Lords Of Mercy Novels & Stories

The golden-armored City Governor's face was terribly darkened. It was a very powerful Land of Divine Grace mercenary army that was attacking the city. There were nearly 10,000 people in total with five Saint level warships, and some of them were horrible masters. At the beginning of the battle, a Peak-stage Saint level elder from the Extermination Swordsmanship Sect, who was stationed in Guo City, launched his attack. He wanted to defeat the mercenaries as soon as possible, but unfortunately, he was killed in less than 30 minutes.

"Give it back." He tore the protective charm off, threw it to the ground, and ground it under his heel. "What makes you think anyone would want this piece of trash? I wouldn't want it if Maisie hadn't given it to me." Grandma's kindness and blessings were trampled on just like that. A piece of the protective charm broke off, and the charm's surface was marked with deep scrapes. Anger, grief, and despair exploded within me all at once. I shoved Dash to the ground and punched him again and again until Maisie screamed for us to stop.

"That's a lie!" Oren ignored him and turned the page. "The Stoneclaw Lord conspires with human merchants to smuggle forbidden drugs..." "The Ironfang Lord's eldest son is in fact the son of his younger brother..." "Enough!" several lords roared at once. Oren snapped the book shut, his eyes glinting with mockery. "My Lord, I believe the word you used was...'rabble'?" The square fell deathly silent. This was no mere band of mercenaries. This was a vast, shadowy power with a terrifying intelligence network.

“Promise?….mercy?….you are the soldiers of the useless baron that preyed on his own people!…you lot raped, kill, maimed and do as you pleased to these people that are your very countrymen!….and before repercussion you all beg for mercy?…NEVER!!!….not from me!!…Now!…come at me and seek your freedom!…stop wasting your time begging!!…pick up your swords and armor!…fight against someone that can fight you!….COME!!…” All the knight squads were still standing on their initial spot unmoving, it was like it was an execution ground, and they were staying true to their duty. The enemies were all already broken, both their spirit and body, it was a judgement time for them all, and they can do nothing a

I covered the distance to Lars’s lines in seconds, crashing into them with the force of a battering ram. My pack fought like gods. Each warrior worth ten of Lars’s fighters. Fenris’s mercenaries, also blessed by Aurora’s power, tore through the enemy. Lars’s formation shattered. His fighters broke, running. But there was nowhere to run. We were everywhere, hunting, killing, showing no mercy.

Lyra roared at the terrified villagers, her voice a sharp, commanding bark that cut through the din of battle. She met the mercenary’s charge with a sidestep and a twist, her blade a blur of motion as it sliced across his belly, a deep, disabling wound that sent him to his knees, clutching at his intestines, his face a mask of agonized disbelief. Valen and his men were a wall of steel, their movements a perfect, synchronized symphony of violence. They were professional soldiers, and this was their element. They fought with a cold, ruthless efficiency that was both terrifying and awe-inspiring, a testament to the power of the Varek crown.

“Your silence won’t buy you mercy.” He took another step closer, and the leader flinched. The faint light revealed only a glint of cruel amusement in the man’s eyes. “Your king knows,” he said softly, almost whispering now. “And you will deal with him.” The mercenary leader froze, his whole body trembling. He knew what that meant. The rogue king was not a man—he was a nightmare, a legend whispered around dying campfires. A creature without heart or mercy.

I noted. ​"He did," Marcus confirmed. "He plays the ruthless mercenary, but he takes care of the men who bleed for him. It's a rare trait in a Warlord." ​Because she's not a Warlord, I thought, the phantom thread in my chest pulling taut. She's an Omega who knows what it feels like to be abandoned by her pack. ​"General Vesh!" I called out, my voice carrying over the clash of shields. ​The Warlord paused, turning the terrifying visor toward me. The entire yard fell silent. Two hundred Blackwood wolves and five hundred Legionnaires snapped to attention, waiting to see if their Alpha and their General were about to tear each other apart.

So Moriah went back to his history. The maiden lay athwart the warrior, her arms widespread as if to embrace him. The mother seemed almost to shudder as the flames came licking up her face. A longsword had been thrust through her heart, and its leather grip was alive with flame. The father was on the bottom, the first to fall. Moriah watched the hand of the stranger writhe and curl as the fingers blackened and fell away one by one, reduced to so much glowing charcoal. Nearby, Lord Beltinar coughed fitfully and covered his wrinkled face with a square of linen embroidered in red crabs. The myrmen swapped jokes as they enjoyed the warmth of the fire, but young Lord Bar Emmon had turned a splotc

“Flaxen, you bloody traitor…!” roared the three other lords who grew so angry that their faces went red! However, they had no time to remain angry since the Blancetnoir Double Lords and Sanchez had already made their move! As one would expect, it only took a single round for all three of the lords to crumble to the ground. With his eyes wide open, Lord Ethern stuttered, “Who… Who the hell are you people…?!”