NOVEL NEXT Chapter 50: Shackles of the Sword
Recap of the Previous Chapter
Dragged into the storm's domain, Jemil and his wives fought desperately against the Herald's hunt. Lightning scattered their formation, wolves of thunder tore at their defenses, and the reflection in Jemil's image sought to break them not only with blades, but with truths twisted into chains.
And then she appeared—his swordmaster wife, her eyes cold, her presence sharp as a drawn blade. She accused Jemil of breaking a vow, of abandoning her to silence and obsession. The Herald exulted, declaring her proof that Jemil was a predator who bound and used his wives like shackles.
Before Jemil could answer, lightning carved a cage around them, sealing him and the swordmaster together. The Herald branded Jemil with a glowing mark, searing his chest, declaring the trial a hunt that would only end in blood.
Now, it is only him and her—blade to blade.
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Scene 1 – Lightning Cage Duel
The storm pressed in, a prison of endless thunder and blinding light. Bolts forked around the platform but never struck—it was as though the lightning itself crouched in anticipation, watching.
The swordmaster stood opposite Jemil, her blade drawn, gleaming with stormfire. Every flicker of lightning traced the scars along her sword's edge, scars that spoke of battles long before this one.
Her gaze fixed on him—unflinching, unmerciful.
"You carry the Mark now," she said, voice steady. "The predator's brand. Do you even understand what that means?"
Jemil steadied his breathing, one hand pressed against his chest where the mark still burned. He could feel it inside him, a pulse not his own, demanding he strike, demanding he hunt.
"I don't care what it means," Jemil said, his voice rough but firm. "I care about you. About the promise I don't remember but I will honor if I have to carve it out of this Tower itself."
Her eyes narrowed, and her blade rose in a single, flawless arc. The air itself seemed to hold its breath at the sight.
"Words." She stepped forward, her aura sharpening like the edge of her sword. "Show me in steel."
And with that, she struck.
Her first slash was so fast Jemil barely saw it—only felt the heat of sparks graze his cheek.
The duel had begun.
Scene 2 – Clash of Steel
Steel met storm.
Her blade flashed again, faster than Jemil's eyes could follow, a streak of white fire in the dark. Instinct screamed, and he summoned a barrier, flame and shadow surging together—but her sword carved through it like paper, sparks showering his face.
"Too slow," she said coldly, her voice devoid of triumph, as if she were only stating fact.
Jemil staggered back, his chest burning with the Herald's Mark. Every throb of the glowing brand urged him forward, not in defense, but in aggression. Strike her down. Tear her apart. Predator and prey. Only blood ends the hunt.
He clenched his fists, teeth grinding. "I am not—your damn mark."
But the swordmaster pressed, each strike sharper than the last. She didn't fight like Alvara, whose discipline masked emotion, or like Mira, whose grace flowed with each motion. No—this was obsession honed into technique. Her blade came down not because she wanted to kill, but because she needed him to answer.
Slash. Parry. Counter. Sparks flew as Jemil's summoned blade met hers, but the impact rattled through his bones. Each clash was more than steel—it was memory demanding to be heard.
"Do you remember how you first touched this sword?" she hissed between strikes, eyes burning. "Do you remember the vow you whispered when you bound me?"
Jemil's defenses buckled. He could only shake his head, his blade struggling to hold the weight of her fury. "I don't—but I know this much: I would never abandon you."
"Liar!"
Her roar cracked through the storm, her blade igniting with lightning. She struck again, and the shockwave hurled Jemil across the platform. His back slammed against the lightning cage, electricity crawling across his skin as the Mark flared like molten chains.
The wives screamed his name from beyond the storm bars, their hands reaching desperately through the crackling light. But none of them could break through. This fight was his alone.
Jemil dragged himself upright, summoning another blade from the circle at his feet. The mark's whispers clawed at him: Stop holding back. Become the hunter. Tear her open, claim her as yours again.
But when he looked at her, at the storm in her eyes, at the pain hidden beneath her cold fury, he knew—giving in would only prove the Herald right.
He tightened his grip, planting his feet. His voice rang out, cutting through thunder.
"If steel is the only way you'll believe me, then I'll fight you. But not as predator and prey." His blade flared with fire and shadow, tempered by the bond of every wife who had anchored him before. "As husband and wife."
The swordmaster faltered for a heartbeat—just a heartbeat. Then her teeth clenched, and she lunged forward again, storm and steel shrieking.
Their blades collided. Sparks rained like stars.
The duel had only just begun.
Scene 3 – Fractured Emotions
Their blades clashed again and again, sparks falling like burning rain. Every swing of her sword carried the weight of something Jemil couldn't quite touch—memories locked away, promises half-heard in echoes that weren't his to recall.
