Flower Sword Novels & Stories

It smelled of damp stone, old hay, and solitude. Makil was already there, warming up with a series of fluid stretches that further betrayed his training. He wore similar clothes to yesterday, and two practice longswords were thrust into the ground at the center of the yard. Leigh arrived silently, a shadow detaching from the deeper shadows of the archway. She'd re-braided her hair tightly. She said nothing, simply walked to the center, pulled one sword from the earth, and tested its weight. "No rules," Makil said, pulling the other. "First to yield, or be disarmed."

The hand moved slowly, almost gracefully, its long fingers reaching through the air like vines searching for light. The tattoo on its wrist, the symbol of the Aethelford bloodline, throbbed softly with a foul, silvery glow. Siron rolled to the side. The ritual knife in his hand felt like a plastic toy, but his survival instinct was stronger. His blood raced, and the Soul Flower on his chest flared to life. The heat was no longer a sensation of pain, but of pure fury.

And I comprehend that it’s not only once… “Do you remember something, Adri?” The gap between my brows disappeared. And a random scenario suddenly flashed in my mind. It’s messed up and… brutal. With the loud clashing of thunders in the lightning-filled sky, I see myself walking head held high. My right hand dripping blood clasping the gem-like emblem shaped like the flower of Celosia Cristata surrounded with tiny thin thorns that could literally prick someone by just touching the emblem. A sword on my left clangs as it hits every gap on the brick pavement.

[Sword Flower Thorn] The Victorian sword skills that Franka is good at, coupled with her extreme agility and agility, are almost a perfect match for this type of sword moves. Franka's entire body disappeared instantly. With the blessing of the Source Stone energy, her speed was much faster than before. When she stabbed Roger, the black stabbing sword in her right hand suddenly disappeared, replaced by an unknown amount of sharp sword light, like raindrops. , the pattering of light makes it impossible for people to see the trajectory of each sword light clearly, let alone avoid it. Razer in the audience covered his head. This fat fox...actually got real! ! Under such a level of attack.

The giant snake beast spasmed, its tail was burned. A smell of burning meat wafted in the air. Frost, who was still riding atop the snow wolf beast leaped forward and landed onto the giant snake’s beast body. A giant bluish-white fire sword appeared in Frost’s hand. “Lend me your strength.” Frost whispered to no one, her pair of eyes dimmed, a vicious smile plastered onto her pretty face. Frost raised the bluish-white fire sword, its fires started growing in an abnormal size till it's almost a hundred’s times of Frost’s size.

"A Frost Flower? This thing isn't cheap, but it's not that useful to me." Frost Flowers were incredibly beneficial to female warriors, but all Fane could do with one was to sell it. There was no other use for it, so he looked at the next warrior. He continued walking forward, remembering all the treasures he was interested in and planning on making a final evaluation later.

“I forged a new sword and I haven’t tested its blade on anyone yet. I’ll be using it on you.” He gripped the hilt of the sword and slowly drew it from the sheath strapped to his weapon belt. The metal caught the sunlight filtering through the window, and for a moment, the blade gleamed, a curving, wicked design that practically screamed sharpness. “To make sure those hands of yours won’t hurt anyone again... I’ll cut them off... Now, give them to me.” Without hesitation, I extended my arms toward him. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Flora smirking at me, but I looked away. I didn’t care.

Neither the Apocalyptic Book nor the Vairocana hand seals were effective for a fight, if not outright unimpressive. That wasn't the case for Barlin, who quickly found his rhythm again after the initial fumble. The flying sword he wielded was meant for swordsurfing. He was not at that level yet, but he had mastered wielding it for offense while he moved it around himself. It was a mystic weapon that Fleur had forged, durable and able to elongate, cutting into steel like paper while also being light and fast. It really moved as one's mind dictated, and would stay locked on a target at will, making it much superior to Charlie's Soul Blade.

The two-foot iridescent blade flared instantly with a soft, violet-magenta luminescence that melted the falling snowflakes before they could touch the metal. Soren drew Frostfang from his back sheath. The massive, double-edged broadsword glowed with a pale, arctic blue light, its icy aura humming in perfect, harmonic resonance with Valerie's dragon-fire. Together, they turned away from the trail, moving toward the sheer, icy rock face rising along the eastern side of the gorge.

Lydia replied gently, rising slightly on her toes to press her lips against his in a slow, sweet kiss that tasted of sweet wine, mountain pine, and an eternity of shared devotion. Around them, the northern wind swept up from the valley, carrying the united howls of a thriving, invincible pack into the golden sky. The empire was gone, the shadows were dead, and high above the clouds, the legacy of the Frostwell sovereigns stood unbroken—a crown forged in fire, bound by frost, and gleaming forever in gold.