Sword Of The Falcon Novels & Stories

My fingers are on my chin as I crouched and looked at it. The cover or the sheath was silver with a few pints of gold, I don't understand the engravings etched on it. Because of my curiosity, I held it and released it from its sheath. Unlike other sword, its blade was bluish and silver, the handle was wood in color and the cover was glass. It was not as heavy as it look. I lifted it up and swayed it... Imagining I was a samurai fighting some bad guys. I chuckled.

Kael introduced himself to the warrior in charge… Falcon. Falcon gave him a light nod. “Right, here are the armor and that dagger is what you are to use.” Kael blinked. “I thought the combats required no weapons.” “You can do as you wish,” Falcon replied and walked past him. Kael scoffed, glancing back at Falcon as he stepped out. “How curt of him,” he sighed before beginning to dress. The scent of sweat and blood lingered in the air as a beta smashed another beta to the ground, dust curling in the air.

"Jack wolf, please!" With a surge of adrenaline, Jack Wolf summoned every last ounce of strength. The spear shone brighter, its power surging through him like a river of light. Eryndor's eyes widened in surprise as Jack Wolf's grip tightened, the spear's tip pressing deeper into his chest. The dark magic swirling around him began to falter. Eryndor stood on his ground. The air was electric with the clash of steel and the scent of sweat and blood. Eryndor's Shadowing dagger seemed to dance in the moonlight, its dark blade slicing through the air with a haunting screee-ksss.

It didn't do anything. Then suddenly, one of the riders pulled air through his teeth. "Oh goddess. Is this... ?" Not far from the woman, something rose from the ground. At first it seemed like a whirl of white and grey dust, then their vision cleared. Opposite the coated woman stood a skeleton. It was nearly as small as she with overly long arms. In its hand was a sword unlike any other. This was a sword that had killed hundreds and would never leave the side of the one that conquered it. The one and only best swordsman of the Falumor Empire.

Its formidable presence serves as a reminder of his role as a prince and protector. To Tritan's left, Finrir gracefully hovers, his pack adorned with a sheathed long Viking sword. If his lethality is needed, the sword becomes an extension of his skills, a weapon to be unsheathed with precision and deadly intent. Crafted with intricate engravings and a polished edge, the sword reflects the strength and resilience that Finrir embodies. It is a weapon that strikes fear into the hearts of their enemies, poised to be wielded when the situation demands it.

Although she instinctively tried to defend herself, the fork's tips still penetrated halfway through the hand holding her knife. "Will you accept the suit symbol exchange while you're in perfect condition, or after you've been stabbed and are full of holes in your body?" Falcon, in the elevator's opening, lifted the blades in his hands, ready to throw them at any moment.

Before Fallon could react, a murderous, green fog came toward them. It was Norm's specialty and the mark of the Green Shadow Flying Sword. Fallon was immediately alarmed when murderous intent filled the air.

A crest gleamed on his chest plate: the Moonveil Citadel emblem, a silver wolf's head wreathed in thorns, symbol of an ancient order long whispered in legends. In his grip, he wielded a sword that sang of forgotten forges—a massive greatsword with a blade as long as a man's arm, etched with glowing runes that pulsed like veins of starlight. The hilt wrapped in blackened leather, guarded by a crossbar shaped like crossed fangs, it hummed with arcane power, cleaving through monster hides as if they were parchment. Each swing arced with devastating force, severing limbs and heads in sprays of dark ichor, the warrior pivoting seamlessly, boots sinking into the mire without falter. He fought alon

How could she forgot bringing knife. "It's okay, come inside." Abraham blew off the candles and walked inside his room taking her wrist in his hand. She was walking alongside him. He placed the cake on the centre table and then walked towards his side drawers. He took out a finger sized dagger from it and then came to stand beside her. Again taking her hand in his, they both sat on the sofa and Abraham cut a small piece of cake and then brought it towards Minahil's face. She ate it and then fed a big piece to Abraham as well.

Two thin braids framed a face as cold and smooth as polished river stone, the sort of face that probably frowned at joy. He wore robes of Windrider red and gold, cut in the style of a military officer. Loren huffed. No wonder his falcon had a distinctly murderous disposition. The man looked vaguely familiar, though she was certain they had never met. “Your falcon attacked my owl without provocation,” Loren said coldly. “Your owl entered my falcon’s patrol arc,” he replied, as though any reasonable person would understand that logic. “Patrol arc?” Loren kept her tone even with effort, though it sounded annoyingly shrill in her own ears. “This is King Arion’s Hall. It's neutral territory. Ther