Undying Warlord Novels & Stories

How could he be certain that something was going to happen? Abruptly, Jaedon stood up. He had been so shy last night, but now he seemed on a mission. He dressed quickly and then told me to dress as well. I did. “We must tell your mother and brother of our plan. We have to tell my pack and warn our allies up North. I think a war is going to happen.” My heart began to race. A war? I dressed quickly in jeans and a sweatshirt and he took my hand in his as soon as I was finished. He kissed me softly on the lips, sending electricity throughout my body.

“Unbound Mongoose!” “Unbound Mongoose!” “Unbound Mongoose!” The names of the 8 warriors that took the centre stage resounded in every part of the village. It didn’t matter if it was those in the Central Demarcation Line who had no fighting capabilities, or those on the battlefield itself. Everyone heard the mighty shouts of the warriors. Arthur’s title, Durandal, was proclaimed the loudest. After all, everyone had seen how he fought since the very beginning, even before the Pseudo Legendary Class Magical Beast appeared. And many of them were in awe of their future chief.

I wanted him to see the abyss he’d spent years trying to create. Tad remained my anchor, his hand a steady weight on my back. His voice was a low, melodic murmur that cut through the roar of the elements. “You can do this, Cara. Breathe. Control the storm; don’t let it become you.” While Tad held my spirit, Roman secured the perimeter. He moved like a living shadow, flanking Reign with a predator’s grace. Every warrior behind him stood like a statue of iron, their eyes fixed on my father, waiting for the single gesture that would authorize his end.

The Jared rogue camp, a festering wound upon the land, sat like a viper ready to strike at the heart of the kingdom. Anya, my lone whisperer in their nest, had promised whispers of discontent, rumors of a brewing coup within the rogue ranks. A charismatic warlord named Scar, Anya claimed, was amassing followers, his ambition gnawing at the fragile unity held together by the aging King Adolph. But were these whispers true, or merely another echo in the vast emptiness of the Deadlands?

He continued, “King Andres is one of the last lycans and immensely powerful. He is a terrifying warlord.” “I see…” I nodded, and his face came into view. The handsome man with a dangerous aura—Hold on, I blinked in sudden realization. “A warlord?” I gasped, looking up at Papa, who nodded silently, seemingly lost in deep thought. From what I have learned, wars had been stopped a long while back. Not even my grandfather had seen wars. But Papa just claimed the current Lycan king as the terrifying warlord. How is that even possible? Confused, I again turned to my father. “How so, Papa?” I questioned, curious to learn more about the man who seems to have more than he shows. “How is he a warlord?

Also, he had to be on the field, always. So despite that position coming from inheritance, he was the Warlord, not his father. Randal was fifty-one now and he would live a long healthy life because of his frost giant blood, but he was not in any shape to lead an army. Not because of age, but because of grief. An unexpected grief, that shouldn't have come as early as it came. Alarick stopped at the door, clenching the door knob in his hands. “You… you should move on, vardekka,” he said in a cautious voice. “It’s been two years. You could still be leading this country with me.”

The subordinate straightened his body and bowed respectfully toward the north three times in succession, his expression exceedingly deferential. Then he turned to look at Alexander, chest out, head held high, exuding an air of dominance. "When you hear this, it might scare you to death. In Wyverna, there is Lord of War, who stands on equal footing with the ruler of Wyverna, commanding countless strong warriors and a million soldiers!" "No one knows his real name. Ordinary people only know his title, the Lord of the Temple of War, which terrifies the whole world. He is Larry's backing!"

he cried and coughed up more blood. The sheer magnitude of the shock was too much for him to bear. He could not believe it. How could Dustin possess something like that? The Dragon Warlord Totem could only be summoned by the Dragon Warlord Token. The Dragon Warlord Token itself belonged solely to the Dragon Warlord. He had achieved unparalleled military achievement in Lovellia and was considered the nation’s legendary guardian. The Dragon Warlord Token could rally a million troops! Even the ten thousand soldiers he had deployed from the Western Forces fell under its jurisdiction.

As a result, when we got back home, Reive settled himself on the sofa, near the fire, and I started to walk back and forth, biting my nails and blushing under his mocking look. “You are the Undead King, aren’t you?” I gasped, stopping and holding wide my arms. “You’re Reive Eridanus Castro-Firel! The ruler of Aldenor, overthrown seven hundred years ago!” The necromancer grimaced, but didn’t stop smiling, “Little one, let’s not speak about this: ‘overthrown ruler’ and all that blah-blah-blah. Yeah, I’m the Undead King. Yeah, the very one who lived seven hundred years ago”.

Exhaustion hit like chains — every muscle screaming. The Guild gasped as one. He was divine a moment ago. Now he looked human. Mortal. Bleeding. The crowned warlord rose slowly, dragging himself upright, blood staining his ruined armour. He laughed — hoarse, bitter, but still standing. “Not mortal,” he spat blood. “Not god. Not yet. Varrow will want to see this himself.” He lifted two fingers — a signal. His remaining soldiers fell back, dragging the wounded with them. “You shine bright, boy,” the warlord called, limping toward the shattered gates. “Let us see how long you can burn before you turn to ash.”