Mithril Swords の小説・ストーリー

Silver gleamed under the low light. A blade. Not just any blade. Old. Lunar-forged. Balanced perfectly for a hand that could both destroy and protect. Mira sucked in a breath. “That’s a Moon Relic.” “Yes.” “They were all destroyed.” “So everyone was told.” I wrapped my fingers around the hilt. The metal hummed, recognition, not resistance. “This was made to kill Devourers,” Mira whispered. “And to anchor them,” I said. Her head snapped up. “Anchor?”

As dusk approached, we finally reached the heart of the Whispering Forest. An enormous circular clearing opened before us. At its center lies a mirror-like lake. Moonlight danced across its surface despite the setting sun. And there... Rising from a black stone altar... Was the Sword of Eclipse. Its silver blade shimmered with streaks of midnight black, as though light and darkness had been forged together. The Crown upon my head glowed brilliantly. “The third relic,” Liam whispered. “We found it.” But we were not alone. A slow clap echoed through the clearing.

Vaelor Thryne. Soryn Kaelreth. Bramrik Alderthane. Elowen Thalric. I knew them before I knew what wanting meant. They were always there when I was small—at the edge of hallways, in council chambers, in training yards where my brothers learned to fight like survival was religion. They weren’t affectionate the way my brothers were. Their devotion looked different. Sharp. Quiet. Absolute.

Sera POV --- Three days had never felt so long. We spent every waking hour preparing the ambush. The Moonstone Altar stood in a clearing in the neutral territory, exactly halfway between Shadowcrest and Nightshade land. It was ancient stone, weathered by centuries, covered in symbols I couldn't read but which made my lunar power hum with recognition. This was a place of power. The moon's influence was strong here even in daylight. If Thaltos wanted to perform the Harvest ritual, it would be here.

Three slow, rhythmic strikes. Thud. Thud. Thud. "He's here," my father whispered, his face turning a sickly shade of grey. I straightened my spine, smoothing the silk of my dress. If I was going to be led to the slaughter, I wouldn't go whimpering. I reached into the hidden pocket of my skirt and felt the small, silver dagger I kept there. It was an antique, passed down through the Vance women. It was cold, sharp, and had a history of shedding blood.

Neither reached for it. Instead… The blade divided itself. Not breaking. Separating. Two identical swords now floated before them. One carried a silver wolf engraved upon its hilt. The other… A black raven. Matteo stared in disbelief. “It changed…” Mira whispered, “It remembered.” ⸻ Alessio carefully accepted the silver-bladed sword. Leonardo instinctively caught the darker twin. The moment both brothers held their weapons… A shockwave spread throughout the cathedral. The shattered stained-glass windows repaired themselves.

It was strange. I remembered the late that he heard five winter ago. It was some fourth to fifty years ago when the last of the Ritan kings killed his own brother to take his sword. The sword that was made by the dwarven smiths for a large amount of money, the sword was made from a rear metal that the folks call star-metal. The metal itself is from a fallen star that fell some four thousand years ago. The length of the blade not including the tang was five feet and two inches. The handle was made from a rear type of tree that only grows near the dwarven forges. The weight of the blade was half a stone. The previous owner had the sword engraved with magical runes that protected and strengthen

It was filled with copper, silver and gold royals, all to help supply them while they sought out allies. After Boro said his farewell and accepted the money, he quickly made himself busy checking out the two pack horses. He wanted to give Littume and Lord Jetir space for there farewells. He saw Jetir give his son a firm hug and share a few words with him. Then he saw Lord Jetir unwrap the cloth and from it pulled out an ornate brown and gold scabbard. The scabbard was too thick to belong to a rapier, and too wide to be a katan, the long slightly curved, single edge style sword that Boro himself used. This one was as wide as the width of his palm and had two edges to it. A broadblade, an olde

“but there is something else. We found fur which matches the fur the feral left all over Johnny but we found a second donor.” She paused to open on of the pockets in her coat and pulled out a small clear evidence bag. Inside was several strands of golden hair. The way they caught the first rays of the morning sun made them Shimmer like threads of gold or silk. As beautiful as it was, it was unusual as well. Sandy or sable coats weren’t totally uncommon but they were usually mixed with other colours. This had no other colours mixed in. “The feral seems to have gained a friend “ Sierra continued, unaware of the significance of her find. “And I think I know where they are going.”