Sword King Novels & Stories

"I don't need you to protect me. Your love will be enough for me to fight till my last breath." ~ Regan "My love for you is mercenary. Don't expect something that you will never get from me." ~ Lincoln . . . Regan Wells (Maria Turgenev) It started the day in senior high, a game of revenge that I was unaware of at that time. He starts the battle of the unknown with me, a girl with a lost memory against him, a handsome bully with his demons.

The sound echoes across the battlefield like thunder. I turn sharply toward the sky where the dragon king tears through one of my generals with brutal precision. The sight fills me with a brief, cold satisfaction. Yes. That is the opponent I deserve. Not soldiers. Not generals. A king. I fold my wings and begin climbing toward him. The air burns against my scales as I rise through the smoke and fire of the battlefield. The moment Aurelion notices me, the sky will erupt again. Our clash will tear this city apart. Good.

The discreet fist of the kingdom. Makil took it all in with a single, sweeping glance—the posturing lord, the defiant clans, the solitary man on the bridge holding the peace by sheer will. He saw the game. Gryffen wanted a provocation, an excuse to cross that bridge and claim “restoring order.”

"Clan Sköll? Det er ikke mulig. Sköll-klanen forsvant i min fars tid. (That's not possible. The Sköll Clan disappeared in my father's time.)" The sword disappeared from his neck as did the boots from his back. Taking these actions as permission, Brand slowly turned over and sat up. He first saw the large warrior draped in multiple furs and with an ax in his hand and a longsword strapped to his back. The man's black eyes bore into his, daring him to make one wrong move so he could play with his favorite toy and remove Brand's heart from his chest with it.

Panic cut through the haze of heat. Arthur stumbled backward, his right hand flying instantly to the hilt of the ceremonial sword at his hip. His fingers fumbled against the leather grip. "Stay back," he rasped, his voice raw. He tried to draw the blade, but his wrist was weak, the steel catching in the scabbard with an uncoordinated, metallic screech. "I am your King, Malakor. Step back."

His sword sliced through the air, unleashing a powerful force akin to a hundred swords striking the massive stone. The boulder fragmented, yet Kenru stood before me, his back turned. The scent of his masculine presence was unmistakable. "Tigrani's hair is immortal. You don't step this close to snakes," he said, addressing me. He pointed his sword's tip toward the hair strands surrounding my feet. Swiftly, he severed them, then hauled me closer with a powerful pull. His strength was overwhelming, his grip nearly all-encompassing. "How sweet. The bastard of the 9th kingdom, Kenru Zorwig, or should I say Prince Kenru Rousad?"

He walked towards me, grabs me by the arm and hugged me tightly. “Destiny, please come back” I heard him crying. “Hikaru…” I returned his hug and rest my head on his shoulder. As he wipes his tears from his face, he apologizes. He sat down again, his head was looking at the ground. “You’ve inherited Destiny’s sword, might as well have her throne.” “NO” I shortly replied, he looked at me. “And never ever!” an angry voice was heard. Hikaru stood up in surprise, I was still holding the sword. On the staircase stands, Aiomi.

Boro and Mika stood in the sand circle as the two finalists. The animosity between the two was so thick in the air it was almost palpable. Boro stood in the ready form, Crane In The Water, standing perfectly balanced on one leg, his sword held out before him. Mika stood in a form that Boro didn't recognize. Boro prided himself on knowing all the forms of classical, and modern, sword art, the fact he didn't recognize this one was puzzling.

I say. Maeve holds her breath. “Alaric, you do not have to do this.” “I do, Princess.” Tears begin filling Maeve’s eyes. I take a breath. “I, Alaric Stoneclaw, tonight swear upon my wolf blood and my pack… that I am the Sword Bearer of Princess Maeve Nightwhisper. My sword is your sword. And whoever stands in your way to the throne will face my blade.” “Alaric, you do not know what you will face if you stay with me. Behind us are Uncle Garson’s soldiers—”

"As we all know the reason for the festivity. So without wasting any further time, let's begin the rejoice." King stepped forward to speak. "Past few days have been intriguing for all of us. The tasks were risky and I am pleased to announce that the couple performed profoundly. Today is the day to appreciate them for their hard work. As I had assured they will be rewarded the strongest weapon," he said taking out the sword from the scabbard and raising it high in the space, "THE SWORD!" The weapon captivated thousands of eyes on it. The hall with thousands of people went silent. Mesmerised by the shiny, sharp blade they devour the moment through the eyes.