Black Butler Dagger Novels & Stories

' like seriously? 'No, you are not going to force anyone' Jack is just about to pull me when mr. Black's deep upset voice echoes in the hall. Phew! For once, I think I am thankful for Mr. Black's intrusion. At least, this can serve as a compensation for him being a total dick to me earlier this morning. 'In my office mr. Moore' Mr. Black says bossily and then turns back, probably going to his office with an annoyed expression. 'We are not done yet kitten.' Jack says with a victorious grin.

I pushed my way towards the young man and waved my hand in front of his face to get his attention. “Yes, sir. What’s your order?” “I just wanted to ask you, is he the only silver blacksmith in Dargot.” “Indeed! One of a kind, but very reasonably priced!” “And how did he get his silver hammer?” The man pointed over his shoulder to a lance hanging high on the wall. “The killer of the Radiant Sea Serpent. A fearsome beast that claimed the lives of over a hundred men. But no more, thanks to that beautiful piece of workmanship. An exact duplicate can be yours for only one thousand bits.”

The dark mana formed a dark slender handle, with a long curving blade fastened at the end. It was scythe. One wrong move, it can cut my head right now. "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH" the heretic let out an insulting laugh. He shouldn't, he doesn't have the time. A blurry black figure appeared on his back. It outlined a young man with his black robe covering him up. The only thing visible was his bright emerald eyes glowing under the dark. Like a snake, Zen's right hand who was holding his dagger coursed through the air at an incredible speed as it made its way towards the neck of the opponent.

He should take this slow and steady. “Let’s see those weapons you were talking about.” Salj stared at the door where Yuki just left through for a few seconds. Then he sighed and went to the closet. He took out several things, a claymore, a bow, a sword, and a staff which he gently placed on the table. The weapons were all completely black with wooden texture and appearance, except for the handles and guards. The weapons all had a series of exactly 10 runic writings engraved on them.

Something that had seemed insignificant at the time, but now seemed crucial. As I had hugged Ezra in the dream, I had caught a glimpse of a figure lurking in the shadows. A man with a dagger. But what had struck me as odd was that the dagger was black. I had always known the royal dagger to be gold and silver, adorned with precious gems. A shiver ran down my spine as I realized the implications. The person with the black dagger must be the killer. But who was it? And why had they been lurking in the shadows, watching Ezra and me?

The dagger was finely crafted, looking like an ordinary small knife at first glance. "Try the mechanism," he urged. I picked up the dagger, feeling its perfect balance in my hand. With a subtle twist of the handle, it opened to reveal the sharp silver spike I had designed. Satisfaction surged through me. This was exactly what I'd envisioned – an innocuous-looking weapon that concealed a deadly surprise. After paying the remaining money, I carefully secured the dagger in my inner pocket. As I turned to leave, the blacksmith called out. "Young sir," he began, his voice hesitant. "Would you be willing to sell the blueprint for this knife to me?"

Each piece is more ornate than the last. Spears tipped with obsidian. Crowns twisted with iron and bone. Daggers so delicate they looked like they could bleed air. His eyes locked on the middle blade—a silver dagger with a blackened hilt shaped like two wings crossed in flight. It shimmered faintly. Faint glyphs, once hidden, now caught the low torchlight, glowing like embers beneath the surface. “Why this one?” he thought, breath shallowing. “Why does it look like it’s waiting for me?”

I stepped inside. The scent of iron grew thick. Not fresh blood. Old blood. Sacred blood. Spilled in sacrifice. And on the pedestal at the center of the circular chamber— There it was. The twin dagger. The blade was made of black glass, and the hilt was carved from bone and wrapped in woven strands of silver hair. It wasn’t resting. It was waiting. Just like the other had waited for her. But this one... This one wasn’t meant to be wielded. It was meant to judge.

This place was a mirror — broken, sacred, bloodstained. Like her. She walked the aisle slow, letting her heels echo like war drums on the marble. She wore no crown. No lace. No makeup save for the blood-red slash across her lips. Her suit was matte black, double-breasted, the jacket tailored to the lines of command. At her side was a dagger. Not concealed. Not subtle. A Benedetti blade, etched with her grandfather’s initials, kissed once by her mother’s blood.

She pulled out a long, leather-wrapped bundle and laid it on the table. When she unrolled the leather, my breath hitched. Resting inside were two weapons. One was a heavy, modern tactical knife with a matte-black hilt and a blade that gleamed with a faint sheen. The other... the other was a short, ancient dagger. Its hilt was carved from white bone, yellowed with age, and the blade was etched with runic inscriptions that looked horrifyingly familiar. It was the dagger from my nightmares. The dagger that had pierced my chest three centuries ago.