Bloody Lance Elden Ring Novels & Stories

"Who's spreading rumors? I won't let this go." Lance's cedar pheromones exploded like a blizzard, his aura so oppressive that the moon grass in the hall shed leaves. His nail-hardened fingers scraped the wolfbone table, leaving five silver-blue blood streaks. "Did you or not?" "Answer me!" Priscilla was intimidated by her son's stern expression—it mirrored the former Lycan King's wrath. Lance's aura, unlike the former Lycan King's white musk, carried the rust scent of battlefields.

I spit bitterly. “Well, since the Crown Prince is his adopted father, it will be absolutely no problem for me to find him the best instructor possible,” Gamma Everly assures me. “Actually, I think I already know the perfect man for the job: a new recruit, but exceptionally skilled. He was one of the strongest warriors in his home pack, and even trained the young pack members before moving here. He’s been a standout warrior since his initiation. His name is Lance Silvers.” “He sounds perfect!” I beam, but hesitate a moment later. “I–I’m sure you know Jason has had some… trouble with the soldiers and violence before. I’d hate for anything to go awry. Would it be possible for me to meet Warrior

“But promise me that it will not be for long … no matter what happens.” “Agreed,” Lance said, his muscular arms flexing under his shirt from the tension. Raven placed her hands on the side of Lance’s head and chanted, “Rambshia carnsia irashia benach. Rambshia carnsia irashia benach. Rambshia carnsia irashia benach.” The lights in the room suddenly dimmed, then went completely out, but came back on a moment later. Raven looked directly into Lance’s eyes. “It is done.” She took a deep breath. “I need a Bloodstone.”

Severin let out a cold snort, clenched his fist, and enveloped it with some spiritual energy before punching his opponent. A loud, dull blast was heard, and Lance was hurled backward a few seconds later. After crashing heavily on the ground, he tasted a metallic sweetness at the base of his tongue and spat out a mouthful of blood. "Elder!" The other guys had horrified expressions as they ran over and helped Lance up. "Damn it! His attainment is on the level of our gang leader!"

Both of them had fought on the ground alongside Valda's legion, their golden hair and spears glowing against the dark armour of Vince's army. Lance had just faced down four heavily armoured soldiers, when another dark soldier stabbed him in the back. The sword had gone right through to the other side of his chest, but he didn't fall, not yet. Instead he turned, with the sword still through his rib-cage, and managed to run the soldier through with his golden spear before he fell to his knees. Megan had kept on fighting until the last of Vince's men had been pushed out of Lady Valda's lands, when she realised her cousin was no longer beside her. She had ran back to find Lance's body, he was hu

of the South The air in the subterranean forge was thick enough to choke a human, but for the Lycans of the United North, it was the smell of a brewing storm. Rhea stood over the primary "Breaker-Bolt," a six-foot lance of hyper-refined silver that shimmered with a pale, bioluminescent light. It didn't reflect the lanterns; it seemed to consume their glow, channeling it into the intricate runes Elias had etched into its surface with his own claws.

It sounds like he’s in pain. Though I know it’s a risk, I walk to the vines. I have to make sure he’s okay. I can’t continue if he’s not. The scene in front of me is horrifying. A few of the other wolves’ bodies lay on the ground in a twisted, broken, bloody mess. Lance has been able to rip through them, causing a needless loss of life. Why can’t they just leave us alone? Worse though, Lance is corner by Sebastian and a few of his closest friends. Blood is coming out of Lance’s leg where it seems like someone ripped a chunk of flesh out of him.

he responded, his words carrying a sense of respectful concern. "Tsk. Shit..." That was a problem. The elite knights, clandestinely dedicated to the service of every lycan prince, posed a challenge that couldn't be taken lightly. Their exceptional skills allowed them to swiftly identify and neutralize any potential threat. Once their attention was drawn to something awry, the perpetrator's fate was sealed—hunted down relentlessly until they met their demise and were laid to rest on the unforgiving earth.

He was the High King of Lenerum, a Lycan berserker like his father before him. The old king had been feared throughout her village. No one spoke his name, afraid to summon his shade from the abyss. There were whispers that the Lycan King had to put down his father. The old king was so gone in madness that he had ripped the head of a visiting dignitary clean from his shoulders.

"Keep it steady!" I regained my footing between the bags, aimed, then took another two shots. One hit his upper arm, the other his shoulder, but he kept coming, unfazed by the gushing holes. I shifted my weight onto my other foot and grinned. I might not have stopped him, but the Thornblood dipped bullets had punctured him, binding shade and host to the same satisfying fate. I fired one last time, hitting him strait between his soulless eyes.