Single Mother of a Werewolf Baby

Chapter 266: Qualifying Round

Eleanor was already familiar with the sensation of entering these space capsules. After her first experience

during the initiation ceremony, she had used them again in the Tower of Legends, in Professor Jiro’s simulated

classes in Vanaheim, and during several sessions within the Chamber of Unbecoming.

She lay down inside the capsule with practised ease. The lid sealed shut, enclosing her in soft darkness.

When the void receded, she found herself standing in a small, enclosed chamber lined with racks of weapons.

Blades of all kinds gleamed under a white light... swords, spears, axes, hammers... sshe recognised, others

entirely new.

"Welcto the Grand Championship, Match Eleven. Cadet 10156659, please select any weapon of your choice.

All weapons are of earth grade. Your opponent will receive the same," cthe neutral, mechanical voice.

Eleanor had yet to settle on a preferred weapon. Instructor Arrichion had introduced her to swords, sabres,

spears, and hammers, but none had felt natural in her hands. Eventually, they had agreed to let her fight

unarmed... particularly since she wouldn't be allowed to carry a weapon in Vanaheim anyway.

"| won't be bringing any weapon into the fight," she said simply.

"Acknowledged. You may proceed to the arena," the voice replied. A doorway slid open to her right.

Eleanor stepped through and found herself standing in the middle of a circular mini stadium. Rows of empty

seats curved around her like silent sentinels. At the centre stood a raised fighting platform, a ring of white stone

resembling an old wrestling stage.

She advanced calmly toward it and climbed up. The faint hum of the simulation filled the air. Beyond the dome’s

crystalline vault stretched a cold, unreal sky.

A door opposite her slid open, and another cadet entered... tall, broad-shouldered, carrying a long sword. She

recognised his face from classes but had never spoken to him.

"Igor Semenov."

The nsurfaced from her memory along with its associations. The Semenov family, ancient noble vampires of

Yakutsk, ruled the great port on the Lena River. Since the establishment of the Supernatural Council, vampires

and werewolves had been forced to abandon their ancestral feud and cooperate... at least on the surface. Yet

sclans still clung to their old prejudices, and the Semenovs were among them.

Igor, eldest grandson and heir apparent to his family patriarch, was a proud symbol of that old blood. To him, the

modern world’s ideals of equality were an insult to legacy. He tolerated the werewolves of the academy only

because the world demanded it. In his mind, they remained beasts pretending to be civilised.

He already knew who Eleanor was... the werewolf who had broken records in the Initiation Ceremony and the

Tower of Legends. Fthat, to him, she could only have achieved through luck or manipulation. She had no

elemental gift, no overwhelming strength. Luck was the only explanation that soothed his ego.

He scanned the silent arena... no crowds, no factions, just the whisper of simulated wind through unseen

corridors and the pale light refracting from the dabove. His expression hardened.

Clenching his fists, Igor jumped into the ring, landing with feline grace. His resolve was simple and absolute...

defeat the werewolf.

The two figures stood twenty paces apart, motionless. Igor’s crimson eyes gleamed with hostility; Eleanor’s, in

contrast, remained calm and detached... unreadable. Her serenity only deepened his anger.

A countdown echoed in their minds.

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The instant the signal ended, Igor moved.

One moment he was still... the next, three shards of glistening ice burst from his outstretched hand, slicing

through the air toward Eleanor’s chest, neck, and thigh. The air around them crystallised briefly, leaving silver

trails of frost.

Eleanor did not meet force with force. She flowed.

Her movements were fluid, instinctive... a blur of motion like a leaf caught in a sudden gale. Her eyes read the

trajectory of each shard, the subtle wobble in their spin, the pulse of power that propelled them. She ducked

under the first, pivoted past the second, and struck the third aside with a sharp chop of her forearm.

The impact stung, numbing her arm with cold. Frost shimmered briefly across her skin before her body’s innate

resilience dispersed it, leaving only a faint tingle behind.

Igor pressed his advantage. With a curt gesture, a translucent Ice Shield materialised before his left arm, its

surface rippling with blue light. Then, without pause, he began to launch volleys of Ice Shards... not merely at

Eleanor herself, but into the spaces around her, tightening the circle, restricting her movement, turning the

arena into a prison of crystal and frost.

Eleanor’s world narrowed to the rhythm of survival. She invoked Mind Acceleration, her perception fracturing into

slow-motion clarity. She could read the faint tension in Igor’s shoulder before each cast, the minute twitch of a

finger that heralded another shard’s release.

