Single Mother of a Werewolf Baby

Chapter 166: The Future of the Werewolves-2

Deep in the cradle of the Kii Mountains, morning light filtered through layers of cedar boughs... soft and golden,

like memory given form. The ground was damp with dew, rich with the scent of moss and pine. Birds called high

in the canopy, their cries echoing faintly beneath the thunderous voice of Nachi Falls, which plummeted down a

cliff face in the distance... its mist rolling like spirits across the valley floor.

A girl stood alone on a stone outcrop, still as carved jade, facing the falls. She was young, barely more than

seventeen, yet her presence commanded the space as if she had trained for lifetimes. Jet-black hair, long and

silken, was tied into a loose braid that danced behind her with every gust of wind. Her dark and luminous eyes

held a depth that belied her youth: half shadow, half fire. A pale flush graced her cheeks, kissed by the cold

mountain air.

The katana in her hands danced like an extension of her spirit. She wore a dark indigo keikogi, sleeves rolled to

her elbows, and a hakama that whispered with every step. Beneath the fabric, muscle and grace coiled together

like a wild creature tamed by discipline.

Her bare feet shifted on the stone like falling petals. Her sword flashed, a diagonal cut through the air... followed

by a seamless pivot, the blade arcing behind her like a silver crescent moon. She spun with perfect control, her

body sinking into a low stance before rising into an upward slash that sliced through the mist as though it feared

her.

A second breath, a second flurry.

She leapt in a blur of motion, her katana lifted overhead, then slammed downward into an invisible opponent.

The blade shimmered with mountain dew as it carved the air with a shrill hum. She landed light as snow, knees

bent, one hand extended behind her for balance. Her breaths were deep and rhythmic... a prayer learned in

blood and repetition.

Above her, the sunlight caught the droplets clinging to her blade, scattering tiny rainbows through the clearing.

She stood tall, chest rising and falling, hair clinging to her neck, face serene.

From the shadows beyond the trees, an elderly figure stepped forth.

He was tall. His white keikogi fluttered in the wind, his hair bound high and silver with age. His face bore the

solemn calm of a thousand winter dawns, yet there was warmth in his voice.

"You've mastered the rhythm," the old master said slowly, his sandals brushing through the fallen pine needles.

"Now... you must learn to play the silence between each strike."

The girl bowed deeply, sweat glistening on her brow. For a moment, even the howling of Nachi Falls seemed to

quiet. In that sacred space between mentor and student, praise was rare... but when spoken, it carried the

weight of entire lifetimes.

She was Izumi Tsuki Kuroda, Young Miss of the Kuroda Clan of Japan.

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Deep within the emerald heart of the Amazon, where sunlight filtered down in trembling beams through a

canopy older than time, the forest whispered its secrets. Vines hung like serpents from towering trees, their roots

snaking across moss-covered ground. Birds called to one another in bursts of colour and sound, while orchids

bloomed unseen in the shadows. The air was thick with life... damp, breathing, ancient.

Beneath this living cathedral, a girl moved like a shadow.

Her bare feet glided silently over roots and fallen leaves, never snapping a twig or disturbing the rhythm of the

forest. She wore almost nothing... just a wrap of woven fabric hugging her hips, and bands of feathers and bones

adorning her arms and ankles. Her bronze skin shimmered with sweat and moonlight, sleek as a panther’s coat.

Her body, lithe and honed like a weapon, moved with effortless poise, hips swaying with each silent step. Every

curve was sculpted in balance... sensual yet strong, soft yet feral, like the jungle itself.

Her face was a song of contrasts: sharp cheekbones kissed by the sun, full lips slightly parted, and eyes the

colour of wet earth after rain... dark, reflective, and full of vigour. She is Maira Arara Neblina, the wildflower of

the Amazon Werewolf Clan. To the animals, she was kin. To the forest, she was the daughter.

She halted as her golden eyes flashed toward a movement in the underbrush. Not twenty paces away, a cheetah

lifted its head. Its ears twitched. A breath passed between them.

Then it bolted.

And Maira followed.

The jungle erupted into motion. The cheetah darted like lightning through the undergrowth, kicking up leaves

and shattering the stillness. But Maira... barefoot, laughing softly under her breath... gave chase, her body slicing

through the trees with liquid instinct. She ducked under vines, leapt over roots, and twisted mid-air with the

precision of a predator born to the hunt. Her breath remained steady. Her muscles thrummed. Her heart beat in

twith the earth.