She fought like a storm given flesh, relentless and merciless. Each thrust, each cut, was precise, controlled—yet beneath that control trembled fury. No… not fury. Hurt.
"Do you know what chains feel like?" she hissed, their swords locked in a furious bind, lightning crawling over their joined steel. "To wait, to wait and wait, bound by your vow—while you never returned?"
Jemil's muscles strained, the Mark pulsing hot under his skin. The Herald's voice crawled into his ear with the storm: She was your shackle. You forged her prison. What is a summoner but a master of chains?
Jemil gritted his teeth. "I don't believe that. My bonds aren't chains. They're what make us—"
"Don't you dare say stronger!" she cut him off, twisting her blade and nearly breaking his guard. She forced him back, her eyes burning, her strikes a storm of grief disguised as precision. "You tied me to you and then vanished into silence! You left me to sharpen my blade on emptiness!"
Her sword grazed his cheek again, leaving a line of blood. Jemil staggered but didn't falter. His chest heaved, his knuckles white around the hilt.
Every strike wasn't just battle—it was accusation. Each word shook him harder than her blade. His wives outside the cage shouted, calling his name, urging him to fight, to hold on—but none of them could silence her.
He met her next swing head-on, sparks flaring. His voice cracked as he shouted back.
"Then hate me if you must! But don't say I abandoned you because I chose it—I lost you. I lost everything!"
For the first time, her blade trembled. Just barely. Her storm-hardened eyes flickered with something else—pain, raw and unhidden—for only a heartbeat before she drove it down again.
"You… you don't get to say that," she whispered, her voice shaking even as her sword blazed brighter. "Not after chaining me to you and then leaving me to rust!"
The Herald's laughter rumbled through the storm, savoring every word. Yes. Strike him. Prove his love is shackles. Prove he is the predator he pretends not to be.
The Mark seared against Jemil's skin, urging him to surrender, to match her fury with blood. For a moment—he almost did. His blade flared with killing intent, his stance lowering into the hunt.
But then he caught it—the way her hands trembled on her hilt. The way her voice cracked not with hatred, but with hurt.
She wasn't trying to kill him.
She was begging him to break the chains between them.
Jemil forced the predator's instinct down, his grip steadying. His voice lowered, raw with conviction.
"I don't want to shackle you. I want to stand with you. Not as your master, not as your jailer. As your partner. As your husband."
Her blade froze an inch from his throat, trembling. Her breathing quickened, her eyes widening—not in disbelief, but in a desperate, dangerous need to believe him.
The storm howled louder, the cage tightening, as if the Herald feared what might happen if her sword truly fell.
The storm cage pulsed, thunder splitting the sky as the duel locked in stasis. Her blade hovered at Jemil's throat, trembling not from weakness, but from conflict. Lightning traced her silhouette, her storm-forged armor gleaming like a predator poised to strike.
Jemil didn't flinch. His eyes stayed steady on hers, not with defiance, not with fear—but with an anchor of truth. "If my vow bound you in chains, then let me remake it. Not as your jailer. Not as your summoner. But as the man who will never abandon you again."
Her lips parted as if to snarl, but no words came. For the first time, her guard faltered. The storm inside her eyes cracked, showing something fragile—something desperate.
The Herald's voice thundered in the storm: Weakness. Chains will break you both. Strike him!
But she didn't move. Her blade shook, her breath unsteady, her will torn between the Mark's hunger and the memory of the bond she had once sworn.
And Jemil—bleeding, trembling, but unbroken—refused to yield.
The storm howled louder, sparks filling the air, until finally—her sword wavered. She pulled it back an inch, her storm faltering.
It wasn't surrender.
It wasn't forgiveness.
It was the first fracture in her shackles.
And the Herald's laughter turned sharp and cold. So be it. If she won't sever you… then I will.
The lightning cage collapsed inward.
Jemil braced himself, knowing this duel was far from over.
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Next Chapter Preview – Chapter 51: Predator Unleashed
The Herald steps out of the storm at last, no longer content to whisper from the shadows. Its form is neither man nor beast, but something born of the hunt itself—fangs, claws, and eyes that burn with primal hunger. The Mark on Jemil's chest surges, threatening to claim him completely as predator and prey blur into one.
But the swordmaster wife does not step aside. Torn between fury and longing, she raises her blade—not to strike Jemil, but to stand at his side.
For the first time, husband and wife face the predator together.
And in the eye of the storm, one truth becomes clear:
The Herald isn't testing them anymore. It's hunting them for real.
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🔥 Call to Action: The clash of vows and blades has only cracked the first chain—but can love survive when the Herald itself descends? Stay locked in, summon your will, and don't miss the storm's next strike in Chapter 51: Predator Unleashed!