Saints Sword Novels & Stories

Sekora asked. “You will be able to recognize them by the symbols on the hilt, first there is the Tsunami sword recognizable by the wave, next is the Earth breaker sword represented by broken earth, next is the Shadow sword represented by a ghost, next is the Sun saber represented by a sun, next is the Phoenix Wing sword recognized by wings, next is the Speed sword represented by a rabbit and finally there is the Power sword represented by a bull.” D2 replied going back to the lighter tone of voice.

The blade gleamed with a brilliant silver light, its edge shimmering with a promise of sharpness. The blood sword! I exclaimed internally, astonished by the fact that I had successfully conjured the legendary weapon known to be wielded by a valiant warrior from Cairos—a neighboring nation to Springgan. Apollo had shared stories about it, expressing his dream to create such a weapon one day. Empowered by the gauntlet, I held the blood sword with ease. The blade's edge gleamed, a testament to its lethal potential. Just as the icy shield surrounding me shattered, the dominus seized the opportunity to consume me. Its jaws opened wide as it lunged towards me. Reacting swiftly, I positioned the sw

*** Chester stood on the shore of an island, it was an enormous island of about seven kilometers length and five kilometers breadth. It seemed to him like it was dome-shaped with an opeque glass one could not see through. He made one step towards the glass then he heard lightning sound and flash of red and white lightening strike at once. "The last saint is at the shore, he has arrived to challenge our developments," he heard an announcement coming from the dome-shaped glass just after the lightning has struck. Instantly the atmosphere which had been gay turned cloudy and dark, rumbling continued to be heard from a distance and flashing of lightning continued.

“Princess, we need to leave!” The loud thud on the door awoke Maria from her thoughts. Her eyebrows creased as she was annoyed by the sudden interruption. She walked towards the door and opened it, standing right outside was a tall, sturdy man. Sweat poured unceasingly from his forehead down to his chin, Maria looked at his hand, and the sword he held. Bloodstains, she thought. “Lord Falstad, why is there blood on your sword?” Staring straight at Falstad, she asked in concern. A mutiny perhaps? Unlikely, there are knights in the castle far better in swordsmanship than Falstad.

And, while everyone else was in a frenzy, Don Fabio didn't notice that a red light was flickering on his head as he continued to yell angrily. “Quello stronzo... Seth! Mi vendicherò! Tornerò a tutti! Tu e la famiglia Corpuz— (That asshole…Seth! I’ll get my revenge! I’ll get back to everyone! You and the Corpuz Fami—)” Don Fabio couldn't finish what he was about to say when a bullet pierced his head, causing him to collapse where he was standing. Nobody knows what happened to the don because everyone was too busy trying to put out the fire in the vineyard. Don Fabio's blood spilled onto the floor while his eyes were wide open.

The war raged on, a battle of power and soul, each stroke striking like a crescendo amid the storm. My trembling palm clutched Xavier's sword, a relic of power that pulsed with an energy I didn't understand. The blade became an extension of my will as the Demon leaped at me with murderous intent. The sword clashed with its opponent's blade in a dance of survival, each strike mirroring the ferocious struggle for power.

"We don't need to go to Lin's house. Let's go to my place so I can change. This is a minor wound. I can handle it myself." Ludriev took her spirit sword she had previously put on the side of the arena, and followed him without anymore words. Spirit sword was forged in a special method for those who reached a certain level in swordsmanship. The sword was unique and believed to be sacred, as it had its own spirit, which, if it didn't feel a strong connection with the wielder, they wouldn't be able to use it. Therefore, usually a sword spirit only had one owner and vice versa.

On the pavilion floor lay a sword carved with a dragon, and standing on it was the man who had shouted. He stooped slightly, breath ragged; his eyes were bloodshot, bulging as if they might pop from their sockets. Through gritted teeth he thought, 'Xiu Jian is a damned wretch! I can’t even burn his sword!' Indeed, the trembling, furious man was Huang Fu, and the blade beneath his boot was the Sacred Dragon Sword. He had tried to set the sword aflame—yet not only did the flames refuse to take, the fuel he poured seemed to be absorbed and vanished, drying as if swallowed by the metal itself.

It smelled of damp stone, old hay, and solitude. Makil was already there, warming up with a series of fluid stretches that further betrayed his training. He wore similar clothes to yesterday, and two practice longswords were thrust into the ground at the center of the yard. Leigh arrived silently, a shadow detaching from the deeper shadows of the archway. She'd re-braided her hair tightly. She said nothing, simply walked to the center, pulled one sword from the earth, and tested its weight. "No rules," Makil said, pulling the other. "First to yield, or be disarmed."