy Bloomsdale, suddenly ran over, panting loudly, and exclaimed anxiously, "Bad news! The village that Ms. Summers went to has just been ambushed!" This sudden news came out of nowhere, and Vernon immediately lost his cool. He looked like he'd just been struck in the head as he froze on the spot in a daze.

"If we go out there, there's no coming back. The hybrids are waiting." "I don't care." "Aradaa—" "I don't fucking care, Kaelor! Give me a sword." Kaelor reached into the shadows of the tunnel wall. He pulled out a heavy, iron blade. It was notched and rusted. "It’s not Muse glass," Kaelor said. "Good. Glass breaks." Aradaa took the sword. It was heavy. It made his arms ache. They stepped out into the light. They weren't on the Ridge.

I swallowed, letting the tension slip slightly from my shoulders. I couldn’t stop myself from watching him, either. The way he moved was effortless, controlled. He didn’t just lean on the counter—he owned the space, like it belonged to him. And in a room full of chaos, he was calm. Always calm. Always aware. Watching him made me wonder how much of him was armor and how much was the real person.

His greatsword lay across the prep counter, the blade still bearing the gouge where a shield had smashed into it, the notch's edges glinting cold. "Eggs are overdone. You've got a choice: burnt or raw." He shoved a plate toward me. One egg was a charred ring of black. The other was still wobbling. He unstrapped his own dagger and laid it on the countertop beside the greatsword. The dark brown leather wrapped around the grip was polished to a glossy sheen by years of sweat and blood. "That sword's too heavy. You take this. Light. Fast. Angle's different when you're going for lungs instead of heart. Blade goes up, extra half-inch of tilt. Don't use it backwards."

"Sophie, are you even listening?" "Yes! Of course." A hell of a bloody no; his biceps and broad shoulders were more interesting, though. How would it feel if I ran my hands downward? Would he moan? Sage smirked. "I want you to remember that perhaps the most diverse and exotic types of swords are the Asian swords, which include straight, double-edged Chinese longswords (Jian) and single-edged Chinese sabers (Dao), as well as a myriad of other exotic weapons favored by martial artists the world over. See this?" Sage held the sword like it was his other hand, expertly and effortlessly. Impressive, though. He's been explaining it since forever, which bored her to death, yet all Sophie remembered