GOD-LEVEL SUMMONER: My Wives Are Mythical Beast-Chapter 74: The Predator’s Path

Scene 1 – The Blood-Red Sky

The fractured chamber behind them collapsed into silence, its shattered mirrors swallowed by shadows. When the Tower shifted again, it was not with the stillness of stone but the violent snap of a world tearing itself open.

A new expanse unfolded—an endless hunting ground beneath a blood-red sky. The air was thick with the coppery tang of iron, sharp enough to sting Jemil's tongue. Jagged ridges split the earth, forming valleys where fog coiled like snakes. Distant howls rolled through the land, reverberating against the crimson dome overhead.

The wives tensed instinctively. Wings flared, claws curled, eyes sharpened. Even those who wielded grace over ferocity felt the pull of the place—it was a domain that demanded instinct over reason.

But Jemil… Jemil felt it worst of all.

The golden curse carved into his skin blazed hotter than ever. Every step into this land was like fire climbing through his veins, each breath stoking embers that gnawed at his resolve. His hands shook, not from fear, but from the overwhelming pressure of instincts that weren't his own. The Mistress's mark was resonating with the domain, feeding on it, spreading its reach deeper into him.

"Jemil…" the swordmaster whispered, her voice thin but sharp, as if cutting through the oppressive air. Her hand hovered near his, not touching, but close enough that he could feel her trembling restraint.

He forced a grin, though sweat slid down his temple. "Don't worry. I'm still standing."

But his wives saw the truth. His aura wavered, heat bleeding from him in waves that didn't belong to his strength. It was the curse—alive, hungry, dragging him closer to collapse.

From the ridges above, eyes opened. Dozens. Then hundreds. Glowing like embers, they tracked every motion of the intruders, waiting for weakness to reveal itself.

The hunt had already begun.

Scene 2 – First Strike of the Pack

The silence broke like glass.

A low growl rolled across the hunting ground, deep enough to rattle stone. From the fog below, shadows detached themselves—sleek, four-legged forms with fangs that gleamed silver beneath the crimson light. Their bodies were half-beast, half-specter, rippling with fur and smoke. Each movement was too fluid, too intelligent.

The first predator lunged.

It didn't go for Jemil. It went for his wives. A blur of claws streaked toward the flame-haired phoenix, its strike aimed to tear her wing clean off. She pivoted midair, flames erupting around her, but the beast twisted unnaturally, ignoring fire as though hunger made it blind to pain.

Another leapt from the ridge, straight toward the swordmaster. Its fangs opened wide—aimed not at her throat, but at the hilt of her blade.

Her instincts screamed. Not to cut. Not to block. To protect.

The vow she had made to her sword and to Jemil thrummed inside her. With a single, precise strike, she severed the predator's jaw mid-leap. Smoke poured from the wound as the creature shrieked, but even as it fell, more followed.

The ground shook. Ten. Twenty. Thirty. The pack poured forth, eyes blazing, fangs snapping. They did not fight like beasts but like hunters who had stalked prey a thousand times before.

Jemil gritted his teeth, golden fire crawling under his skin. Every pulse of the curse told him to move, strike, kill. His vision sharpened until every heartbeat of the predators became painfully clear. His wives formed a circle around him, blades, flames, claws, and wings ready—but even united, the weight of the hunt pressed down on them.

"Stay close!" Jemil commanded, though his voice cracked against the burning in his chest. "They're not testing our strength—they're testing our bond."

The swordmaster's gaze flicked to him—sweat dripping from his brow, aura trembling with heat. She tightened her grip on her blade. If this trial was truly about instinct and trust, then the Tower wasn't only hunting them.

It was hunting him most of all.

And the predators could already smell blood.

Scene 3 – Circle of Teeth

The hunting ground erupted into chaos.

Dozens of predators streaked through the crimson fog, their bodies moving as one fluid tide. Their claws scraped against stone, their howls harmonizing into a sound that gnawed at the wives' instincts. It wasn't just noise—it was pressure, a rhythm designed to break formation.

The phoenix's flames roared outward, forming a blazing barrier that licked the air like a living wall. Yet three predators plunged straight through, their fur sizzling but their jaws snapping relentlessly. The siren-wife's song rose sharp and cutting, shattering their coordination long enough for the dragoness to smash them back with a sweep of her tail.

Still, the pack circled tighter.

"Don't spread out!" Jemil shouted, voice strained. His body felt like it was burning from the inside out, every pulse of the golden curse pressing him closer to the edge. He forced his vision clear, scanning the predators. "They're not trying to kill us one by one. They want to tear holes in our bond and devour us in the gap."

The swordmaster's blade sang in her hands, cutting down a predator that came for Jemil's exposed flank. Yet when her strike connected, she felt it—the beast's jaws hadn't been aiming for Jemil's flesh. They had been testing her. Testing whether she would protect him without hesitation.

