Snow Sword Stride Novels & Stories

The moment the door opened, a rush of cold air swept in, sharp and biting, pulling me out of the warm comfort of the carriage. The snow crunched beneath our boots, soft and deceptively deep, swallowing half of my calf as I stepped down from the carriage. I winced at the sudden bite of cold sinking through the thin soles of my shoes, the hem of my borrowed cloak dragging damp behind me. Ingrid was already striding forward with that same purposeful determination she wore like perfume, and Lena fell in beside her, brushing off snowflakes from the shoulder of her velvet wrap. I lingered a step behind.

* Zeina * The wind howled low across the Western Fortress, slipping through stone walls and catching in the high towers like a breath withheld. Snow swirled through the courtyard, fine as powdered silver, settling across the training grounds I refused to abandon. Each flake melted the moment it touched my skin, steaming against the fire that simmered just beneath the surface. I stood barefoot in the snow, the cold biting at my toes, grounding me in the moment. Around me, my warriors moved like shadows, barking commands, panting with effort.

The doors blew open. Wind and snow, real snow, burst into the villa like a miniature storm. Frost spiraled across the floorboards, racing toward us in glittering tendrils. And then he stepped inside. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Hair white as winter sun. Eyes like chipped ice, sharp, assessing, lethal.

Snow—my white wolf with cold blue eyes—lifted her head. The witch froze. Good. Even without speaking, Snow radiated lethal grace. My body felt heavier, stronger, and wild. Every instinct sharpened. My paws touched the floor with silent promise. The witch’s fingers twitched, drawing runes in a desperate attempt to defend herself, but Snow was already moving. A blur of white. A sharp snap of bones. A wet crack. In the span of a breath, Snow lunged at her, jaws stretching wide. Teeth sank into the witch’s neck and tore through flesh and bone with merciless precision.

Shanon appeared exactly five minutes later in a white and blue gradient ski outfit and furry hoodie. Shanon carried goggles and other ski equipment in both hands. “They gave me this before I came out.” “Sarah and Stevan make sure their friends have everything here. Let's go. Our friends left half an hour ago.” “They must be at the top of the hill. Why is there no cable car here?” Shanon started to complain just a few steps after her shoes hit the snow. The combination of uphill roads and very thick snow made the walk feel five times more difficult than just climbing up a steep mountain.

My legs were twisted, crushed under the weight of the snow. Shawn collapsed as he finally saw my corpse. The tool clattered to the ground. He stared blankly at my corpse as he shook his head vehemently.

The silver wolf stared at me in a predatory manner, tilting his snout toward the heart of the forest, giving the advantage for the chase and the hunt! The game became electrifying. I started to run, using the color of my fur as a strategic advantage to blend into the whiteness of the snow. Each step was an intimate fusion with the cold and damp texture, feeling the soft white giving way gently under my strong paws. The unique freshness of the snow embraced me, its icy particles intertwining in the dense fur of my legs, creating sparkling crystals as I advanced.

"How can you say these things and still have a conscience? You sent her to the Highveil Mountains, where she died of hypothermia! Her body is still up there on the Highveil Mountains!" Chester's every move seemed to be in slow motion. "Why did she, who had so much trouble walking, insist on climbing that snowy mountain?" I stared at him with ice in my gaze. "You already know the answer." Chester shook his head wildly. "No, I didn't do it. I just signed her up for trips all around to help her clear her mind. However, I made sure she was safe. I never sent her to the snowy mountains." He was so pale that he looked like he might fall over. He did not seem to be lying.

Then he turned and walked toward the camp. Snow settled on his shoulders, on the whetstone, on the sword hilt. He pulled his collar up. Inside his chest plate, the new hairband pressed against his heart. Warm. --- 【Wildfire and Thistle】 The snow on the northern ice plains stopped for a few days each spring. Heavy snow turning to flurries, flurries turning to ice crystals, ice crystals turning to occasional glints caught in the wind. Rex crouched on a black basalt boulder, his greatsword thrust into the snow beside him, hilt up, like a crooked grave marker. He'd been crouching there a long time. The whetstone on his knee, flipped over and back.

To make matters worse, I landed in a terrible spot. His gaze flickered to my lips, and his breathing grew heavier. I could even hear his heartbeat and smell the fresh scent of aftershave. "W-Well, I'm glad the water didn't spill!" I quickly found an excuse to stand up, yet his hand was still resting lighting at my waist. "You know, I never realized people could slip on thin air." He withdrew his hand and turned away, fingers typing quickly on his keyboard. "Good night, sleep tight! I'm heading back to my room!"