Épée Novels & Stories

It was an epee two meters in length. Holding the epee in his hand, he looked at Koehler who was charging toward him, and smiled. Then, he struck. Boom!

BLADE 3. Pain. It was all I felt when I shot my eyes opened. I felt so sore and tired. The memories of how Lorenzo plunged deeper into me last night filled my mind. He was so cruel to me. I didn't find any enjoyment in it at all. I tried lifting my hands and I was happy It was back to functioning. My tit hurts too as a result of the sucking he did last night.

Eryndor's Shadowing dagger seemed to dance in the moonlight, its dark blade slicing through the air with a haunting screee-ksss. Each strike landed with a thud-thwack-thoom, sending tremors through the troop's warriors. The troop's hearts raced as the violent zing-ting-zap of clashing daggers filled the field. The savages of warriors, fueled by fury and loyalty, clashed in a frenzy of arms and teeth. The ground grew slick with blood, the earthy smell mingling with the metallic tang of steel. Jack Wolf stood firm, his Moon-whisper spear shining with a soft, ethereal light. He parried Eryndor's strikes with a precision born of desperation, his movements a blur of speed and strength.

“Old bast*rd, are you still in a good mood now? Go to hell with your good mood then!” Alex laughed heartily, pulling out his Dao Killing Sword that was extremely heavy in his hand. He didn't know about this before, causing his heart to skip a beat. To his surprise, he almost failed to hold the sword with his physical body’s strength. Unexpectedly, this epee’s weight surpassed his arm strength—330,000 pounds. This was awfully exaggerated—an epee of such enormity could crush an expanse of people with a single press. Buzz! Alex blessed himself with divine power before he could pick up the Dao Killing Sword again.

Count Herbert asked Logo with a faint smile, his tone calm and even. “I can begin at any moment,” Loge answered without the slightest hesitation. Beside him, the house steward Lombart, flushed with excitement, hurriedly handed him the war-scythe he had been holding. The Gondarians had always possessed a peculiar fondness for war-scythes. Nearly all of their melee weapons took on some variant of the scythe’s form: Long-handled heavy war-scythes, long-handled light war-scythes, short-handled light war-scythes, double-edged war-scythes, gun-scythes, and many more besides.

But I can’t do anything until I’m stateside. I twirl and thrust the bokken out in front of me. I keep slashing and moving like it is the real Katana. A bokken is a wooden training sword. It is the same length and width as the Katana. Can’t use a naked blade just in case someone approaches me.

The weight of his sword felt like an extension of his arm, a part of him as vital as his own heartbeat. As the battle horns blared, signaling the start of the assault, Lucian surged forward. The clash of steel and the roar of warriors filled the air. Lucian’s movements were fluid, almost graceful, as he cut through the enemy ranks. His blade found its mark with lethal precision, each strike deliberate and deadly. He did not blink as he took life after life; the faces of the fallen blurred together in a haze of crimson.

“This is perfectly safe” A few nervous laughs followed, shallow and unsure. “The swords have been equipped with non-lethal composite tips,” she explained, motioning toward the rounded, dark ends—elegant, polished, deceptively harmless. “They won’t draw real blood… just bruised egos…and…reveal who deserves to wear a crown next to the goddess Inanna..” She smiled and my fists clenched more. “Each blade is pressure-sensitive. One clean hit is all it takes to register a strike.” She continued with a light tone.

They didn't carry rifles; instead, they held long, pneumatic silver lances that hissed with a constant stream of pressurized white vapor. One of the white-suited soldiers lunged at Laila, the tip of his lance humming with a high frequency vibration that threatened to split her silver shield before it could even form. Laila spun to the left, her leather boots throwing up a cloud of snow as her blade came up to parry the strike. The impact was a shower of white sparks, the sheer physical force of the soldier's blow sending a numbing shockwave up her arm.

Then he grabbed a belt another soldier was holding and unsheathed a longsword. Scarlett had never seen one close up, but she knew its name. Most of the women in Karai used smaller swords, poleaxes, axes, or lances. But a sword was just a piece of metal. The wielder had to know how to use it in order for it to be effective. “And what is your name, Mr.?” “Humbert,” he said, giving a small bow. “Fire… or magic tricks of any sort aren’t allowed.” “I won’t need any magic,” said Scarlett, smiling.