Demonic Warlord's Barding の小説・ストーリー

Banners snapped in the wind, crimson and black, bearing the sigil of the Northern territories. When Evander stepped out, he walked to the front of the formation and every eye turned to him. His armour was magnificent. Black as a moonless night, trimmed with silver that caught the dying light. Carved into the metal were the symbols of his bloodline, ancient and powerful. A crimson cloak flowed behind him like blood, and his sword hung at his hip, its hilt wrapped in dark leather. The warriors fell silent as he stopped and turned to face them. For a moment, he said nothing. Just looked out at the sea of faces, at the warriors who would follow him into hell if he asked.

Galatrina spoke calmly but with sweat on her cheeks. "I know, and one of them is going to be a pain in the ass." Alucard respond in a menacing way. Hiyojin then looked at the sky. "So we're facing him ha. Leomord, former number 1 of the 1st generation of warriors. If only Teresa is here." He looked down at the ground while sweating. Most of the warriors finally sensed the incoming demons. They braced themselves as the approaching hordes of demons trampled the ground and creating an earthquake within the earth.

I asked seriously. "When in the meeting a suggestion of having our warriors wear armor was given, I took it seriously. Each warrior and demon fighting now has an invisible armor on, its ability is to absorb the anointing from any weapon turning it into a regular weapon. Because of that, our warriors have an upper hand which makes them take down the human warriors easily." She answered and then gave a low bow. When I turned my head I found Ducan standing in front of me with the hero's head still In his hand.

I followed his line of sight. More demons, each adorned with dark red tattoos, were engaged in combat, slashing through dark ones with ruthless efficiency. There were thousands of them, scattered across the battlefield. The once-green grass was now stained black and red, and the eerie silence had given way to the cacophony of battle and slaughter. Living beings murdered, that's what war was. And there were more bodies here than humans in Europe. It was death and carnage. But that was not what caught my eye. There was one demon taller than all. One demon broader than all. A demon who demanded all attention, who looked like the god of war. And that's exactly who I was looking at. The god of wa

Clutching my thighs in some attempt to get them to stop moving forward. Once I stood before him, he lifted his head. Letting it fall back against the chair and staring down his nose at me. I was so close. Too close. He was as unmoving as a statue. “Take off your dress.” I shook my head. Lips tight. “If you want to save the dress, you’ll do as I say.” Warlord’s tone was cold and decisive. As unfeeling as the mage, himself. And despite that I knew I was trapped I couldn’t help my obstinate nature. I’m going to lose this.

He has an almost full moonmark on his right wrist, a sign of the great achievements he has accomplished. He is wearing a war attire, a sleek, black leather jacket with silver fangs; which I believe are from demons he has slayed, rests along the shoulders and an embroidered wolf on the back. Beneath the jacket, is a form-fitting white shirt with a pair of dark, fitted pants with reinforced knee padding. On his feet, are high-end combat boots with a polished, metallic finishing.

The clearing glowed with the twinkling fairy lights that adorned every tree, and the torches that had been lit along the path to illuminate the participants' way. Brand stood in front of the Yggdrasil feeling like his throat was being constricted by a stiff collar rather than a soft tunic. He wore a bearskin over one shoulder to symbolize strength and protection. He was also glad of its warmth as the first snows had started to fall just in the last week. He huffed as Brodi clapped him on the shoulder. "Nervous yet?" he asked with a smile, adjusting the leather hauberk that held his broadsword across his back and the belt at his waist where the sheath for his ceremonial dagger rested.

At the back of my head, I understand that he is just a messenger- albeit a very foolish one- but I am unable to bring myself to care. Dominicus’ other hand twitches and starts to slowly come up and I can see the despair in Nigel’s eyes. Suddenly, heavy footsteps approach, and strong arms grab the shaking man, roughly pulling him back and away. In his place stands a tall, muscular warrior. Unlike the others, his black soft armor bears a gold emblem on the shoulder, and a sheathed longsword is strapped to his hip.

Still, it was enough to show other creatures that we werewolves weren't someone to be messed with. We also invited the Bloody Fangs. The Bloody Fangs was a group of strongest warriors without any ties to the 3 packs. Their most well-known warrior was their leader, The Crimson Warrior, who was also the most blood-lust warrior in the whole Lupo continent. His nickname came from the crimson helmet he kept wearing as he fought. I had heard that the Crimson Warrior himself would attend my ceremony. That made me wonder if he would wear his helmet or not. After all, no one had ever seen his face.

After breaking free from the encirclement, Kral let out a deafening howl, unleashing powerful sound waves that caused the warriors' helmets to crack. "Ah!~" The warrior at the forefront was impaled by Kral's spear, his brief cry engulfed by the blood spewing from his mouth. Kral coldly lifted the warrior's body, and the blood from the wound trickled down the spear, leaving crimson stains on the ground. "Hahaha!" He grinned in a menacing manner, revealing his white teeth. Clad in black garments like a demon from hell, his predatory gaze fixated on the trembling white-robed elders.