Queen's Blade: Grimoire Novels & Stories

The door of the courtroom banged open and revealed an Argentina blue short hair beauty. She has fire in her aqua yet deep eyes, and her facial expressions were so serious that scares the other person that she might attack. She was carrying a long mighty sword that was just perfect for her well-shaped strong body. She seems like a warrior who is always ready for war. But this wasn’t a brawl instead the war of her dreams. A war to alternate the history of their kingdom. She wanted to bring light to her shady kingdom by becoming their queen. And for that, she has to convince her stubborn Dad, who is also the kingdom’s king.

Something unusual happened when my fingertips stroked the ancient pages of the grimoire. A slight bulge was hidden on the inside of the lid. I carefully pulled it away, revealing an antique penny below. In my palm, the coin seemed weighty, like if it housed decades of secrets. The name of a location was etched on its surface: "Willowmere." To be honest, I had no idea what inscriptions were etched on this coin. Despite this, I was able to decipher the lettering as if there was some undiscovered supernatural help.

“What will you choose?” I walk along the wall, knowing exactly what I’m after, and proceed to take a katana down from the wall. Traditionally, katanas are forged using Tamahagane, but this particular sword is forged using bloodstone, a specific gemstone that upon contact, can weaken any sanguidae. It’s also the only substance that can kill them. To successfully kill a sanguidae one must cut out their heart using bloodstone, as it stops the heart from regenerating.

In his grasp was the Veilblade, its darkness consuming the very air around it. Elior felt himself speak, though the words were not his own. “You cannot win this.” The First King snarled, gripping the sword tighter. “Then I will make sure no one does.” He raised the blade high, and with a single strike, the battlefield cracked. Reality itself screamed. Then, silence. The vision ended. Elior staggered back, gasping. The chamber returned around him, his companions watching with alarm. The Veilblade was in his grasp, its presence thrumming against his skin.

The smirk playing on his lips suggested he found the whole scene amusing. The room itself was grand yet foreboding. The walls were hewn from a pale, shimmering stone that seemed alive with faint veins of silver, pulsating gently like a heartbeat. Torches flickered in sconces shaped like blooming flowers, their flames casting long, restless shadows across the polished black marble floor. The scent of crushed herbs and sweet blossoms lingered in the air, an almost cloying reminder of the goddess who ruled this domain. Persephone stepped forward, her voice soft yet edged with irritation. “Mother, if she’s from the modern mortal world, she wouldn’t know who we are. Mortals today are practically

Pressing. The words settled into my bones, heavy as fate. My breath caught, shallow and uneven, as memory flooded in. I had seen sketches of this blade in old texts. Read fragments of its history in pages stained with fear and blood. The Moon Goddess’s sword. A weapon so powerful it erased borders, silenced cities, and left nothing behind not humans, not werewolves. Just ash and echoes. Malaki stepped forward. When he reached for the sword, he did it slowly, as though even touching it demanded respect. Stone scraped softly as he lifted it from the altar, the sound unnervingly loud in the quiet room. He turned and held it out to me.

Nyra screamed, “you will die as well!” Selene’s lips curved in sorrowful triumph. She surged forward, lunar blade humming. And then... A hush fell, as though the world snapped its fingers and time paused for that one moment. Selene’s blade descended. The next instant was agony. Nyra threw herself between the blade and Ryker; the two queens collided in a crash of magic and steel. Nyra’s armor buckled under the strike; she cried out as lunar steel tore across her side. Selene’s blade punched through Nyra’s armor, inches from Ryker. His chest caved as his body slumped. Blood poured in a living river across the courtyard flagstones.

The blade thrummed with a fierce light, pulsing with every beat of her spirit. As she stood poised on a rise overlooking the battlefield, the packs rallied behind her. Warriors shifted into wolf and human alike, lifting their voices into the morning air, the sound swelling into a wild, chaotic hymn. "Moon Queen! Moon Queen!" The chant grew louder, more fevered, a drumbeat of hope. At her left, Jon appeared, mounting a sleek black horse, his quiver bristling with arrows enchanted by the sorcerers of Nightveil. He nocked an arrow that shimmered with living flame, the fire licking hungrily at the shaft.

Now, its very essence had been lost. Maybe, Caraven had tried to steal it back. He was the only outsider who knew that the lady had the blade in her possession. My mind wandered back to how lifeless the weapon felt in my hands. The hum that usually called to me whenever it was nearby had suddenly gone silent. Like its life had been taken from it and now it was no longer a magical tool. It was just a crafted regular blade. The chess board was starting to fall apart once again. We trudged forward into the dark of the night and only came to a stop directly at the entrance of the tower that was left ajar.

She gently placed both hands over Johnson's clenched fist. "Relax," she said softly. "Let's hear what they have to say first." King Johnson closed his eyes and took a deep breath. After several seconds, he finally sighed. "What do you have to say?" Raphael answered without wasting another moment. "I have the Dark Blade." Everyone froze. Even Queen Selene's eyes widened. Levi carefully stepped forward, choosing his words with obvious caution. "How... did you obtain it?" He hesitated before asking, "And what about Frostbite?"