Legend Of Northern Blade Novels & Stories

Kaelen stepped in front of me, his eyes turning a dangerous, dark gold as he prepared to leap into the abyss with us in his arms. Before Lyra could release her arrow, a deep, earth-shaking howl rang out from the dense pine forest across the river valley. Hundreds of heavy, dark figures burst out from the treeline below the cliff a massive army of Lycan warriors wearing the ancient crest of the Northern Resistance, led by a tall, heavily scarred warrior holding a massive silver battleaxe. "NORTHERN WARRIORS!" the chief warrior roared, raising his axe toward the sky. "FOR KING KAELEN! FIRE!" A barrage of heavy silver harpoons shot up from the forest below, slamming directly into the hull of Ly

"Hm?" Howard's brow creased. "What happened?" Black Blade had been up in the north district for the past month, rooting out the rot within the Shadow Sect, all on Howard's command. In the sprawling realm of the Shadow Sect, the central and northern districts were riddled with the deepest scars of the past. It was no coincidence that Howard had assigned Shylah and Lukas to those troubled lands. Just days before, Howard had been on the line with Black Blade, a key player in the north. Black Blade had reported a nest of trouble, having already exposed a slew of traitors within their ranks.

Not just Strangle-Vine — Black-Vein Hemlock, grafted onto the fungal roots on purpose. Julian knelt to look, and whatever color was left in his face drained out. "Strangle-Vine puts you to sleep. Hemlock grafted onto it, activated by wine — that doesn't put anyone to sleep. That stops hearts in three minutes. Every diplomat in Solaria is sitting at that banquet right now." "House Blackwood." Valerius's voice dropped low enough to feel in the stone. "Bellmere failed, so they've stopped trying to weaken the north. Now they're trying to end it in one night."

I moved through them quickly, my ears tracking the sounds of the wing behind me. Census records from thirty years prior. A trade agreement, partially intact, with a clan whose name had been obscured by water damage. A map of the northern territories, old enough that the ink had faded to near illegibility. Nothing about the fall. Nothing about the ruling line. Nothing about what the Northern Clan had been at the height of its power — its magic, its governance, its people.

On the highest mountain in the woods, as the wind blew strongly rustling the trees, and the blue rays from the full moon illuminated the landscapes and grasses, two figures could be seen, completely naked speaking in hushed whispers. “It’s getting worse by the day. I am worried about what to do. Blood will be shed…. lots of it” One of the two figures, the female who was still sweating and panting after hours of running in the woods. Her companion shook his head slowly, and wrapped his arms around her. “It won’t get to that my love. I am sure it won’t’

All three of them stood ready for battle, not giving an inch. Norvin’s expression darkened. Rays of brilliant light shimmered on his Infernal Blade. Even though it was daytime, onlookers could not open their eyes due to its piercing light. It was a manifestation of his inner energy as a Martial God. However, he did not attack immediately. Given the situation, Andrius was also a Martial God and would be able to hold him back for a while without problems. Meanwhile, Tyrell, Wade, and the others would be able to slaughter the Swallow experts. It would be a hopeless ending with only Norvin left.

Happy asked, and Snow placed her hand on her forehead. “Something... someone is in danger,” she muttered. Her head hurt. The voice had returned whispering thoughts into her mind. They were too loud, too much to comprehend. Something wasn’t right. She had seen something she shouldn’t have. It was a blonde. There was a sword made of wolfsbane in her hand, and she had slashed through a female werewolf’s gut. The girl was curled up on the ground in pain. “You can’t save them. You can’t save her. You can’t save anyone,” the blonde muttered. She moved fast, and in a blink, she was standing in front of Snow, plunging the sword into her chest.

" His words shocked everyone. The northern frontier was basically the extent of the Legion's current power. If they lose it, the organization would essentially exist only in name. The northern frontier was the base of the Legion's operations and the place where the organization was founded. It was where all of the legionnaires were trained. No one expected Lawrence to use it as a wager. He was basically risking everything the Legion had. Was he just bluffing, or did he truly feel that confident about the outcome?

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.”

Projected to reach zero within days. Cain rose from the stone table and unbuckled his blade, laying it down. He spent the entire afternoon checking every route leading to the tomb and clearing the remaining anti-blood legion outposts along the edge of the ice plains. His hand lifted from the blade hilt and brushed across the surface of the scabbard. Exactly the same motion he made before every fight—brushing that nick. "The northern border is fully cleared. The blizzard on the ice plains will pause for a quarter hour just before dawn tomorrow. Just enough time for everyone to reach the tomb entrance simultaneously."