Lord Of Spirits Novels & Stories

Prince Zaeius was now holding his tears back. "Really?" Mon said between his breath. "I don't remember you..." 'Black Owl spirit has completed his redemption. The curse has been lifted. You can now proceed into reincarnation.' A smile formed on Mon's face when he heard the announcement from the above. And then, those were Mon's last words. His hair and beard turned white and his face became more wrinkled than before. He aged like a thousand year old. Prince Zaeius caught a glimpse of his eyes turned into blue before he closed them.

When we got home, there was Euri, who was enraged when she spotted Kazuo. I could see she was enraged. I can see the flames erupting from her translucent body. This is a furious Demon! "What is this? Why is there a Ghost hanging around you!?" She exclaimed, actually— She isn't upset that Kazuo is hovering around me. She's undoubtedly upset because I failed to keep my promise to her. I understand how concerned she was; conversing with other spirits is a foolish thing to do. I clapped both of my palms, forcibly smiling against each other.

"What kind of wedding outfit is our lord wearing? I've never seen anything like it." "Whatever he wears has got to be the best. There's no way you'd get to see it on the streets." "He looks incredible! That's our lord for you!" It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that the evil spirits of Shadowspire worshipped Landon like an idol. When Landon had fought his way out of the Spectral Pit back then, he'd already beaten all these evil spirits into submission. To them, there wasn't anyone in the entire world who had more charisma than Landon.

Walter looked at Lisa, his face full of question marks. "These trial dragons are composed of the spirits of deceased ancestors, a type of martyr spirit. They only obey the will of the world ruler, and currently, that's the Lightning Dragon. They have no emotions, only battle skills and techniques. They're true war machines," Lisa explained. "So, after becoming the world ruler, you just stand back while these battle-hardened martyr spirits do the fighting? That means you're invincible for generations?" Willow asked in astonishment. "Martyr spirits don't have independent thought. They only possess rigid combat instincts. Also, each generation and each element only gets three martyr spirits. Tr

In case she refuses to be the Count Lord, we need someone else to take up that position and there’s no better candidate than you. An elderly man speaks up as if trying to distinguish the fire that’s about to start. His calm voice is soothing to the ear and yet there’s a mystery behind his words. -What about the other lords? What did they say? -They also agree with the proposal. As far as you know, Lord Zion has already declared that he doesn’t wish to be the Count Lord and due to the demon’s influence, Master Damien is also out of the question. So the strongest among the left ones is you. I hope you won’t disappoint us!

"Who are you?" The foreman beside her stammered. "What are you?" A voice from the crowd shouted, "A god! He's a god among men!" I shook my head. "No," I said quietly. "I'm no god. I'm a man, like you all." They stared, waiting for an introduction. "My name is Ala—" I stopped. No. Not Alaric Thorn. That name belonged to a ghost buried four hundred years ago. "…Alen," I finished softly.

One of the radiant figures drifted closer to Elara, its light feeling warm, protective, and almost tender against her skin. “Your immense pain is fully seen,” the entity whispered, its voice echoing loud enough for every soul in the grand hall to hear clearly. “Your sovereign choice is deeply honored. The cycle can break. We will remember this moment for eternity.” Lord Draven’s face had grown absolutely thunderous with rage, his fists clenching at his sides, but even his vast political influence could not fully dismiss the undeniable, spiritual intervention of the estate's founders. In response to the spirit's final words, the manor’s crystalline veins blazed with a brilliant, blinding gold

"Fix yourself. While I'm gone. Really fix yourself. Not just your enemies. Not just the debts. You." "What do you mean?" "I mean figure out why you couldn't tell me you loved me until I was already walking out the door. Figure out why you had to control everything instead of trusting me. Figure out who you are when you're not the ruthless underboss everyone's afraid of." He didn't answer. I stepped into the elevator. The doors closed.

“Depends, who’s asking.” The man tilted his head, studying me like I was something displayed in a shop window. “My lord requires your presence.” I let out a sharp laugh, though it sounded thinner than I liked. “Right. And I require another drink and a good lay, but you don’t see me dragging strangers off the street. Why don’t you run back to your lord and tell him I’m busy?” I stepped back, ready to turn the corner and leave this creep in the shadows where he belonged, but I didn’t make it two steps. A sharp, stunning blow slammed into the back of my head. The world lurched violently, my knees buckled, and I went down hard.

The dark lord's eyes bore into mine, a dangerous glint lurking within them. "You will learn, Laura," he whispered, his voice a chilling promise. "You will learn to submit. You have the spirit," he mused, his voice a low, velvety purr. "But don't mistake defiance for victory. You are mine, whether you accept it willingly or not." I squared my shoulders, refusing to back down despite the unsettling intensity of his gaze. "I will never be yours, Matteo," I retorted, my tone unwavering. "No matter what games you play or threats you make."