Mithril Swords Novels & Stories

It was a white mithril sword, around seventy centimeters long. Livi slumped and looked disappointed when she saw the price tag of that sword. She made an expression like a child who failed to get a toy. Moreover, why was she the one displaying such an expression when she was the one who brought me here? Shouldn't she have known that weapons here would be expensive?

The distinction was stark: wounds could be healed, but hearts pierced by the sacred weapons would not be revived. Eryndor, his chest heaving with exhaustion, gazed upon the carnage with a mix of awe and trepidation. His Shadowsting dagger, still trembling with the force of his final blow, seemed to whisper dark secrets in his ear. Jack Wolf, his Moonwhisper spear a glow with a soft, ethereal light, stood tall amidst the chaos. His eyes locked onto Eryndor, and a silent challenge issued between them. The arena, once a place of savage contest, had become a crucible for something greater. The true battle was far from over; in fact, it was only just beginning.

Millions of Nightmares of all classes are gathered in front of a pitch black castle. Above the stairs are thirteen commanders, each wearing a white mask and carrying a Muerte Sword. Muerte Swords or Death Swords are the same as a Dark Crystal Sword that the Crimson Eyed Warriors use. The difference is that they do not dematerialize and they are capable of sucking the soul of their victim. These souls will add to the sword's strength and will pass the knowledge and skills of the victim's soul to its wielder. There are only 13 Muerte Swords in the Nightmare Empire and they are given to 13 compatible wielders.

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."

She unsheathed her light sword and released her aura, and small green sparks exploded from her sword. Mane’s heart eased greatly seeing her preparation was completed so quickly. Lily’s sword was also a gift from The Citadel. The blade was called Nature’s Edge and was made with precious materials. It was made from materials called Wind Stones. Wind Stones were minerals that were full of the wind element, and these kind of treasures weren’t exclusive to only wind. There were fire stones, earth stones, water pearls, and ice crystals. Elements like lightning had stones even rarer than the other elements. As it so happened, Lily’s element was wind hence the sword had taken a liking to her almost

She had forgotten. These were not just any markings. He knew whose markings these were. Kaelithra saw the moment it arrived for him. The thought assembling itself behind his eyes. Malgron's daughter carried a sword like this. Blood-made. Mark-covered. The type of weapon that only existed in one bloodline in all the known kingdoms. She pulled the sword out of his grip before he could finish the thought. Quick and clean, she just yanked it back, and his fingers let go because she had not given them a choice.

The brother’s eyes flared with a golden, eerie radiance, so bright it seemed to hollow out his expression, leaving only wrath made visible. His voice rumbled through the fractured air, cold and divine. “You forced my hand, mortal… this next strike will be your end.” He stretched out his palm. Light gathered—first a spark, then a stream, then an overwhelming torrent. In a blink, a broad sword materialised in his grip, forged from blinding white and molten gold. Golden edges shimmered like heated metal meeting sunlight, while the white blade pulsed with interwoven golden runes that looked alive, crawling beneath the surface like veins. The hilt was short—not built for leverage, but for gods wh

The three men immediately stood, all raising a questioning brow. “Well, Kemuel, why don’t you begin your training?” Michael suggested. “Excellent. We’ll use the backyard. It’s the perfect place for this kind of training.” “Can I ask, please,” Emma interrupted, “Why swords?” “These aren’t just any swords. On the blades are inscriptions from an ancient incantation book. All warriors have one, as will our Great Warrior Child,” Nathanael explained. “Ah, just make sure there’s not a scratch on my child when you’re done training today,” she demanded.

Then both the scroll and key merged into the glowing light. Something strange immediately happened. Crack! A loud sound echoed across the platform. A long crack suddenly spread open at the center of the floor. Ancient pressure surged outward from within. Then— A streak of silver light shot out rapidly. Merlin raised his hand calmly and caught it effortlessly. The light slowly faded. Revealing a sword. It looked simple at first glance. Not overly flashy. Yet the pressure and aura emitted from it instantly told everyone that the weapon was anything but ordinary.

“What...? How did that get here?” Seraphina’s voice trembled as her eyes widened in horror. There, beneath her bed, lay a golden sword—polished, untouched, almost glowing. Its blade shimmered like sunlight on water, and the sapphire in its hilt seemed to pulse with an otherworldly energy. It was magnificent, dangerous, magnetic. She’d never seen anything like it in her life. The sword seemed to call to her, pulling her in with invisible strings.