She moved like a phantom... fluid, precise, untouchable. Her footwork was a seamless flow of instinct and

discipline, never lingering in one place for more than a heartbeat. Every movement was an answer: a parry here,

a deflection there, a low slide beneath a whistling shard. Her defence was pure technique, born from long hours

under Instructor Arrichion and Commander Annabeth Chase, who had drilled into her the brutal grace of close

combat.

To Eleanor, Igor was merely another opponent... a capable one, but predictable. Compared to the merciless

training she had endured, his attacks were structured, almost elegant. She could end the match with a single

lightning strike. Victory was within her grasp. But instead, she chose restraint. This was practice... for the

matches that truly mattered.

"Running will not save you," Igor’s voice rang out, thick with disdain.

He slammed his foot into the ground, and the Absolute Zero Stance ignited. Frost spread outward in fractal veins,

the air around them turning white with cold. The temperature plunged in seconds. Eleanor felt the chill seep into

her bones, her joints stiffening, her muscles slowing under the oppressive freeze. Her breath cout in plumes

of mist, her boots glistening with rime.

The change was subtle but lethal. Her movements, once effortless, now carried the weight of resistance. She

managed to evade two shards... but the third grazed her ribs.

A thin line of crimson marked the tear in her fatigues, the wound instantly crystallising around the edges. Pain

flared, sharp and freezing. She hissed softly, feeling the cold bite deeper than the cut itself.

Eleanor drew a steady breath and allowed her control to slip... just slightly. Her body responded. Muscles tensed

and thickened beneath her skin; her eyes burned with an emerald glow. A faint corona of lightning crackled

across her arms before settling into a quiet hum.

The cold no longer bit.

Igor’'s smirk widened at the sight. Predictable, he thought. He had expected her to rely on her transformation to

resist the cold. To him, it was confirmation that the werewolf bloodline depended on brute strength, not skill.

He raised his arm again, summoning another storm of Ice Shards, each one sharper and faster than before.

This time, Eleanor didn’t move to evade. She met them head-on.

She moved forward, her enhanced

strength turning her limbs into living

weapons. The first volley of ice met

her head-on... and shattered therp,

Each Preps eke Bf fer fists and

fdreBrms' broke the shards apart,

bursting them into glittering dust that

rained harmlessly around her. The

q ’

numbing cold of Igor's Absolute Zero

Stance was now little more than an

irritation. Her Storm Heart roared in

overdrive, pumping warm,

oxygen-rich blood through her body,

burning away the lethargy. The

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the latest chapter there!

She closed the distance in a blur of

long, powerful strides. Igor, startled

by the sudden reversal, raised hig{ce

Shield a in gjrpe) BleGnor's fide

chatde ith the raw strength of her

partial transformation, slammed into

it. The impact cracked through the

arena like thunder. A spiderweb of

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fractures raced across the shield’s

surface. The content is on

novelenglish.net! Read the latest

chapter there!

Igor’s eyes widened. Instinctively, he conjured an ice platform beneath his feet and launched himself backward,

creating distance. His sword flashed from its sheath in a sharp arc of motion as he slashed toward her.

Eleanor leapt back, narrowly avoiding the strike. Her expression shifted... calm, but now edged with focus.

She activated her Mental Lock.

The world around Igor Semenov faded... colours draining, sounds dimming until only he remained in perfect,

excruciating clarity. There was no arena. No cold. No sound. Only the target... and the single path to its

destruction.

Igor adjusted his stance, sword ready

to cut her down the moment she

advanced. At the sinstant,

, ; N

Eleanor’s body lowered Slightly, Her

open pati Beginning to glow with a

faint blue-white light. Tiny arcs of

lightning danced between her fingers.

The air itself began to hum with

pent-up charge. It was the first time

she had called on her lightning in the

entire fight. The content is on

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chapter there!

Igor froze for a fraction of a second... shock breaking through his composure. Lightning? He had never heard that

this werewolf possessed elemental ability. Snarling, he called up his Ice Shield again, thicker and denser than

before.

Eleanor stepped forward... and vanished in a crackling blur.

Her Bolt Step split the air with a sharp thunderclap. She reappeared in front of him, her right hand now a conduit

of pure, focused voltage. The strike landed squarely in the center of the Ice Shield.

A blinding web of white light erupted from the point of contact. The Ice Shield didn’t break this time. It vaporized.

Steam burst outward in a rush of superheated air.

The momentum of her Bolt Step carried her through the cloud. Her outstretched hand, still blazing with lightning,

found its true mark.

It struck Igor Semenov square in the chest. The surge of electricity tore through him, his body locking in place.

For a single, suspended moment, he stood like a statue of frozen disbelief... then his knees gave way. He

crumpled to the polished arena floor, smoke curling from the perfect, blackened handprint over his heart.

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