Mithril Swords の小説・ストーリー

He still had a scar over his left eye where the wineglass she hurled at him shattered too close for safety. Rhychard glanced down at the Guardian Sword in his numb hand. The blade had returned to cold bronze. The broadsword, his inheritance from a dying elf, had an intricate design of vines engraved around the edges. Faeries cross, a stone resembling the bark of an ancient pine, encased the pommel. The stone supposedly helped him to draw upon the elemental magic around him, protecting him against the Void and its denizens. The Guardian Sword held the memories and skills of a dozen previous Warriors who wielded the blade before him. He wondered if the Seelie knew the number thirteen was bad l

My voice sounded scratchy, but I blame all of the crying I had done moments ago. “You don’t know? Child, it’s the legendary Rose of the Mists! Legend says that Nyx bet Hephaestus that he could never forge a sword so light that it would weigh less than her mist did. To prove her wrong, Hephaestus worked long and hard until he eventually created the most perfect sword he had ever forged. Nyx, furious at having lost the bet, threw the sword into the mists and told them to do what they wished with it. The mists have only ever given the sword to a few warriors and it is said that when the last warrior died, the mists reclaimed the sword and it was never seen again.” Zara’s eyes remained on the sh

Her black hair danced along the cold night breeze as her eyes paid attention to people walking to and from different directions. "Master." A crystal sword floated closer next to the girl, "You look so cool standing like that." Mirth could seen on the girl's eyes upon hearing the sword's words, "Too bad we aren't looking for hot studs but a demon instead." She said while chuckling softly. "Moreover I have to cover my face like this. Hope I don't draw attention to myself when the time comes." "Of course not Master!" The sword spoke. Yes.. the girl was Ming Yue, herself and the talking sword floated next to her was Silver Moon.

Amazingly, the tip of the sword looked even shinier than it was. "I realized that this sword is the most suitable if you have it." "Do you think so?" “This sword is called The Twinster, from the fairy tale of the Little Knight. It belonged to a young knight the same age as you, named Gerald. The knight was too small to go to war, but his passion and courage were not inferior to other knights. He always insisted on joining the battle, so the other knights agreed to have the blacksmith make a special pair of swords. Not too big, but too small for an ordinary knight to use. In short, it can only be used by Gerald.”

Moonstone accents adorned his gauntlets, greaves, and chest plate, pulsating with magical energy that resonated. In his hand, he wielded a sword forged from pure moonstone, its blade glowing softly with an inner light. The hilt was embellished with intricate patterns in Phaikón Árgyron resembling celestial constellations, further enhancing its mystical allure. As he brandished the sword, it seemed to hum with power.

Exactly as seen earlier in the castle. The sword. “What does that one do?” I asked, pointing to it. “It drinks blood. For anyone it kills, their blood is stored in the blade. You would try to always have a clothing between you and the hilt” That did not sound more beneficial than fairy dust. “So how useful would it be to protect me?” With only a smile, “very” Time to close the deal. “I have one silver coin” playing with the coins against my fingers. “Make it three and we have a deal”

An icy layer of thin ice formed in the air around Mirozlav, and a potent icy blue aura radiated from his sword. "..He always told me to keep an eye on you whenever there was news of your growth as a hero. Though I firmly believe that the 'Zimne-Zerkal'nyy' sword style he taught me is second to none, I want to determine if the legacy he left behind truly aligns with his twisted vision." The arena is currently filled with delicate ice crystals, arranged throughout like a labyrinth adorned with mirrors. Images of Mirozlav surge forth from all sides of the slender ice panels surrounding Gabrielle.

I need my sword. Reaching behind my back, I feel the cool, smooth texture of my marking shift beneath my fingers. There’s a brief moment where the ink pulses, almost as if it’s alive, before it solidifies into the hilt of my sword. I draw it out, feeling the familiar weight settle into my hand. The blade hums with energy, a glowing blue that pulses in time with my heartbeat. This sword is mine, a part of me, born of my blood and soul. Athena’s gift, forged from my very essence.

Three wizards raised their hands, purple webs spinning like spider nests. “Mira!” I shouted. Mira raised both palms, drawing a circle of resistance. A silver shield bloomed, enveloping the ritual like thin glass. Tavien followed from behind, throwing pulsating rune nails. “Destroy!” I charged. The silver sword at my waist finally revealed its true power. It struck the ground in a sweeping motion. The circle broke just as Mira spun the shield into a counterpressure. The purple web shattered, the three witches rolled backward in the wave. The fourth mortar came like a small meteor, locking the center of the circle and melting the symbol into mud.

Said Sekora shaking her head. “What kind of sword was it?” Asked misses Spinet. “The Phoenix Wing sword, it has a wing on the hilt.” Said Sekora. “Oh you mean the one Marcus found and was killed over, crazy old fool, that’s in our shed in the back yard.” Said misses Spinet pointing out of a large window. “Can we see it?” asked Sekora getting all excited. “In the morning, once the kids de-gnome the yard.” Said misses Spinet. “Aw mom do we have to?” asked the children dropping their heads.