GOD-LEVEL SUMMONER: My Wives Are Mythical Beast

Recap:

Jemil's farewells were quiet but heavy — Kaela's fierce blessing, Mirella's soft words, and Liora's teasing bet all weighing on his shoulders as he left the stronghold. The mountains ahead are cold, hostile, and waiting… and somewhere beyond them, his enemy has prepared the first strike.

Scene 1 – The First Ambush

Snow crunched beneath Jemil's boots as he made his way along the narrow pass. The wind howled between the cliffs like a living thing, sharp and relentless.

Every few steps, he let his hand brush the hilt of his blade — not from fear, but from instinct. In places like this, danger didn't just arrive. It waited.

A sound cut through the wind.

Not the howl of the storm. Not the shifting of snow.

A whistle.

Jemil's eyes snapped up just in time to see a black-fletched arrow slicing toward him. He stepped aside, the shaft missing by a hair, then drew his sword in one smooth motion.

Figures emerged from the snowdrifts ahead and behind — seven of them, armor covered in frost, faces hidden behind white-painted masks. Their leader's voice was rough and mocking.

"Jemil of the Stronghold. My employer sends his regards… and his condolences."

Jemil said nothing. His stance lowered, weight shifting, the wind tugging at his coat.

The leader raised a hand.

Six arrows were nocked in unison.

The first volley came fast — but Jemil was faster. His blade became a streak of silver, deflecting shafts into the snow as he closed the gap.

"Wrong pass to ambush me in," he said coldly.

The fight had begun.

Scene 2 – Steel in the Snow

The first assassin lunged from the left, blade gleaming with frost. Jemil sidestepped, twisting his wrist so his own sword caught the strike and slid it away. The motion carried him into a spinning backhand slash that sent the attacker sprawling into the snow, blood blooming in a scarlet arc.

Two more closed in from behind.

Jemil dropped low, the edge of a sword whispering over his head as he swept his leg out in a powerful kick. One masked figure stumbled, and before the other could recover, Jemil rolled forward, thrusting his blade straight through the man's chest.

The wind howled louder, driving snow into their faces. The storm was a living curtain, turning every movement into a ghostly blur.

"Keep him surrounded!" the leader barked.

Three of them obeyed instantly, forming a loose triangle around him. One feinted left, another slashed from the right, and the third came in high.

Jemil didn't retreat — he exploded forward.

The first attacker's strike met empty air as Jemil ducked, shoulder-checking him into the other two. In the same fluid motion, he carved a downward slash that cleaved through an armored pauldron, sparks flying where steel met steel.

The man's scream was lost in the storm.

Only four were left standing now… and Jemil's eyes had found the leader.

The masked commander didn't flinch.

Instead, he pulled twin daggers from his belt, blades etched with strange runes that glowed faintly blue in the swirling snow.

"Come, Stronghold warrior," he said, voice low but carrying over the wind.

"Let's see if the stories about you are true."

Scene 3 – Duel in the Whiteout

The storm thickened until even the mountains blurred, but Jemil's focus narrowed to the masked leader's stance. Those glowing runes weren't for show — they pulsed in rhythm with the man's breathing, each flash sharpening the air around the daggers like invisible fangs.

The first strike came without warning.

The leader moved like liquid shadow, a twin slash aimed for Jemil's throat and heart in the same breath.

Jemil twisted aside, feeling the wind split at his cheek. His sword came down in a heavy arc, but the assassin caught it between crossed daggers — the runes flaring brighter — and shoved him back with impossible force.

He slid across the ice, boots digging in.

Magic reinforcement… great.

The leader darted in again, faster this time.

Steel rang like a bell as they traded blows — Jemil's heavy, decisive strikes against the assassin's sharp, darting cuts. Sparks lit the snow with every clash, each one a heartbeat in the frozen silence around them.

A dagger grazed Jemil's side, leaving a sting of cold that seeped past his skin. The runes… they weren't just strengthening. They were freezing him.

The leader laughed under his mask.

