Danmachi: Sword Oratoria Novels & Stories

My dragon likes the stone and I enjoy seeing pride in his eyes when I wear it. Sir Orifice only had one goal and that was to remove my dress and fuck me. Hitting him over the head with a large vase from the nightstand beside the bed was easy. Repeatedly stomping his fingers beneath my boot satisfying. My thirst for blood began as a child when I planned to kill the dragon. I will never be a normal bride. Had never been a normal child. Somehow the gods matched me with the one man who would see my savagery as a bonus.

The war raged on, a battle of power and soul, each stroke striking like a crescendo amid the storm. My trembling palm clutched Xavier's sword, a relic of power that pulsed with an energy I didn't understand. The blade became an extension of my will as the Demon leaped at me with murderous intent. The sword clashed with its opponent's blade in a dance of survival, each strike mirroring the ferocious struggle for power.

Attacks from a martial god sovereign were hardly worth noticing. At this moment, Dorian also flew over. He could see that Chase was under considerable pressure from facing the stage-three martial god king. Dorian's flying sword shot out, much sharper than before. When Chase and Seamus had been discussing sword aura talismans, he had listened in and gained considerable insights. Now, he was putting these newly understood techniques to use. Lynn had never seen such swordsmanship before and was quite surprised. Though Dorian appeared to be only a perfect stage-nine martial god sovereign, his damage output seemed to reach stage three of the martial god king realm.

I rolled my eyes, thinking she was just being dramatic. Suddenly an unfamiliar figure came into view giggling and clapping his hands in a sinister way as he narrowed his gaze at me. His stare remained fixed on me with an unerring intensity. I gulped down a lump trying to gather my thoughts together as my heart raced while Nyx's growl turned into a fierce snarl. "I told you," Nyx states. Fighting back the urge to roll my eyes as she gloats. Soon the man's lips wiggled into a snicker. “I must say, Sage has quite the taste”

POINT YOUR SWORD TO ME CHAPTER 39: The Spar Dallan helplessly looked at the prepared empress. She felt as if she was going to die right now. On the other hand, while Dallan was having anxiety, Miles was the only one calm. He put his sword away and tightened the grasp of his real sword around his waist. He glimpsed at the two women, who were looking at each other. He couldn’t figure out what was on their heads as these two women are surely unpredictable.

"Quick question, Archer, lancer, or swordsman?" "Swordsman, of course! So that I can return and defeat Uncle Slejj with my incredible sword skills!" Drom said this as he grabbed a twig from a large tree and whipped it about, horribly imitating a swordsman. Daito chuckled at his hideous imitation, and Drom laughed back, chuckling and tossing the stick aside. Something caught Drom's attention as they were expressing their joy. "Hello, Dai! Look at what's going on at the gate."

I said, smirking at my mate “but I believe that you’re the master of deceit and acting” “What are you referring to this time, Dante?” Aurora asked, frowning in question, before her eyes widened in realization and understanding. A devious smile formed on my mate’s face, and taking her hand in mine, I kissed her knuckle gently, letting my lips linger there for a few seconds. “I believe that we are going to need to play one final game, neonata” I said, looking her in the eye “a last big show, or more specifically, a grand finally”

Thunder Knee—rising upward while the electrical load discharged downward through the joint. He dropped back into a neutral stance, exhaling a long plume of mist. Yamato stood watching, his expression unreadable. "Not bad." "The Flash Step still needs refinement," Danial noted. "The Flash Step is fine," Yamato dismissed with a wave of his hand. His sharp eyes locked onto Danial's hip. "Show me the blade." Danial froze. Beside them, Balthazar went entirely still. "The... blade?" Danial repeated carefully. "The Sword Drawing Technique," Yamato said, his voice dropping into a register that made the ambient light seem to dim. "The manual I handed you when you first arrived. Show me what you've do

That the debt comes due. Damitri's face twisted, realization dawning like a blade to the gut. His grip tightened on the sword hilt until his knuckles whitened, the runes flaring brighter, casting eerie red light across his features. No words escaped him—just a low, guttural snarl that vibrated through the air. The battlefield faded at the edges for Elian, the demons' howls muffling as Damitri's form blurred. With a surge of power that rippled the air like heat haze, he vanished—gone in a swirl of dark mist, leaving the messenger to bellow orders to the faltering line. The vision darkened; more warriors fell in the wake, screams swallowed by the horde, the crest of Moonveil trampled into the

“You can choose whatever material you want to fight each other,” the matriarch declared, her voice echoing through the arena like a spell cast over the room. She stood with her arms outstretched, as if offering them a divine gift—freedom to choose their own destruction. Without hesitation, Dorian moved. His eyes locked onto a long, curved blade resting among the scattered weapons on the ground—a katana. He stepped forward, the steel whispering as he lifted it into his hands. The weight was perfect. Balanced. Silent. Deadly.