The cheetah ran as no creature should be able to... but Maira’s pursuit was relentless. Branches clawed at her

skin, drawing thin lines of red, but she didn’t slow. She wasn’t chasing to kill. She was chasing to conquer.

Minutes turned to half an hour, until sweat rolled down her back and her braid clung to her spine. Still, she

closed the distance.

At last, with a burst of impossible speed, she lunged.

The cheetah snarled and twisted mid-run... but she was already on it, wrapping her limbs around its body and

tumbling to the forest floor in a blur of fur and flesh. Leaves scattered. A bird shrieked overhead.

The surroundings fell into a serene silence.

Maira sat up, panting, her thighs clamped around the beast’s flanks, her hands gently stroking its trembling

sides. The cheetah hissed weakly, but did not resist. Slowly, cautiously, it lowered its head into her lap like a

stubborn child surrendering to a mother’s lullaby. She ran her fingers through its short golden coat, and the

cheetah whimpered once... then gave in.

Its eyes fluttered, half-closed.

"Easy now," she whispered, in the tongue of the forest.

There they sat beside the river... girl and beast, one wild heart beating against another. Around them, the jungle

watched in reverent hush, as if it, too, understood that this was not a moment of dominance, but of union.

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High in the mist-veiled mountains, where clouds drifted like ancient spirits through the ridges, the rain fell... not

in torrents, but in a steady, silver curtain. Each droplet struck the stone and soil like the ticking of a timeless

clock. And within this quiet storm, a sword was dancing.

Joshua Cordillera, the rising star of the proud Cordillera Clan, stood bare-chested beneath the open sky. Rain

streaked down his muscled frame, carving rivulets along his skin, soaking into the loose black cloth tied around

his waist. His dark hair clung to his forehead, and his sharp as obsidian eyes remained fixed on a point only he

could see.

His blade moved, and the world seemed to breathe with him.

With a fluid motion, he spun into a

rising arc, the edge of his sword

slicing upward through the falling

rain like a comet qhgt€d). Water

att

beagedlansta tered from the blade

in delicate spirals, catching the

muted light of the storm. Each strike

was precise, but effortless. His

grounded and silent footwork

mirrored the rhythm of the earth

itself. The content is on

novelenglish.net! Read the latest

chapter there!

Lightning flashed behind the mountains, illuminating the peaks like the edges of a sleeping dragon's wings. The

wind, heavy with the scent of pine and wet stone, swirled around him, but Joshua did not falter. He was stillness

in motion, serenity in power.

A downward slash cleaved the air in

silence, followed by a swift reverse

grip and pivot... the blade now an

extension of his will Ranwatet Fling

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fromthsiWord mid-strike painted

silver arcs in the air, only to be

swallowed instantly by the storm.

Every movement flowed into the next

without hesitation, like a mountain

stream rushing toward the valley...

graceful, confident, untamed. The

content is on novelenglish.net! Read

the latest chapter there!

The forest watched in reverence. The trees bowed under the weight of rain, their leaves whispering with each

gust. The stones beneath his feet, polished smooth by years of weather, bore his weight as if they had long

awaited his return.

In that moment, Joshua wasn’t just training... he was communing. His sword sang with the rain. His breath rose

with the mist. And with each swing, he carved his soul into the mountain's memory.

Across every werewolf clan scattered

through the corners of the world,

from frozen peaks to shadowed

forests... a single pRer@mendr

Pe

prised Ike shared heartbeat. Young

warriors, heirs of blood and legacy,

trained with unyielding fervour

beneath open skies and ancient

plains. Their breaths fogged the

morning air, muscles burning with

effort, eyes fixed on the path ahead.

Each clan had mobilized their youngsters, not as isolated cases, but as proud guardians of their heritage. Elders

stepped down from secluded meditations to offer guidance. Sacred grounds were reopened. Forbidden

techniques were passed on in whispers and sweat. Ancient weapons, long sealed in the vault, were retrieved and

given to the worthy.

Every young wolf pushed beyond their limits, hearts burning with the dream to rise... not just in strength, but in

essence. To becAscendant was not merely to gain power. It was to becsomething more than flesh and

fang... a living vessel of the world’s will.