The 7 Swordsmen Of The Mist Novels & Stories

Nobody did a free job anymore because everything was a business. “Just like how you wanted them to be.” He gestured to the two black briefcases on the crates. In the first briefcase were dual short swords made of pure silver. It had a long line of engraved words “There was no victory without sacrifices” on the blade. She tested the short swords with several movements. The balance was just right for her. Everything on the swords is just like how she requested it to be. Her signature red gem on the hilt. Mira set down the swords back into the briefcase before reaching the next briefcase. A set of six hunting knives.

A COUPLE OF HOURS BEFORE THE CEREMONY In his slumber, Nelanian tossed and turned in his bed, breathing deeply and calling out his master's name. /................................................/ The second swordsman was launched into the air from the gas cloud. His landing was less elegant than the others had anticipated. He hit the tree's bark with his head. Rhaizen Gale waited for the mist to disperse while he stood in the middle of the mist. The lorth magician and the alchemist were the only ones left, and the alchemist had been useless in the fight since it began.

He guffawed and laughed , he was seeing such an interesting man after many decades , not decades, after centuries and centuries . The black mist ; which was gathering towards the magic circle and configuring into a 'certain' something for a long time finally, took form into something which aroused the spectators' and Lienne's curiosity — the dark mist, which appeared out of nowhere, formed into a physique of a knight and a configuration of a violet horse i.e. the knight's horse. On the top of the horse, sat the knight wearing a purple armour, with a badge of a peacock on the left side of his armour . He was holding one of the 7 deadly weapons - Gallows Dodger of the sin of pride .

She jumped up at once, smashed many things, and said angrily, “Damn it! Who was it?” The captain of the guards kneeling on the floor replied, “Looking at the wounds on the bodies, they must have died after getting slashed on their throats! Such speed, strength, and accuracy… As far as I know, something like this can only be done by the Seven Swordsmen of Fusha.” “The Seven Swordsmen of Fusha? Why would someone from Fusha appear here?” Yana reacted immediately, her expression solemn. The Seven Swordsmen of Fusha were the seven most famous swordsmen of Fusha!

The dark holy sword was coated with spirituality and an outline of a sword could be seen. Three swords— No. Seven swords came out of the void, and they were brimming with eerie spirituality. My body shivered, but I felt nothing. I watch him slowly manifesting his blades. "Be grateful! You are seeing God's grace!” he laughed. Seven swords were pointed at me, he smirked and said. "May God bless you!" As soon as he finished talking, he lowered his greatsword and pointed it towards me. Soon, all the seven swords came towards my direction. Aiming at my heart, neck, arms, and limbs.

It smelled of damp stone, old hay, and solitude. Makil was already there, warming up with a series of fluid stretches that further betrayed his training. He wore similar clothes to yesterday, and two practice longswords were thrust into the ground at the center of the yard. Leigh arrived silently, a shadow detaching from the deeper shadows of the archway. She'd re-braided her hair tightly. She said nothing, simply walked to the center, pulled one sword from the earth, and tested its weight. "No rules," Makil said, pulling the other. "First to yield, or be disarmed."

I open my eyes and take the card out of the blinding glow, and as my brain registers the card it looks blank, but I do as tradition states, spin around and hold it in the air for all to see. The gasps and the yelling starts, and I don’t understand why, so I bring the card down to my eye level and watch it. The card is black with what looks like six white silhouettes on it. There are colors beginning to swirl within each of the white silhouettes. Glancing up I see six figures walking toward me, but I can’t make out who they are. “Mistress to the Veil! The whore and her men must be sacrificed! You know the law! Kill the betrayers!”

A desk for decisions, not work. One wall held bookshelves filled not with books, but objects; bronze sculptures, crystal paperweights, what looked like a vintage sextant. Across from it, a narrow liquor cabinet stood open, revealing decanters and etched tumblers. A leather armchair sat near the window beside a short glass table, where a cigar smoldered in a crystal ashtray. But it was the view that locked me in place. Boats—sleek, expensive—roared into the private dock. Men stepped off them in pressed suits, watches flashing under their cuffs. They laughed, shook hands, exuded purpose. They moved like generals or kings—like men used to rewriting rules.

Julian (from balcony above, smirking): “I’ll guard the sarmale.” Tunnel spiraled down into crystal-lit cavern. Seven pedestals glowed—each holding a legendary artifact. 1. Hellebore Mist Blade – katana, mist-forged, 47 hellebores etched along the fuller. 2. Blackened Silver Shard – 47 hellebores, fractured, pulsing shadow. 3. Shadow Invisibility Cloak – liquid night, folded like silk. 4. Hellebore Dagger – twin to the blade, smaller, venom-green edge.

For a short while each morning, the citadel felt almost peaceful. Adrian stepped into the open courtyard with his sword resting against his shoulder. The stone beneath his boots was cold, still damp with the night’s lingering frost. Thin mist curled along the edges of the training grounds, giving the towering walls a ghostlike appearance. He set the sword down carefully in the center of the courtyard. The weapon was enormous—nearly as tall as his shoulder and heavy enough that most soldiers struggled to lift it with both hands. Adrian lifted it easily. The familiar weight settled into his grip like an old companion.