Single Mother of a Werewolf Baby

Chapter 132: Lunargarde, The Coliseum

Sheer cliffs rose like ancient sentinels on either side of the valley, their granite faces weathered by tand

etched with the marks of countless centuries. The wind whispered secrets through crevices and cracks, carrying

the echoes of old songs long forgotten. Cascading waterfalls... Staubbach, Trimmelbach, and several nameless

others... thundered down the cliff faces, sending silver ribbons of water plunging into the emerald depths of the

valley. Their constant roar drowned out all other sounds, forming a natural curtain that concealed the sacredness

of what lay hidden here.

A narrow, forgotten path twisted through the dense pine forest, winding over gnarled roots and under low-

hanging branches. The air was crisp, tinged with the scent of damp moss, blooming wildflowers, and ancient

stone. Edelweiss and alpine roses clung to rocky ledges with quiet defiance, blooming in places untouched by

human hands.

Then, as if stepping into a forgotten tale, one would see it... hidden behind the veil of a waterfall, an ancient

stone arch revealed itself. Vines clung to its surface like skeletal fingers, and faintly glowing runes etched into

the stone shimmered under the moonlight. The arch wasn’t merely constructed... it was carved over a long time

and protected by the Moon goddess, revealing itself only to the werewolves destined to pass through.

Beyond this veil lay a vast alpine meadow, lush and eerily quiet, ringed by towering fir trees that guarded the

secret within. Snow-capped peaks stood in the distance, silent watchers that had seen countless duels unfold

here under their gaze. Occasionally, the sharp cry of an eagle pierced the sky... either a warning, or a witness.

And there it stood... Lunargarde. To the unknowing eye, just another hollow in the mountain cliffs. But to the

werewolf clans, this was sacred ground. The final sanctuary of tradition, where honor was earned in blood and

sweat beneath the moon’s solemn gaze.

Nestled deep within Lauterbrunnen Valley, hidden behind nature's most breathtaking illusions, the werewolves’

sacred coliseum waited.

Lunargarde, the Coliseum blessed by the Moon. The dueling ground of the werewolves. Located in Lauterbrunnen

Valley, Bernese Oberland, Swiss Alps.

Inside the stone coliseum, the atmosphere buzzed with anticipation and ancestral power. Ten thousand stone-

carved seats spiraled upward in perfect concentric rings, surrounding the sunken duel pits at the center like the

ribs of a sleeping beast. Each seat was marked with the symbols of the clans that had once fought and bled

here, names now spoken with reverence.

Above them, the sky opened like a divine eye... an irregular, jagged hole in the rocky ceiling, formed naturally

over millennia. Through it, the moonlight poured like silver rain, illuminating the heart of the arena in a cold, pale

glow. The silence it cast wasn't empty... it was heavy, filled with the weight of what was to come.

The spectators were far from ordinary. Most were young werewolves, their eyes wide as they witnessed the

sacred duel grounds for the first time. But among them were also veterans... clan elders, family council

members, and battle-hardened warriors who had shed blood under this very sky. Today wasn’t just about

entertainment; it was about evaluation. The strength of the new generation was under the lens of the old.

This particular duel had drawn more attention than usual. It was rare for the members of the Ten Great Clans to

settle disputes in the old way... through single combat. And rarer still for the Raynor Clan, reclusive and powerful,

to allow one of their own to fight in such a public setting. Everyone was eager to see what the legendary clan

had to offer.

"There's still no sign of the Raynors," someone whispered among the crowd, their voice laced with curiosity and

judgment. "Do you think they’ve changed their minds?"

"No," another replied. "Didn’t you hear? They said only Ethan Raynor will be coming. The rest of the clan has

‘more important matters’ to attend to."

"How arrogant," scoffed the first voice. "Even if they believe in their fighter’s victory, they could at least show

support. What if Ethan Raynor loses?"

Another chimed in, "That's entirely possible. Ethan Raynor isn’t a warrior. He's a businessman. Sure, he was born

an Alpha, but he hasn't even awakened his bloodline."

"And Lucian Greymoore?" someone asked.

"Lucian is the Young Master of the Greymoore Clan," the speaker said with admiration. "He's already awakened.

He's next in line for the clan head. He's strong, trained all his life, and lives for battle. It's obvious who's going to

win."

"Then why is Ethan Raynor fighting at all?" another asked in disbelief. "Surely the Raynor Clan could send

someone else."

