Swords Crossed Book Novels & Stories

The bodyguards dragged me toward the pond in the center of the garden. They tied me up with thick rope and threw me onto a dilapidated old canopy boat rocking at the water's edge. Before I could even open my eyes properly, they flipped me over. Then a buzzing electric saw whirred to life and came straight for my finger. The searing pain made me scream. Soon, my blood began to stain the pigeon-blood ruby, giving it an eerie, sinister glow. "Tsk, looks like another fool is about to die." "She's such a pretty young girl, but she just had to be stubborn. Now look—Master Lucas won't let her off. At the very least, she'll lose a finger."

I did. A tremor in the leyline. Like the pulse of something old waking up. Not Velrith. Not even close. “They crossed through?” Kye asked, stepping beside me, hand instinctively on his blade. “No,” I said, eyes locked on the horizon. “They haven’t crossed yet. But they’ve found the gate.” I drew my sword. The one that sang now, not whispered. The one that had tasted the edge of the beginning and carried the scent of endings in its spine.

The double swords drew silver crosses on the chest at a strange rhythm, like a pair of fairy silver shuttles, weaving a dense silver cross sword net instantly. Layers of sword net flew out like soft grids enveloped the silver dragon in it. Boom! The ice dragon lashed its tail, the sword net was tightened up, and the intense energy of ice and fire directly collided and exploded at this moment. The terrible blast wave diffused, knocking down several houses under the two men's feet, with smoke and dust flying and gravel spreading like an earthquake. Before the dust settled, the sword light turned into cold stars and fell silently on Ding Hao through the dust.

As soon as he pulled his sword out, a surge of sword aura that could make anyone cower in fear poured toward Kayson. Kayson brandished his sword, sending a gush of sword aura that seemed to be glowing forward. A loud explosion occurred when two sword auras collided with each other, sending a shockwave that caused both sides of the walls to collapse.

The meeting of the hordes was swift and brutal, the clash of swords echoed along with the thunder, each blow dealt was like the echoing of lightning along the sky and the pouring rain was the blessing of the harvested souls and the water that washed away the blood. ''I know that I will be criticised by my successors in relating that silent tears have run down my face and wet the pages of this book for every brother I have seen die. A son of Palaços who will no longer tread this earth, but I also wept cold blood as I watched the barbarians driven to the depths.'' Swords buried themselves in the wet bodies and cries of pain were lost in the wind. Staffs occasionally knocked an opponent to the

Swish! Old Cross was slashed by the silver sword energy. With widened eyes, his body split into two. He was as dead as he could be!

The Clash of Kings The air split as Erebus lunged, his shadow-forged blade carving a jagged path toward me. I met it with steel, sparks flying as our swords collided. The force of the impact rattled through my bones, driving me back a step, but I planted my boots and shoved forward, refusing to give ground. The battlefield roared around us soldiers clashing, wolves snapping, guardians hurling fire but all of it blurred at the edges. There was only him. Only Erebus. His eyes burned with scarlet fire, and every strike carried the weight of centuries of darkness.

FAREWELL TO WAR POV: Xavier & Ceres (Shared Narrative) Cedar Ridge – Morning Mist The blades were not ceremonial. They were real. Worn. Blood-etched. Memory-heavy. Xavier stared down at the pair of swords laid across the stone altar before them—his and Ceres’s. Both had ended lives. Both had saved them. Both had nearly cost them the very future they were now trying to embrace. Ceres stood at his side, silent, wind tugging gently at the strands of her hair. Her eyes remained fixed on the horizon where Flamewatch had once burned red—and now shimmered green with rebirth.

"The tiltyard. An hour before dawn." Without another word, she collected the swords and walked past him, her stride eating up the garden path. He didn't turn to watch her go. He stood in the mist, feeling the residual warmth of her grip on the sword hilt, and the unsettling sense that the carefully ordered chessboard of his life had just been swept clean, replaced by a game with rules he did not yet know. --- The "old tiltyard" was a forgotten rectangle of packed earth between the mossy back of the armory and the high, blank wall of the monastery. Weeds pushed through the cracks in the viewing stands. It smelled of damp stone, old hay, and solitude.

POINT YOUR SWORD TO ME CHAPTER 23: The Sword's Identity Lixien closed her eyes and felt that her head was throbbing. How can he be so sure about his words? He really means it! But… from seven mountains?! She then grabbed the sword hastily from Leen’s hand and stared at the features of the sword. The sword from the seven mountains. She really needs to thank her husband for this. She trailed the blade of the sword with her fingers and Leen approached her with her worried eyes.