Blade Of Northarch Novels & Stories

North made the request, almost pleading. Pytor completely ignored her. He wasn’t even looking at the woman he’d tortured so badly. His gaze had already moved on, and he was picking off another person not wearing the magical camouflage. When his narrowed eyes and turned in the direction of the six men whose faces she remembered, she clutched even tighter to the compass. A surge of power filled her, and the compass grew hot in her hand. She winced and looked down, almost shocked to see the glass face starting to melt. She pulled back the power surge as much as she could as a gentle voice whispered in the back of her mind, “Find Your Way, North.” She recognized the voice, and it soothed her eve

⸻ The words blurred before Alessio’s eyes. “Archive…” he whispered. “What exactly is it?” ⸻ The Raven didn’t answer. Instead… He looked toward the Oath Blade. The blue glow surrounding it had become brighter. The weapon seemed almost… Alive. ⸻ Suddenly— Alessio’s vision blurred. His grip tightened around the dagger. A violent pain exploded inside his head. Memories. Hundreds of them. Not his own. Faces he had never seen. Kings. Queens. Soldiers. Children.

The memories of the borderlands, the hunts, the bloodshed—they all blurred into the background. Only the blade remained. Steel. Control. Focus. He spun the sword once and brought it down in a clean strike that would have split a skull from crown to jaw. The sound echoed softly across the courtyard. Then— “You train early.” The voice came from behind him. Deep. Smooth. Ancient. Adrian froze instantly. His instincts reacted before his thoughts did. He turned and dropped to one knee. “My king.” King Vaelreth stood near the entrance of the courtyard, his dark cloak stirring slightly in the cold morning wind.

She knew exactly what had to be done and that it would be brutal. From her hidden pocket, she pulled a small silver blade, a relic from the Northern tribes, the kind that could cut through more than just skin. She stared at the blade, then back at the suffering man. ‘If I can't kill her’, Raksha mused, a cruel, thin smile forming on her lips. ‘Then I'll break the thing she wants most. I’ll turn this pack into a graveyard before I let her take it back.’ She walked over to the side of the sofa, looking down at Ahri, who was now barely conscious, his breaths coming in rattling gasps.

It didn't have the obsidian skin of the scouts; it was wearing a suit of white bone-armor that mimicked the Vane's own runes. ​"The Earth-Alphas are more creative than the Queen anticipated," the Enforcer said, its voice a telepathic echo in Leo’s mind. "But a flying garden is still just a garden. I am Korth, the Queen's First Blade. And I have come to prune the dead weight." ​Korth lunged, his bone-sword igniting with a violet "Null-Frequency." ​Leo didn't dodge. He used the "Wild Code" to catch the blade with his bare hand, the amber runes on his palm sparking as they fought to neutralize the violet poison. The shockwave of the impact sent a tremor through the entire Labyrinth.

My father had told me stories about how he found a hidden cave in our backyard when he was young and stumbled upon an ancient blade that belonged to Vangoda. Had my father known this was going to be my fate? Was he the one who etched my name on the Blade? I decided to take the blade out of its case and hold it. I felt a surge of energy run through my body as soon as my fingers wrapped around the hilt. The blade was light but sturdy, made from an unknown metal that was strong enough to slice through concrete or bone with ease. I could feel its power coursing through me, the same way a soldier feels when he straps on his gun and goes to war. It was as if the blade had chosen me as much as I ha

The Final March Ashley’s POV The skies over us were unnaturally still. The type that stops and waits and holds its breath until it is covered with blood. We were in line on the border of the old battleplain where, they said, the old kings lay resting in their bones under the ground. In front of the army rode Nicholas, in his armour of silver, like splinters of moon. Across his back was flung the Moonshard Blade, where its quiet power hummed to itself in ways we could not effect.

I pressed my fingers to her name and whispered a vow with my breathless tongue. I would not vanish. I left the library with more weight in my chest, but less doubt in my steps. I passed through the armory, past polished steel and ceremonial weapons meant for show, not war. But in the corner, half-covered in shadows, I found a blade that hadn’t been touched in decades. A thin rapier, forged in obsidian and silver, its handle wrapped in a faded violet cloth. I lifted it carefully, and it hummed in my grip like it recognized something ancient in me. I strapped it beneath my cloak without a word. If I couldn’t scream, I would let this blade speak.

He leaned closer and the blade tighter that it nearly reached my breath, “There is none left devoted to Abberant. Nothing left.” Making a rapid stroke, I clutched my hands onto this guy’s shoulder and flip him over me. He crashed onto the stack of armors but the blades didn’t spare me, leaving a long wound on my neck. As well as it is, five more cadets emerged from the shadows, and all of them were armed with sharp swords. And the aim is me. Damn! This is out of my expectation. They’re all under Vander’s command, they’re all traitors surrounding the entire camp! “Charge!”

We said goodbye and I headed to the address Nick had texted me. As I walked into the shop a friendly gentleman greeted me. “Miss Clarke, Mr. Thorn said to expect you.” “He did,” I sounded surprised. “I have the bottles ready for you.” We walked over to the counter, and he showed me the bottles. First was Chateau Montelena chardonnay and the second was a bottle of Macallan 18-year-old double cask whiskey. I nodded, not having a clue. I watched as he boxed the bottles up and placed a gift ribbon around each of them.