The Blade Itself Book Review Novels & Stories

James was amazed by the information Delainey had shared. He knew the history of the Blade of Justice but was unaware that it still had a cast around its blade. Delainey nodded lightly, “Mhm. It’s said to have been cast with unique material to conceal the sword’s true sharpness. However, I’m not sure about the veracity of this statement. I simply read about it once in an untitled ancient book. It might be fake since if this sword was the same one from that dynasty, it wouldn’t have become Sol’s Blade of Justice. It would instead belong to another top martial artist of that time.”

And the crystal dagger on my hand possessed the same crest. “The Balaraw is now officially the Luna’s Blade!” Edith announced and step up the podium with Hadleigh in her arms. And this time, the bitter smile on my lips and the question in my head about the dagger now has a clearer reason. With my free hand, I stretched my hand and carried my blue-eyed little man in my arms. A tear escaped from my eyes as I bent my head to touch Hadleigh’s forehead with mine. “Hence, this is what your father wanted for this thing. And to you, our child, who’ll grow filled with love and courage like a blade.”

I said. "Why?" She asked. I shrugged my shoulder. "I guess to start his pack. I once overheard mother say that the evil Ripper was no longer Haven's business but New-Yawk's as he had started a deadly pack there." "That's so cool." Sandra said, already in awe of him. "Dangerous but cool." She added. She was right. Blade's history was somehow cool, except… "Is that all?" She asked, snapping her fingers at my face. "Is that all you saw about him."

He activated the spiritual energy within him, gathering it on his Thunder Blade. The Thunder Blade gleamed with a cold light, and a crimson hue appeared on the blade. "Crazy Blade Strike!" A sharp and fierce blood-red blade light cut through the air, flashing through the moonlit woods. Just as the blade light was about to touch Sebastian's body, a semi-transparent shield appeared in front of him. Clang! When the blade light struck the shield, the shield dissipated, and the blade light was also neutralized. Sebastian was unharmed, showing no signs of damage.

Reaching for his side, Ymir unsheathed another blade, and in the same instant the ones in his hands vanished. I backed away immediately after witnessing the change of blades. I didn't want to rush forward with an attack when I wasn't sure of what these new blades could do. It was safe to assume that each of them possessed unique abilities, someone like this couldn't possibly face the Lycan with ordinary blades. People like him were way too proud to even think of doing so. "These blades nullify healing of any sort, do not think you'll heal back after I cut you to pieces with these blades." He educated. It was a foolish thing to do, but I was pleased he had opened up.

The three doors loomed before them, carved from flame yet solid as stone, each one radiating a presence so distinct it pressed against the air like different storms colliding. The crown shimmered brightest, its fire curling into regal arcs. It radiated weight—authority, command, and dominion. Yet Mia felt a coldness at its edges, as though stepping through would mean surrendering something vital to wear its shape. The blade was sharp even in light, its form jagged and restless. A hum vibrated in her chest just looking at it, a call to act, to strike, to end. Violence made manifest, yet also resolved—unyielding, dangerous, tempting.

Slowly, he pulled the blade from its sheath and brought it toward my face. I closed my eyes and held my breath. Relax, Lila. He's not going to kill you with it... I repeated to myself before cautiously opening my eyes again to stare at the most intimidating blade I had ever seen. It looked incredibly heavy, as though it carried the weight of an anchor. I wasn't even sure I could lift it with both hands. "Do you want to know why this blade is called the Blade of Poison?" he asked, raising it into the air to admire it.

By the time the sharp wind brushed past my cheek, my hand had already risen, two fingers closing around the blade before it could pass. The dagger stilled instantly. Cold metal rested between my fingers, its faint vibration betraying the force behind the throw. I studied it briefly, noting its balance, its weight, the precision of its edge. It was well-crafted. Clean enough to open a throat without resistance. So this was how they chose to begin. I did not turn. Instead, I let my awareness expand, reaching into the stillness of the room, following the disturbances in the air rather than the silence itself.

The obsidian blade goes through the grey Harvester’s plate as though the plate is warm wax, and the cut does not slow at the armor the way every law of the physical world says it should, because the engine is at full and full means the blade carries my entire frequency into the steel ahead of the edge, and the steel forgets, for one impossible instant, how to be solid.

; the blade edge, springback, and feel directly determine the margin for error during restoration. The second time was in the manor study. Catherine looked at the tool set, her eyes shining like sunlight after rain. "With this," she said softly, "the efficiency of restoring the edges of ancient books would be much higher. Look at the curvature of this blade—it's specifically designed for brittle paper edges." She spoke with such reverence, as if afraid of disturbing something precious. William rarely saw anyone maintain such pure respect for an object beyond any desire for possession.