Black Clover Weapons Novels & Stories

Caitlin had to hand it to her: she was strong-willed. Sera had taken them upstairs, to the main floor of the Cloisters, and had taken Caitlin to a massive, stone fireplace with intricate carvings. She’d reached in and pulled the heavy iron choker, and had revealed a secret compartment. She’d extracted two weapons for her: a short sword, covered in ancient carvings, and a short, silver spear. Caitlin had stared in awe. They were cruel, medieval weapons of destruction, yet beautiful in their simplicity.

Chris grunted. Ignoring Chris's whining, "I know where our stolen shipments are." "What, how?" He put a long silver case on the table. Inside the case were various weapons intricately designed. "I take pride in introducing something revolutionary for the Crimson Clan, Gen-CW01. Genetically coded weapons developed by yours truly. These are prototypes but efficient nevertheless." We were in awe. "When did you have time to do this?" "Come on, it's me you're talking to. Nothing can get in my way when I set my mind on something."

I hesitated a bit but I could only delay what was inevitable. My feet came into contact with something too crunchy to be just leaves but I dared not look and heighten my worries. “If it helps, the blacksmith makes poisoned weapons and tests their efficacy on surrounding animals. It is their bones you step upon” the guard who had been doing the honors of making me more comfortable, said. Hmmm… how soothing to know I thread upon animal remains whilst I walk into the den of the man who caused the animals to remain. They began leading the way when it appeared that I had gathered my composure. I walked closely behind, determined to not let anything slip from my environment survey.

His trusted knife. Apollo crouched. Slowly. The kind of slow that made violence gather dignity. The cloak remained where it had been left, half-hidden in shadow. His fingers closed around the fabric. The fabric was dark, almost black, heavier than it looked, woven for protection against cold, ash, and blade. It should have smelled of Cael alone. Smoke, shadow, old leather, steel, the faint clean bitterness of the oils he used on his weapons. It did smell of him. But beneath that.

Camellia smiled indifferently, picking up an iron plum blossom, a specially designed hidden weapon resembling an iron plum blossom with sharp, pointed petals that could cut or stab. "This hidden weapon is good, I want to copy it," Camellia smiled. This kind of hidden weapon was more useful. Silver needles were too light and sometimes inconvenient for long-distance shooting, requiring too much energy. So, unless necessary, Camellia wouldn't use them. The iron plum blossom was much more convenient, small, and made up for the weight of the silver needles. It was a hidden weapon that suited her preferences.

It clunks against Ali's head, returning to the narrow cylinder as he falls. Halo turns, dodging the swing of a machete, and a simple, black staff by turning his body into an opposite arc. The weapons hit the ground, and Halo lifts his leg high, then brings it down atop the mercenary now on his right. In one swift movement, he pulls out his pistols and their tips glow blue as candescent projectiles fly.

Black shelves loomed like shadows of sin—cold steel, dark leather, polished glass. The tools sat in perfect order: crops, flóggers, díldos, plúgs, pàddles, clàmps, a violet wand cradled in velvet, gàgs in various shapes, ànal hooks, ropes, hoods, and restraints. It wasn’t decoration. It was declaration. Every piece had drawn cries. Every piece had made someone submit.

LYRA POV The signal device disappeared back into the Adjudicator's coat. Nobody moved for three full seconds after that. The arena held its collective breath with every eye fixed on the sealed door set into the stone wall to the left of the Council seating. I hadn't noticed it when we walked in. It was flush with the wall with no handle or visible hinges. It opened inward. Four figures who were wearing black long cloaks that swept the floor stepped through. Each of them carried a single weapon — a short, dark blade, no longer than a forearm, hanging at their hip without a sheath.

There were several odd shapes on the table, which was covered with a black cloth. "What's this?" I asked, my curiosity piqued as Adrian pulled the cloth away. I gasped as I realized that there were dozens of weapons underneath it. There was a sleek black katana, with its blade shining in the moonlight. There was also a pair of sais, with their prongs looking sharp and deadly. And there was also a set of throwing knives, a staff, and even a coiled whip. It looked like a BDSM table, or a torturer’s tools. I couldn’t tell which was the better description.

They would heal, if they lived long enough. I turned my eyes to the weapons. Each one lay upon black cloth, meticulously polished, arranged like a lover’s gift. Scythes curved like crescent moons. Blades etched with blood-runes designed to cut deeper, burn longer. Axes heavier than a man’s torso. Spears tipped with obsidian fangs. I remembered the way my heart had thundered as a boy when I saw those same weapons gleam under torchlight. I had wanted nothing more than to touch them, to claim one as my own.