Sacred Blade Barber Novels & Stories

“Mercy, my Lord—please… I didn’t—” I lifted a hand, silencing him. “Enough.” Jared froze where he stood, chest heaving, eyes still burning with the instinct to kill. “It’s fine,” I muttered, wiping the blood from my chin with a towel. “He made a mistake, not a statement.” The barber’s shoulders shook with relief as he crawled back to his tools. “T-thank you, my Lord.” “Finish your work,” I said simply, and he obeyed, trembling hands steadying themselves as the razor returned to my skin.

“To create viable evidence.” “No,” I shake my head. This is a custom-made, one of a kind blade with only two others in circulation and he expects me to just leave it here? A two thousand one hundred dollar blade? No way, I would rather do time and snuggle it in. “I’m not leaving it here.” I tell him, “Use yours.” “Mine is a different make, Ale.” Alessio sighs. “How the hell did you even get that one?” I shrug, “I know a guy.”

Blade was nearly two meters tall. His body was particularly robust and he had bulging muscles. The short-sleeved T-shirt that he wore accentuated his chest muscles, and they were big enough to rival an average woman's bosom. His bronze-colored arm muscles instilled fear in people, while his thick eyebrows and sharp eyes were brimming with might. When he arrived, he rubbed his bald head and asked Trevor in a hoarse voice, "Tell me, who do you want me to kill?"

Black handle, black blade, and engraved along the spine, clean and precise, S. I hold it up and examine it. "This is my name," I say. He stares at me. "This is literally my name. It says S. S for Sadism. I'm the Grim Reaper." I turn the blade in the light. "This is clearly mine. Where's the phone?" "My brother has it." Through his teeth. "He took it. I don't have it. Stop. Touching." Each word arriving separately, with effort. "My. Tail." He makes a sound that is half fury and half something he's trying to keep below the surface, and his tail catches my wrist on the backswing.

Instantly, it dawned on Sheera that it was a blade. "It's a Wic'ca blade," he confirmed. "And I'll gladly cut you open with this if you dare to cum. You can feel the pleasure, Sheera. See the gates of Elysium. But know you shall never step in. If you dare to release on me, I shall dig this blade deep into your chest and carve out your heart." He dipped the tip into her chest, earning a whimper from her. "You should know I love to cut people open," his tone was darker. "And I shall gladly do same to you."

“Why are you being so damn clingy?” His eyes widened, genuinely startled. “I am being professional.” “Professional my ass.” He hesitated, then stepped back. “I will wait here.” Scarlet forced a smile. She did not go to the toilet. The moment she rounded the corner, she lifted her hand and waved down a cab outside Blackwoods Academy. As she slid into the backseat, her pulse thundered. Blade is being fishy. Too attentive. Too curious. And worst of it all...not doing his task, which helps to avenge the Lycan’s death. Because who the fuck warrior convinces his fellow warrior to stay back...away from the battlefield....Fishyyyy.

The congregation remained blissfully unaware. But I wasn’t. He knew that I knew. And now he was drawing the boundary publicly. “A priest,” he continued calmly, “does not belong to himself. His life is not his own. His heart is not his own. He has given it.” A soft murmur of reverence moved through the pews. I felt something twist painfully in my chest. Given. “As have many of you,” he added, widening the net to keep the congregation unaware. “Marriage. Parenthood. Service. Every sacred calling requires sacrifice.”

Swooosh! The blade with a blue glow was swung forward without any hesitation. The Zephyr Slash was pulled off once again! It was a simple and straightforward cut but packed with massive damage! “Your swordsmanship has already been perfected, Mr. Akano. If you manage to kill this man, you shall be crowned as the Shindan Way’s Sword Saint!” Sakura Miyamoto calmly said while admiring the battle. Taro Akano’s courage increased exponentially. The blade in his hand was filled with a menacing aura.

With extreme fear, Delilah shook her head vigorously as she pleaded, "Tristan, it's me, Lila! What are you…" A scream echoed through the air as he slapped her harshly across the face. He inserted the dagger between her thighs, his tone frosty as he asked, "Was this what you did to my child?" With each word Tristan spoke, his voice grew quieter. Soon, all that could be heard were Delilah's faint gasps. The live stream flickered with static, but the ban still hadn't been enforced. I felt a chill down my spine as I met his eyes on-screen.

Ara's POV I stood again in the arena of blades, where blood-soaked earth remembers all who dared step within. The stench, sharp as a broken promise, struck my senses. It was just as I remembered—the cries of the crowd, the roar of warriors. But this was no homecoming. I alone bore bow and arrow. No sword. No axe. No iron fang to clash with theirs. They laughed then, and they laugh still. Fools. Or maybe it is I who was fooled.