Solo Leveling Knives Novels & Stories

"It's just a knife, isn't it?" "No! There are different types of knives. There's the bread knife which is this one," He brought out the knife and showed it to me. "It has a serrated blade and it's majorly used for slicing bread. Here's the chef's knife for breaking down chickens or cutting onions or maybe fingers," I laughed. He dropped the knife back into the sink where he's dropped it earlier. "Here's the cleaver, I only use it on rare occasions, and lastly, Nakiri Knife, my favorite. You can use it to cut any vegetables or carrots. It's kind of multipurpose for me,"

Then I toss back a handful of nuts before passing the bowl to Klempner. Klempner sips his drink. "That's a wicked-looking set of knives, James. Well cared for, I can see. But they look a little delicate for heavy work." James holds the blade up to the light, inspecting the serrated blade. "That's because these are my sushi knives. I brought them down from the kitchen for the occasion." I punctuate my speech with the bottle in my hand, waving it in the air as I speak. "You like sushi, Larry?"

She weighed them in her hands. Different kinds of combat knives. Some throwing knives, dagger, karambit, and Fairbairn sykes. She checked their sharpness and swung her hands with them one by one as if checking which one was comfortable for her to use and carry around. She also checked if there were any way to carry the weapon around with ease. She found belts, holders, and concealed sheaths and nodded her head when she seemed to have her choices of which ones she would pick.

BLADE 3. Pain. It was all I felt when I shot my eyes opened. I felt so sore and tired. The memories of how Lorenzo plunged deeper into me last night filled my mind. He was so cruel to me. I didn't find any enjoyment in it at all. I tried lifting my hands and I was happy It was back to functioning. My tit hurts too as a result of the sucking he did last night.

He put them in my hands himself. Custom forged. Silver bright enough to hurt the eyes, grips wrapped in dark leather that already smelled like my palm. The blades were short, meant for close work, the kind you keep when the larger sword is gone. Along each ricasso a single line of old Slavic, small enough to miss unless you knew to look. Not beneath. Beside. I swallowed. My throat felt tight. “You made these.” “I stood over the smith until he got the balance right.” He watched my face, not the knives. “You passed. These are not a gift. They are the tools of the woman who put me on my back.”

"500 Nurses and it will be yours." Damn that's quite expensive! Good thing I have no reason to buy it. I'm not a fan pf swords because even though they look light but actually they are heavy, and me without proper muscles nor training. It might be the one to kill me rather than my enemy. I just shook my head and listened to the lady's introduction of the second weapon. "Meat Cleaver, which has a very good mechanical structure. It can be modified, making it easy to carry. It is a combat weapon, made by a unique craftsman. It is rare to see, and costs 25 Nars."

Her hand disappears into the space, and when it comes back, it’s holding steel. One knife. Then another. Then another. She draws them out carefully, laying them on the stone floor like offerings to a truth that can no longer be hidden. Five blades in total. Two small. One large. One curved. One straight. All sharpened to a whisper. The room seems to tilt, the air thinning until each breath feels earned. Mara stands slowly, one knife still in her hand. She doesn’t brandish it. She doesn’t step back. She just looks at me worried.

AIYANA The sky was already beginning to lose its color, tinted by a dull gold that would soon dissolve into the dark blue of night. Shadows crept along the trees, and the distant sound of the river helped me stay focused as I slid the knife blade across the whetstone with slow, careful strokes. One of the three. The hunting one. The other two were already in place, one tucked inside my left boot, the other in the waistband at the back of my pants.

I walked him through proper form, stance, and grip, emphasizing the importance of holding the knife correctly. “First, find a knife that fits you,” I explained. “Not every blade suits everyone. As a beginner, it’s best to practice with the same set until you improve. Look for something durable and balanced. And yes, some knives dull faster—avoid those. For now, a dull edge is safer, but you still want a sharp point for effectiveness.” I gestured to the training closet. “Try a few until you find one that feels right.”

"Before I forget we're in a war zone and take you on this floor." I step back, breathless, my skin burning where he touched me. I move to the kitchen table. Spadino is there. He is perched on the edge of the wood, his feet resting on the bench. He is peeling a blood orange with a combat knife. The blade is six inches of serrated steel, designed to gut a man. In Spadino’s hands, it is a delicate instrument. He slices the rind in a perfect spiral, the zest releasing a burst of citrus scent into the air.