Novel & Cerita Queen's Blade: Grimoire

It was time to rise and dress herself to face the Lycan King. She glanced at her reflection in the large gilt mirror hanging above the sink basin. Her haunted eyes judged her harsher than any villager raining blows on her head. If it came to it, she decided, she would turn her blade on herself before letting the world in which her mother existed burn in a rain of fire. ****** There was something to be said for being clean, she thought as she worked at her long, dripping hair. The Lycan King had seen to her needs, at least. There were an array of combs that she used to smooth and arrange her hair.

Her tone left no room for refusal. Thomas nodded, knowing his consent meant nothing. He was a pawn in her game, and she had already decided his next move. They stepped into the courtyard, the manicured gardens a deceptive paradise. The Queen led him to a marble chessboard, its pieces carved from obsidian and ivory. She traced a finger along the edge, her gaze distant. “I know you must be wondering why I summoned you.” He swallowed. “I assume it’s urgent?” “Ravon’s Blade.” Her voice was sharp, cutting through the quiet. “What is the status of its whereabouts?”

He activated the spiritual energy within him, gathering it on his Thunder Blade. The Thunder Blade gleamed with a cold light, and a crimson hue appeared on the blade. "Crazy Blade Strike!" A sharp and fierce blood-red blade light cut through the air, flashing through the moonlit woods. Just as the blade light was about to touch Sebastian's body, a semi-transparent shield appeared in front of him. Clang! When the blade light struck the shield, the shield dissipated, and the blade light was also neutralized. Sebastian was unharmed, showing no signs of damage.

Her face was drawn tight with strain. “Damien Thorncroft,” she said. Her voice rang through the impossible clearing, old and cold enough to frost the air. “You have no claim here.” Damien inclined his head. Not a bow. A mockery of one. “Your Majesty.” The title dripped poison. Queen Amara lifted one hand. Silver light flared from the tomb, striking at Damien’s chest. The Blade rose in his hand. Black metal drank the light. The queen staggered. A murmur of fear passed through the Briar Glen survivors huddled beyond the grave. Wren clutched Ben’s coat, her eyes huge and wet. Annie’s ghost-light hovered above her shoulder, flickering in time with the broken tomb.

The Hollow Blade waited for her there. It was no weapon forged by men, nor a simple vision birthed from fear. It was something etched into the marrow of her existence. A spectral blade with jagged, shifting edges, its body wreathed in whispers that cut deeper than steel. The voice it carried wasn’t one voice, it was many, layered, distorted, yet unified in cruelty. "You think you can wear the crown of Luna? You think your blood is strength, hybrid?" the Blade hissed, circling her in the void-space.

I shouted. I stepped out from behind Rowan. The obsidian blade in my hand felt different now. It wasn't just a heavy piece of stone. It was light, almost weightless, and it thrummed with the soft, white light of the girl I had seen in the warehouse. It was the **Blade of the Unsaid**. Every word I had swallowed, every dream I had put aside for the sake of survival, every "I love you" that had been lost in the roar of battle—it was all there, feeding the light. Vane pivoted, his liquid form spinning like a drill. He ignored Rowan and came for me. He was fast—too fast for a human to track. He was a blur of silver and shadow.

“No one rules beside me. Not anymore. I will break the chains of every woman who came before me—witch, queen, or prisoner. And I will burn the throne if it refuses to kneel.” The Queen gave a slow, reverent nod. “Then take this.” From her sleeve, she revealed a blade of mirrored obsidian, pulsing with runes carved by lost goddesses. “The Crownslayer. Forged to cut through enchanted blood. It was meant for me. But it sings louder for you.” Elara took it. The blade felt like truth in her hand. Tonight, she would not beg, or plead, or suffer. She would rise. And the crown would fall.

And when the first blade was an inch from my throat,I inhaled and the world stood stilled. Every blade froze in the air, trembling like frightened birds. Then I exhaled. And the blades shattered like glass dropped on a stone. Veyra staggered back, her face pale. “Impossible.” I stepped forward. “You think your little parlor tricks scare me?” I asked. “You’ve never bled for power, never walked the Hollow Path, and never faced the Queen and lived.” I raised one hand. A violet flame curled from my palm and wrapped around her.

Behind it lay the Lunaris Blade—a weapon forged by the first Moon Blessed, imbued with the essence of starlight and sorrow. Selene had never touched it. Until now. She whispered the incantation, voice steady. The runes flared to life. The door groaned open. And the chamber beyond seemed to hold its breath. There, atop a stone pedestal, lay the blade—its hilt wrapped in lunar silk, its edge gleaming faintly as if lit from within. The moment her fingers closed around it, a wave of energy surged up her arm—pain and clarity in equal measure. Visions danced behind her eyes: fire, fangs, Lucian’s smile twisted in triumph… and a throne of bone rising from ash.

A white wolf now tattoed onto my palm. Imelda reached forward, gripping my knife in her hand before slowing her palm. She tilted her hand over the goblet, the blood dripping in and making a hissing sound as it made contact with the smooth gold and began bubbling. “I Imelda Kolgrim, Queen of Godric. Accept our deal." A blue flame erupted from the goblet. My palm burned again; I watched as a blue flame consumed the wolf, and then they both vanished from my skin. I looked up at her, slightly confused—a wide grin on her face.