EXTENDED CUT! First Impressions: Swords Don’t Kill Monsters. By Heir.

“Some stories hand you power. Swords Don’t Kill Monsters makes you survive long enough to deserve it.”

Core Premise & Initial Impressions:

Swords Don’t Kill Monsters. Rappers don’t either. What does? Perhaps Ambient—the ingeniously inventive, elegantly executed magic system at the heart of this novel.

I’ve got to be real with you, I’m not ready to dive into the magic system just yet, but I couldn’t find a more appropriate way of making the Goldie Lookin Chain reference. I mean, I guess I could have tried harder. But I’m the mother freakin Bard-In-Freakin-Chief… In freakin? Whatever—I can do what I want. And right now, fresh off of a 56 chapter binge, what I want is to read more of this novel.

The lede goes unburied. I thoroughly enjoyed it. I really did… but not at first.

Being honest with you, my initial-initial impression was that the novel was serviceable but bland. I’ve read more than my share of military-based high fantasy—enough that it takes more than clean prose and a coherent plot to truly impress me.

I thought it would be cookie-cutter. Enjoyable, competent, and ultimately forgettable.

I was wrong.

Swords Don’t Kill Monsters begins as something familiar before revealing itself to be something else entirely. The opening chapters invite you to anticipate the power-creep of an edge-lord protagonist—one bad day away from killing a man over a sideways glance. Which is ridiculous, everybody knows you only kill over glances slanted to the lower-right.

What the novel offers instead is far more engaging.

Humility.

Rane—the aforementioned protagonist—is humbled. His weaknesses, both moral and actual, are exposed. And rather than being rewarded for them, he is set upon the long, arduous path of correcting both.

Life is long, and we’ve all been humbled. For some, that humbling comes from a longer-than-average job search. For others, maybe it’s being corrected on a subject you thought you knew. For one Bard-In-Chief—who will remain anonymous!—that humbling came before a crowd of his peers, while giving a speech in the wake of some questionable sushi.

That humbling ran down his white shorts and spilled into the crowd. That humbling lives with him now—he will never forget it. When he dies—some days he prays it’s soon—it will be etched onto his gravestone: Here Lies the Bard-In-Chief. We Can Only Hope the Soil Masks the Stain.

For Rane, that humbling comes in the heat of war. And from his cowardice when faced with it.

By now—four hundred words deep into this review—you might be wondering what this story is about. It’s a fair question. BUT I WILL NOT BE QUESTIONED!

I’ll answer anyway.

The story begins in the Ambient Empire—a medieval-inspired society. It’s where the humans live, as opposed to the demi-humans such as elves, axtl, and what-have-you. The Empire is militaristic, expansionist, and deeply unequal.

There are the haves and the have-nots. Rane fits squarely in the latter. Raised by his struggling seamstress single-mother, he grows up in poverty, scraping by on odd jobs and working at a smithy doing labour he does not enjoy.

He lives in the bad part of town. You know the type—complete with murders, muggers, and Taylor Swift fans, one would assume. Well, haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate.

But Rane’s going to shake it off—and join the army.

He begins his training—kills a man—and is swiftly sent to war.

From there, he faces true terror. A monster—one he is not prepared to face. And as the novel’s title warns—Swords Don’t Kill Monsters.

For me, it’s in the aftermath of his confrontation with the monster that the story really gets going. The set-up is enjoyable, for certain. But it’s the confrontation—and what follows—that kept me hooked.

We’re given exploration. We’re given survival. We’re given a wider view of the world, and of the dangers that lurk within it.

We’re also given a closer look at the story’s magic system. I’ve teased it again, but we won’t be getting into that just yet. Though I’m sure it’ll come up as we look at…

What Works?

Lucid Prose & Interpretive Trust:

The prose is clean. You won’t miss a beat. It’s rendered vividly without ever sacrificing clarity. Scenes come alive. Every sense is utilised. It’s exceedingly easy to get lost in this world.

That clarity becomes especially impressive in scenes built around non-verbal communication. I was struck by how psychic conversations manage to immerse the reader fully in the experience of the characters, while still trusting us to interpret what we’re shown. The mental images are rendered clearly enough to invite meaning, but not so bluntly that they rob the reader of discovery.

It feels like piecing together a puzzle—most of the pieces are already in place, but you’re the one who slots in the final piece. And when the text quietly confirms you were right, it feels earned—much unlike the feedback one receives on stage with a gut full of bad fish. But we’ll not be getting into that.

I picked up on a few redundancies, but not many. There were a couple of typographical errors, but nothing that broke immersion.

The story is written in the third-person limited, though there are a few subtle omniscient slips. You only really notice them if you’re looking for them—moments where the senses become unmoored from the perspective being followed, where something is heard rather than Rane hearing it.

I mention this only to highlight the superb quality of the prose. Nothing is perfect, but to find the flaws in this novel, you have to go looking for them. You’ll find them if you try—but only buried beneath layers of polished writing, effective devices, and technique.

Ingeniously Inventive, Elegantly Executed Magic System:

I’ve teased a couple of times now just how impressed I was with the magic system. But we’ll get into all of that later.

Admit it—I almost had you that time, didn’t I?

The magic of Swords Don’t Kill Monsters may feel a little familiar to some readers.

Some might call it a power. Others, a force—the kind that gives a Jedi his power. An energy field created by all living things. It surrounds us and penetrates us; it binds the galaxy together.