Her knuckles whitened on the hilt. The vow pulsed through her veins like a second heartbeat. She would not falter again.

But the predators adapted. The next wave didn't charge blindly—they coordinated. One lunged at the phoenix's wing while another struck low at her legs. A third swept wide to force the dragoness to break formation.

The circle tightened, cracks beginning to form.

Jemil stumbled, fire searing his ribs. His wives noticed instantly—the predators noticed faster. Four of them shifted at once, eyes glowing brighter, their hunger snapping toward him.

The swordmaster moved before thought, blade flashing as she leapt in front of him. "You'll have to go through me!"

The predators stopped—not in fear, but in recognition. Their glowing eyes fixed on her as though she had declared herself prey. Then, in unison, the entire pack howled.

The sound wasn't for Jemil.

It was for her.

Scene 4 – The Vow Tested

The pack surged.

Not toward Jemil. Not toward the others.

Toward her.

The howl still rang in the crimson air, vibrating through the Tower's floor. The predators fanned out, their glowing eyes locking onto the swordmaster as though she were the only prey that mattered.

Her grip tightened on her blade. The weight of her vow pressed against her chest, heavy and suffocating. She had sworn herself to Jemil's path—yet now the Tower had twisted that oath into bait, daring her to prove if her devotion was strength or weakness.

The first predator lunged. She sidestepped, steel flashing in a perfect arc. Blood sprayed, sizzling in the crimson mist. The wives behind her shifted to move in—but three predators cut them off, forcing each back into duels of their own.

The swordmaster was being isolated.

"Damn it, they're singling her out!" the dragoness roared, wings flaring wide as she battered two away. "Jemil—!"

"I know!" Jemil staggered, fire in his veins threatening to tear him apart. His hand burned with the golden curse, but he pushed through it, drawing a sigil in the air. Summoned light flared, but the predators' howls distorted the spell mid-formation, scattering it like glass. "Tch…! They won't let me reach her!"

The swordmaster's eyes never left her enemies. Sweat traced down her cheek, but her stance was unbroken. Each predator that lunged was met with steel, her blade singing through the air with ruthless precision. But she could feel it—the beasts weren't truly pressing. They were testing. Every strike aimed not to kill her, but to force hesitation, to find the heartbeat where her vow wavered.

And in the spaces between their strikes… she heard it.

Whispers.

"You swore to him. But how many vows have you broken before?"

"How many masters left bleeding in the dark when your blade failed?"

"A sword is nothing without a hand to wield it. What are you without him?"

Her knuckles trembled. For a breath, her vision blurred with memories she had buried. Faces. Voices. Blood on her hands.

"NO!" she roared, blade cleaving a predator clean in half. The vow flared inside her chest like molten iron, burning away the whispers. "I am his sword—and this time, I will not break!"

The predators lunged all at once.

And she charged to meet them.

The swordmaster's cry split the storm, sharp and defiant. Her blade tore arcs of light through the crimson haze, cutting down predator after predator. Yet for every beast that fell, more stalked forward, their eyes gleaming, their howls reverberating like a ritual.

Jemil staggered, his chest burning with fire and curse alike, but his eyes locked on her. She wasn't fighting as she once did—out of cold instinct, or empty duty. She was fighting with something fiercer, something raw.

With faith.

His hand clenched, and the wives pushed harder, breaking their duels, forcing their way closer to her side. The phoenix's flames surged higher, Mira's waters cut through lightning, Lura's fangs gleamed in the stormlight, and Yura's laughter rang in the chaos like a dare.

And yet—just before Jemil could reach her—

The predators howled again.

The crimson fog convulsed, the floor beneath them splitting. The storm swallowed the battlefield whole, dragging Jemil, the swordmaster, and every wife into the heart of the trial itself.

When the world stilled, they were standing on a ground made of fractured glass, and above them, a storm crowned with blades awaited.

The Tower was done testing.

Now, it would judge.

Next Chapter Preview – Chapter 75: The Blade's Judgment

The hunting ground falls away, and Jemil and his wives awaken in the storm's true crucible. Here, the predators are not flesh and fur but living manifestations of instinct—pure hunger, sharpened to a weapon. At their center awaits the Stormblade, a towering phantom that embodies the vow the swordmaster once failed to uphold.

To survive, she must face not only the predators' fangs but her own reflection, a sword forged from her broken promises. And Jemil? He must stand at her side even as the curse burns him alive, proving their bond is not a shackle but a force that can cut destiny itself.

But the Tower's whisper is cruel: If she falters here, the vow shatters forever.

Call to Action

⚔️ The predators are only the beginning—the true trial awaits in the storm's core!

🔥 Can the swordmaster's vow endure when turned against her in the form of the Stormblade?

💔 Or will the Tower tear apart the bond Jemil has fought so hard to protect?

👉 Stay with God-Level Summoner: My Wives Are Mythical Beasts and witness the vow tested in fire, storm, and blood!