Blade Of Northarch の小説・ストーリー

One of my youngest knights, Nicholas, who I only saw a few minutes ago stabbing the life out of a Northern Whisper was now laying motionless upon the snowy ground; his chest cavity still bleeding out, intestines ripped violently from their home and pulled through his ripped dark skin, and it had happened so soon ago that a small cloud of body heat still rose from the deadly wound. And to think his name means conqueror… To his left, a woman who was one of my best spies and had the best baking skills of almost anyone I had ever met, laid on her front, the gouge in her back; the Northern Whisper had got what it wanted. A piercing cry pulled me back to reality and before I could even register wh

“No.” The flame presses harder, trying to crush my will to dust. I move forward anyway. I will not kill her. Not for prophecy. Not for gods. The fire bows. --- I step from the altar’s heart, smoke curling from my skin. In my hand — a bone blade, heavier than steel, runes crawling its length. One word pulses with light: Nyxara. The beast lowers its head. “Then you are bound to her, in life and ruin. Carry that blade well… for the gods will call it blasphemy.”

I let out a breath I had not realized I was holding. But if he was not here for that, what did he come here for? “I want you to get a blade for me” he continued, overlooking the balcony and the stables below from a distance with his eyes. When I still remained silent, he carried on “the vendor must not know you’re from the castle or have any connections with us. All you’re permitted to say is that you need an enchanted blade for protection. There’s a chance he would bring out the specific blade I seek with the rest of his collection. You would purchase the blade and return to the castle. If the blade is not among the pile he displays to you, press further and if he does not give in, purchase

his hand returned with a knife of his own from where Sethlzaar could not see, "this is a knife." The weapon was big, its blade longer than any Sethlzaar had set his eyes on. The Northman brandished it in style. He twirled it deftly in his grip and pinned it to the table where it stayed embedded with a thud that caused the single cup on the table to bounce at the impact, spilling its contents. Where the man's knife was for stabbing, the Northman had produced something that could gut a bull in one blow.

The blade caught the fading light. "This is better than my own knife," she said to Yrsa. "If I wasn't dying, I'd take it." I shook my head. Frost was radiating cold so intensely I had to step away from him. "I know you don't like this—" I began. "Shut up," he said. I did. I swallowed whatever justification I was about to offer. None of it would help. Yrsa began explaining the dagger's significance to Hilda. "Blade from north mountains. Forged in sacred fire. Will open path between worlds."

Every step Lena took felt heavier, as if unseen hands were pressing down on her shoulders. Cassian and Dorian followed in silence, their expressions grim. Even they didn’t know what this trial entailed. At last, they reached a chamber unlike the others. At the center stood an altar—carved from obsidian, veins of molten gold running through it like lifeblood. Floating above it was a dagger, its blade forged from a material Lena didn’t recognize, its edges glowing with an eerie silver light. Idris moved to stand beside the altar. “This is the Blade of Ancients,” he said. “Forged in the fire of the first Trueborn. It does not spill blood—it takes something far deeper.”

Driven by the fervor of his burning essence and blood, the Chaos Flag's fiery radiance flickered for a fleeting moment before waning. Seizing the opportune moment, Severin maneuvered the Oculus Blade's sword beam and sliced it through the flag's defenses, nearly severing the Ancestora's arm in a single stroke.

Like a rabid wolf, the Knight lashed out in wrath striking the venerable champion with his blade despite being made of flesh and bone. Kent’s blade was able to slice through the Xerroh-Adamantine armor as if it were a piece of paper the knights were slowly being torn through by their former leader as he fell into rage and madness as they tried to subdue him. The knights tried to restrain him with cables and restrict his movement with their halberds only to fail as the blade evolved from a sword into a double-bladed scythe slicing through the cables with great ease. Victor tried to pin him to the ground Kent threw his scythe towards the surrounding knights with a single punch. The Grand Archo

I shouted. I stepped out from behind Rowan. The obsidian blade in my hand felt different now. It wasn't just a heavy piece of stone. It was light, almost weightless, and it thrummed with the soft, white light of the girl I had seen in the warehouse. It was the **Blade of the Unsaid**. Every word I had swallowed, every dream I had put aside for the sake of survival, every "I love you" that had been lost in the roar of battle—it was all there, feeding the light. Vane pivoted, his liquid form spinning like a drill. He ignored Rowan and came for me. He was fast—too fast for a human to track. He was a blur of silver and shadow.

There were wisps of smoke rising from his armor, and Randey wondered how badly he was injured. “Vile Beast!” shouted the Blade Master. He raised his blade and charged once more. Randey slipped out of the door as the Knight ran forward, hurrying in a crouch. He moved away from the barn, looking carefully for any sign of the figure he’d seen. He caught sight of it again, and he moved as quietly as he could to get behind it. From what he could tell, the individual’s attention was on the fight. No doubt waiting to unleash other mystical attacks upon the Grenyaar. Randey slipped behind a broken water barrel, looking past it at the figure beyond. They still had not turned in his direction. Pushing