Novel & Cerita Song Of War Book

He snorted as he watched the warrior raised his sword and sliced open the man behind him with a proper twist of his sword. Mithraos turned back in time to slice open a sword wielder's head. Wars gave him a kind of high that nothing else does. The sound of a conch was heard and all swords were lowered as the sun lowered into the horizon. ----------------- Adharva Malvan raised an eyebrow as he heard of the war in South. "He is stepping out of a line when he touches our ally," said the minister Pahlan. "Indeed," said Adharva as he looked on into the darkness. -------------------

I was going to destroy everything my enemies held dear. "Let's prepare for war!" I growled. Hang in there my little wolf, I'm going to find you. I'm on my way ***Author's note*** Chapter soundtrack: Call out my name by the Weekend

“Warriors need words too. Steel doesn’t always win. Sometimes it’s the tongue that keeps the blade sheathed.” He considered that, his brows furrowed in the same way Luna used to when she wanted to argue but couldn’t find the words yet. I shook the thought away and tapped the next page of the worn book. “This one’s older,” I said. “Harder, too. But you’ll like it.” “What’s it about?” “Duty,” I answered. “And love. And all the things a man carries even when he’s tired of carrying them.” He nodded as if he understood more than I’d given him credit for. His voice was softer when he began, tracing each syllable with the care of someone building a bridge.

I also won't beg. I pick up one of the worn volumes and open it. In the beginning, there were two. In the beginning, one male, one female. In the beginning, no war, no famine. In the beginning, love. Within a short time, I'm enthralled. It's like reading a science fiction novel even though I know these events happened. This book is about their history. I stop myself. My history. It's told by a female Shadow Warrior named Nalista.

Lyra was having a good time, although there weren't many women in the group, and that made many of the male rebels try to conquer Lyra. She simply rejected them politely and then continued to celebrate, which made her feel safe. In the midst of the celebration, in the forest, a rebel kept running, wanting to reach the base as quickly as possible. His abdominal pain made him think very bad things, so he needed help as soon as possible. He appeared in the middle of the celebration unexpectedly, claiming that the war had begun. Everyone was scared, but then they went to help him and ask him what had happened.

Gael, Hakeem, and I had passed out after four hours of non-stop mating. I was sandwiched between my two men, my head resting on Hakeem’s chest and Gael’s leg and arm thrown over both of us as he snuggled into my back. I felt as if I had just fallen asleep when flashes and fragments of dreams began to play through my mind. They were disjointed, speeding through my mind almost too fast to catch. There is Charlie holding two pups in her arms, the pack being attacked on the western front, Arya fallen to her knees sobbing in the middle of a battlefield, funeral pyres, me looking down at my pregnant stomach with Gael and Hakeem smiling down at me, whoops of victory and wails of defeat. As the

VITTORIA’S POV Three days before the wedding, I was sitting in the library. Not hiding. Not lurking. Sitting, comfortably, curled into one of the leather lounge chairs with a book resting open in my hands. The Art of War. Sun Tzu had lived and died long before men like Nikolai De Luca ever learned to call themselves kings, but strategy never aged. Power never changed. Only the pieces on the board did. I liked ancient warfare texts. They were honest. They didn’t pretend victory came from morality or mercy. They understood what most people refused to admit, wars were won before the first blow was struck.

Wolves had centuries of blood and memory recorded here—wars waged and won, treaties brokered, betrayals etched into ink. For them, knowledge was power. For Bella, it was survival. Her fingers traced across the worn spine of a heavy volume. Silver letters shimmered faintly against cracked leather. The Wars of the Blood Moon. The words tasted foreign on her tongue as she whispered them aloud, but she savored the sound. The parchment inside was rough and thick, the script elegant but cramped, the edges of some pages worn by generations of claws. She carried the tome to a long oak table near the tall windows, where gray light spilled across the wood like a veil. Settling onto the bench, she open

Everyone’s heart is troubled for what lays ahead, but the need to protect is ignited in everyone’s soul, sparking it to a raging flame. A war is coming. -End of Chapter 9-

She said coldy. He didn't care to watch her trudge off but closed the door and grabbed a book from his table. He hadn't had time to read in a long time, a hobby he had once indulged in. It was the poetic recount of tales of knights and kings that had lived long before him. He had hoped, as a child, that someday poems and songs would be written about him but as a man grown he knew that most victories were gotten in the time of war and no one wanted war. The blood shed and loss left scars that never truly healed.