"They couldn't," cthe grim response. "The rules of the duel state that replacements must be within ten

years of the main fighter’s age. The only person who qualifies is the Raynor heiress. And from what I've heard,

she’s terrifyingly powerful. They won't reveal her strength just for a minor dispute like this. So Ethan had no

choice."

"What a setup," murmured another. "Lucian challenged him over a business disagreement, knowing full well he

had the advantage. This whole duel is just a trap to humiliate the Raynor name."

"Yes," said another bitterly. "And look at them." He gestured toward one of the terraces where over a hundred

Greymoores sat proudly, clad in matching uniforms, slaughing, others whispering confidently.

"They know they've already won. They chere to celebrate."

"In that case, why did | even come?" groaned a younger werewolf. "I left behind a million-dollar contract just to

witness a rigged duel?"

"Don’t give up hope yet," someone else said gently. "I also realized the situation only after arriving. But I'm

curious. If Ethan Raynor is truly a member of the Ten Great Clans, he must have sstrength, right? Even if he

isn’t trained, maybe there's something more to him."

"Damn the Greymoores," someone suddenly shouted. "Let's support Ethan Raynor! Even if he’s not a fighter, he

deserves respect for showing up!"

"Yes! Let's back him up! If we cheer him on, maybe his spirit will rise and we'll get to witness at least a decent

fight."

"Let’s support Ethan!" whispers began to spread over whole coliseum.

From a few voices, the support spread like wildfire. The lower clans, often bullied or ignored by the powerful

clans, resonated with the underdog. They didn’t care about Ethan's business background or bloodline. All they

saw was a man walking into what looked like a trap... and they admired him for it.

Unbeknownst to most of them, this groundswell of support was no accident. It was Fiona Elizabeth Raynor's plan

all along.

The first voices in the crowd, the

ones who subtly turned the tide of

opinion, were planted b her. om

Whispe(grs, cos the audience

ist after they arrived, slowly shifted

the perception of the duel. From what

appeared to be a certain humiliation,

it had transformed into a narrative of

silent courage and unjust challenge.

Soon, the mood of the coliseum turned. The spectators weren't just here to see a fight. They were rooting for an

upset, for a miracle, for justice in an unjust arena.

And as the moon crept higher above the open ceiling, its glow sharpening against the stone, the duel was about

to begin.

At that moment, a figure emerged from the grand arched gate leading into the VIP section. Instantly, silence

swept across the crowd like a tide. It was Matthias Halden Graventhal, the Arbiter of the werewolves and the

respected head of Clan Graventhal of Switzerland.

His tall and Imposing figure was

draped in a silver-threaded

ceremonial coat, the fabric gleaming

faintly under the moonlight. Upon his

chest was the Insignia of his tioUsk...

ig ofbataiced scales atop the

silhouette of a howling wolf,

symbolizing both justice and primal

strength. His thick silver hair was

swept back neatly, resembling the

crest of a glacier, and his eyes.. cold,

piercing alpine blue... scanned the

vast coliseum with a gaze so intense

that those who met it felt laid bare, as

though their very intentions had been

examined. The content is on

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chapter there!

A single ring glinted on his hand... an heirloom forged from steel mined deep within the heart of the Swiss Alps,

passed down through generations of Arbiters, each chosen for their unwavering sense of neutrality.

As the mediator of inter-clan affairs,

and the voice of the lesser packs,

Matthias was widely respected

across the Wr 4% nin Mm

ier wn to be fair and

ithout bias, and his presence in any

conflict brought a sense of calm, a

promise that balance would be

upheld. His popularity stemmed not

from charisma or showmanship, but

from the ironclad integrity that clung

to every word he spoke. The content

is on novelenglish.net! Read the latest

chapter there!

Behind him followed several other key members of the Werewolf Council. Among them were three towering

figures, each exuding immense authority: Stellan Ragnar Fenroth, the Warlord of the werewolves; Sarika

Somavati Harivamsa, the Priest of the werewolves; Lucien Marceau Valemont, the Treasurer of the werewolves

council.

Several other prominent clan heads followed them, each taking their seats in the exclusive VIP section, their

eyes focused on the duel pit below.

Matthias stepped forward to the podium built from alpine marble and took a breath. His voice, though soft and

low, rolled through the coliseum with uncanny reach and power... clearly aided by subtle werewolf

enchantments.

"Thank you for gathering here today to witness this sacred duel between Ethan Raynor and Lucian Greymoore,"

he said, his tone solemn. "As Arbiter and host of this ancient rite, | welcall werewolf clans to Lunargarde. Let

us honor this tradition with dignity, and may the Goddess bless the victor with strength and clarity."