Runic Tablet Simply Swords Novels & Stories

The only one in the middle of the wall, my sword. “I am afraid I haven’t used a sword for 3 years now, William.” I took the sword and wrapped my hand on its handle. The pommel has a red ruby in the middle with small lavender flowers encrusted on its golden grip. I took the sword out of its golden scabbard and watched the blade as it reflected the light. The middle of the blade was colored in blood-red with its tip dipped in gold.

I could see heaps of the swords which looked just like mine but I could see that one is different, it has an engraving on it which looks like that of an alpha. I looked at it closely and to the others and I noticed a big difference between the both. I could see clearly what was on it. It said this ‘To the only one who hath to have this, the alpha with two wolves’. I stared at the sword with shock not knowing what to say and that was because I tried to lift it up and I could feel the sword glaring at me with an unseen eyes. The sword didn't move a bit and even though it doesn't look heavy it is. I knew that the sword might have lots of meaning to it but I don't care. I tried the others but I

And there, ahead, where the valley narrowed into the mouth of the pass itself, was a scene of tense stalemate. On one side of a rushing, glacial river, a makeshift camp flew the banners of several eastern lowland lords—a silver gryphon, a green serpent, a black tower. Perhaps two hundred men-at-arms were arrayed in disciplined ranks, their pikes gleaming dully in the overcast light. At their head, on a sleek chestnut horse, was a man in polished half-plate: Lord Gryffen, his face handsome and cruel under a trimmed beard.

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.

I asked and pointed to the weapons. I did a double take when I saw the shining sword I was pointing at. Its hilt was made of gold and there were jewels embedded in it. I looked at the other weapons next to it and found that the entire section was filled with jewelled daggers, swords and sabres. Samurai swords, Katanas and even dual broadswords lined up on the shelf. Some of them looked so ancient that I was certain that their price would make me faint. Some of the swords were emanating a faint glow, and I realised that they were spelled weapons. I wondered what exactly they could do...

Hayden was standing in front of the glass box. In the glass box was a sword in a white colored scabbard. A name was written on the glass in silver letters. "Adiuvat Talwar'' (The brave sword). I opened the glass top. I held the sword by the hilt and took it out, examining it. It fitted my palm. I raised it and it felt like a feather in my hand, not like other weapons that are heavy. I removed the white scabbard that slid off without any resistance. The gleam of the silver weapon left me astounded. I looked carefully to see latin words carved on the silver blade. Hayden stood beside me reading it. He was familiar with latin. "Solum adiuvat iustum, et de anima James'' (Only for the brave and j

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

I flex my hands, fingers tingling, and try not to think about what will happen when they finally come off. We turn left, into a corridor lined with display cases. Inside, swords and axes gleam under glass, each labeled in precise script. Some are ceremonial, etched with runes and wrapped in leather darkened by age and sweat; others are brutal, meant for use, the edges still nicked from combat. I can smell the blood baked into the grips, even if they’ve been polished a hundred times. The metallic tang is thick, and the wolf in me catalogues every potential weapon before my human brain can catch up.

As if time was a stone, the sword swung free in the hand of the true king, clashing with the black blade in Embyr's hand, shattering it into pieces. Glowing in Arthur's hand is a sword that seems like an extension of himself, glowing brightly. It is covered in runes that illuminate us with an eerie blue glow. The horsemen all take a step back. I don't need to be able to read the runes to know exactly what it is called. Excalibur.

"I thought I told you to leave those at home?" I ask, narrowing my eyes. She smiles sheepishly. "Sorry I just got so excited," she says. I sigh a little. "Does that mean you like them?" "I love them. Thank you," she grins. My gaze flicks down to the short swords in her hands. The blades are black with light gold engravings. The hilts are gleaming silver with a dragon head pommel. "There are runes in the blades and when I think you're ready, I'll teach you how to enchant them," I tell her.