Well, not quite—but almost. Here, it’s called Ambient. As in: it’s everywhere. I don’t think it’s a stretch to say it draws inspiration from the Force circa Star Wars. But it’s distinguished enough to keep Mickey Mouse’s lawyers at bay—Sebastian Shark included.

From servants to seamstresses, soldiers to snakes—every living being uses Ambient. Some to a lesser extent, others to a greater. Each has a range of direct control. Within that field, they are able to manipulate their environment.

Maybe that means lifting something with the mind—but that’s not all. With expertise, one can change the temperature around them, alter the texture of the ground, make it hard or soft or sticky—whatever best suits the moment. Some can even draw water from a tree, shifting the bark, the roots, the very cells themselves, coaxing its fluid free before sealing it closed and leaving the plant unharmed.

Ambient’s applications are endless. And at its highest level, it can even be made physical.

This brings a genuine level of tactical engagement to physical confrontations. Each party has access to the same tools; the difference, then, is not who is stronger, but who is more cunning and inventive in their use. It is skill—not brute force—that makes the difference. Combined with the clarity of the prose, this makes battles dynamic, tactile, and strategic all at once.

It works. It really does. Some of the most captivating moments in this novel come not from grand displays of power, but from subtle influence. And as Rane progresses—both in raw capacity and in ingenuity—that growth feels earned. Nothing comes easily. It comes through practice, trial and error, and outthinking opponents rather than simply overpowering them.

The Hero’s Journey Done Right:

Swords Don’t Kill Monsters does not subvert the hero’s journey. The formula is all there. Rane begins in a humdrum life. He answers the call to adventure—leaving for the unknown. He faces challenges, meets allies, and confronts enemies.

So far, so Joseph Campbell. Nothing to see here. Move along.

But it’s in the handling of the crisis that the author elevates this well-worn convention into something genuinely compelling.

Rane begins the story all piss and vinegar—more eager to die than to live a small, ordinary life. The crisis humbles him. It tempers him. It gives him perspective. And not the neat, inspirational kind you get stitched onto a motivational poster, either.

It’s all well and good to say you’re ready to die. Plenty of people say that. Usually from a place of comfort, safety, or bad sushi–adjacent bravado. But when you’re truly faced with death—would you still say the same?

Rane is. And suddenly, he realises the value of his life.

He leaves seeking adventure. He gets more than he bargained for, and spends much of the story thereafter yearning for home. Not glory. Not greatness. Just home.

Without giving spoilers, Rane is eventually forced to make a decision—and it’s not one I saw coming. A lesser work might have rabbit-pulled a heroic victory from thin air. This story is more honest than that. Some things cannot be bested by determination alone. Some things cannot be bested at all.

The novel understands this. And by exploring it, it had me gripped.

The journey continues as you’d expect. From the crisis comes the reward—growing ability, a blessing, perhaps a new comrade or two. But it’s because the fall is handled so effectively that the reward works. It’s cathartic. It really is. Without Rane first failing—truly failing—the boons he later receives would never feel earned.

What Might Hold It Back?

Lack Of Early Hook:

For all the praise I’ve heaped onto this work—and all of it deserved—I only truly became invested some twenty-three chapters in.

Swords Don’t Kill Monsters doesn’t do anything egregious in its set-up. As I said earlier, my initial-initial impression was of a highly competent novel. Competent, but forgettable. It sets the stage. It does its job. It introduces us to the world and the different peoples who inhabit it.

And yet—something was missing.

I struggled for a while to pin down exactly what that something was. But in the process of reviewing my notes for this review, I think I’ve found it.

The world is depicted as vast and dangerous. Some monsters are insurmountable. Soldiers on the front line face horrors words can barely describe. And yet, in those early chapters, everything feels a little… sanitised.

Rane kills a man, sure. His ignorance reads as arrogance, and that works—at least for him—because at that point, he genuinely doesn’t know any better. But his seniors should. And I don’t feel the story fully reflects that gap in understanding early on.

I think that contrast—that tension—would have hooked me right from the off. A quiet, ominous just you wait and see what’s out there kind of moment. Especially if Rane and the recruits underestimate what lies ahead. It would have lent weight and gravity to the path he’s embarking on—and pulled me in far faster.

To be clear, the opening is far from bad. A different reader could easily have a very different experience. And once the story truly gets going, it casts those early chapters in a new light—retroactively enhancing much of what came before.

But I can only speak to my experience.

It wasn’t bad. It was good. It just took time before it felt special.

And when I start a new book I’m looking for special.

Closing:

Swords Don’t Kill Monsters is a novel that rewards patience. It does not sprint out of the gate, brandishing spectacle and shouting for your attention. Instead, it walks—then stumbles—then learns how to walk properly, and that restraint is ultimately its strength.

Once it finds its footing, the story becomes something quietly compelling. The prose is lucid. The world feels lived-in. The magic system is inventive without being indulgent. And Rane’s journey—from bravado to humility, from certainty to survival—feels earned rather than ordained. Failure matters here. Growth is not free. Victory is not guaranteed. All of which makes the moments that do land feel far more satisfying.

Would I recommend it? Yes. Unequivocally.

But I would recommend it to the right reader.

If you are looking for instant gratification, effortless dominance, and a protagonist who never truly falters—this may test your patience. If, however, you enjoy stories that take their time, respect consequence, and trust you to engage with the craft rather than be bludgeoned by it, there is a great deal to love here.

Swords Don’t Kill Monsters is not forgettable. It simply takes a little while to show you why it deserves to be remembered.

Much like humility. Or war. Or that one meal you knew you should not have eaten—but did anyway.

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