"You'll slow soon enough. Then—"

Jemil interrupted with a sudden thrust aimed at the ground between them. Snow exploded upward in a blinding spray, and through that cover, his sword whipped in a diagonal slash. The assassin barely blocked in time, but the force rattled him, forcing a step back.

Now Jemil pressed forward, each strike heavier, sharper, fueled by a will that cut deeper than steel.

For the first time, the leader's foot slipped.

Jemil's next attack slammed into his crossed daggers, shattering one into frozen shards.

The assassin froze — literally — as Jemil's blade pressed against his neck.

"You chose the wrong mountain," Jemil said, breath clouding in the air.

The storm swallowed the man's reply, but when the snow cleared, only Jemil remained standing.

Scene 4 – Aftermath on the Mountain

Jemil stood still for a long moment, the only sound his steady breathing and the low moan of the wind. The storm had eased, though the snow still fell in a slow, constant curtain. The broken dagger at his feet steamed faintly as the runes faded, leaving it nothing more than a scrap of steel.

He wiped his blade on the fallen leader's cloak and sheathed it with a sharp click.

"Persistent," he muttered. "But not persistent enough."

Boots crunched over ice behind him.

"You always end fights before I even get a swing in," Lina's voice came, slightly muffled by her scarf. She emerged from the swirling snow, cheeks pink from the cold, bow slung across her shoulder. "Do you know how frustrating that is for a girl who's been practicing her perfect shot all morning?"

Jemil gave her a sidelong glance. "Would you rather I let him stab me a few more times?"

"Yes," she said without hesitation, then broke into a grin. "Well… maybe not stab, but a little dramatic struggle never hurt anyone."

He smirked despite himself. "I'll keep that in mind for next time."

Two more figures joined them — Karo, lugging a pack nearly as big as himself, and Mira, whose eyes darted immediately to the bodies in the snow.

"These aren't bandits," Mira said, crouching beside one. Her gloved fingers brushed over the insignia stitched on the cloak's inner lining — a stylized serpent coiled around a blade. "Serpent Order. Hired assassins. Expensive ones."

Jemil frowned. "Any idea who paid for them?"

Mira shook her head. "Only that whoever it was… doesn't like you alive."

"That narrows it down to about half the continent," Karo offered dryly, dropping the pack with a thud. "But hey, on the bright side — they were carrying these."

He fished out a leather pouch and tossed it to Jemil. Inside, a handful of coins jingled alongside a curious black crystal that seemed to absorb the light around it.

Jemil turned it in his palm, feeling the faint hum of energy within. "This isn't normal," he said, slipping it into his pocket. "We'll find out what it does in the next town."

"Assuming we make it to the next town," Lina cut in, nodding toward the path ahead. The mountain pass was a narrow ribbon between sheer cliffs, half-buried under fresh snow. The sky beyond was darkening, promising another storm by nightfall.

Jemil started forward. "Then we don't waste time."

The others fell in behind him, their footprints vanishing quickly under the falling snow. For a moment, silence reigned… until Karo piped up:

"So, Jemil… how many assassins does it take to kill a Stronghold warrior?"

Jemil didn't look back. "More than this."

By the time they reached the pass's midpoint, the cold had settled deep into their bones. The wind funneled through the cliffs, carrying an eerie whistle. Somewhere far below, the sound of rushing water echoed — a hidden river cutting through the mountain's base.

Jemil kept his hand on his sword hilt, eyes scanning every shadow. The fight had been too clean, too quick. Assassins of that caliber didn't come alone without a reason.

And sure enough, halfway across the narrow trail, they found it.

A spear stood planted in the snow, its shaft wrapped in black cloth, its tip stained red. At its base lay a strip of parchment fluttering in the wind. Jemil crouched, tearing it free and scanning the single line written in a jagged, almost claw-like script:

"The hunt does not end."

The wind rose again, carrying the words away, but the meaning stayed heavy in the air.

🔥 The Serpent Order has only begun their hunt — and Jemil's enemies are moving faster than he thinks. Add GOD-LEVEL SUMMONER: My Wives Are Mythical Beasts to your library, drop a power stone, and share your theories in the comments! Every vote pushes the story forward and keeps Jemil one step ahead of the blade. 🔥