Single Mother of a Werewolf Baby

Chapter 231: The SuprGrandmaster

The union of Prince Ard-Greimne of the Tuatha Dé Danann and Derbail, the mortal princess of Dal Riata, was a

quiet rebellion against the order of both their worlds. He, a being of radiant light and ancient power, and she, a

woman of fleeting beauty and indomitable spirit, carved out a life together not in the splendour of a court, but in

isolation on the mist-veiled Isle of Skye. There, at the edge of the world, they raised their daughter... Scathach.

Scathach was born as a mortal human, like her mother. She bore her mother’s delicate features but none of her

father’s innate, immortal power. Yet Ard-Greimne did not awaken her dormant bloodline. Instead, he trained her,

moulding flesh and spirit until she could stand toe to toe with his own kind. He felt the spiritual energy of

Midgard thinning, draining away like sand through a glass, leaving his people wan and faint, their forms

becoming little more than echoes. The age of the Tuatha Dé Danann was ending. Soon, they would be forced to

depart for realms where their kind could still endure.

Knowing this, Ard-Greimne set himself to a single purpose... forging his human daughter into the weapon that

would guard the world they must abandon. He was not merely her father, but her unyielding master of arms. He

placed a sword in her hands before she could read, taught her the spear before she knew the weight of

relationships. He drilled her in the strategies of the Tuatha Dé, the breaking of formations, the unravelling of

armies... knowledge meant for god-generals, not mortal children. Her childhood was not one of laughter or play,

but of ceaseless discipline. Her body beca blade honed to perfection; her mind, the sharp edge of a

commander's will.

Then cthe day of the Great Exodus. The spiritual energy in Midgard grew still and thin as the last of the

Tuatha Dé Danann gathered, their figures wavering like candle flames in a dying wind. Ard-Greimne stood before

his daughter one final time. Before him was the suprwarrior he had forged, a masterpiece of mortal flesh

and unyielding spirit. But he knew it was not enough. To guard Midgard against the horrors that would come

crawling from the void, she would need more. She would need to becmore.

Placing his hands upon her shoulders, Ard-Greimne did not speak farewell. Instead, he reached into the blazing

core of his divine essence and ignited the dormant bloodline within her. The transformation was agony... an

unmaking and remaking. Scathach’s mortal frcracked under the pressure of divinity, then reformed in glory.

Her skin shimmered with an inner light, her hair cascaded in streams of pale gold and silver, and her once-

human eyes deepened into orbs that mirrored the void between stars. Suprpower, the inheritance of the

Tuatha Dé Danann, surged through her veins like a flood.

He named her Protector of Midgard, Warden of the Last Defence, the Fortress of Shadows. Then, without a

backward glance, he turned and walked among his fading kin. Together, the Tuatha Dé Danann dissolved into

brilliance, their procession vanishing into the veils of eternity.

Scathach stood alone upon the silent ramparts of Din Scaith. The last of the old gods was gone. In their place

remained the first... and only representative of the new. No longer merely a daughter, no longer merely a

warrior, she was shield and sword both, oath and inheritance incarnate. She was Midgard’s final promise of the

Tuatha Dé Danann.

Her domain, Dun Scaith, becthe outpost of the old order's memory. There she did not wither into legend but

fought against it. She gathered disciples... human, other races of this world... and shaped them into warriors. The

exalted doctrines of the Tuatha Dé, once reserved for immortals, she re-forged into a curriculum mortal could

bear, so their hands might wield god-born arts.

Her purpose was singular and unyielding... to remain the eternal Warden of Midgard. She foresaw the planet's

thinning spirit as more than decay; it was a beacon, a lure for predators from the outer voids. A world stripped of

its gods would be easy prey. In solitude, she becthe architect of Midgard’s defence, transforming her

fortress into an academy, and her students into the first and last line of resistance.

For centuries, Scathach’s fortress produced generals and warlords who held Midgard’s borders against prowling

threats from the void. Yet even she, eternal and unyielding, felt the weight of repetition. Restlessness stirred

within her. To sharpen herself beyond the limits of her own doctrine, she departed on a world-spanning

expedition.

Across the world, countless places and races she wandered. She studied the martial traditions of supernatural

races, fought with their champions, tested herself in their arenas, and refined her art with every duel. Where she

went, she left not only mastery but wisdom, reshaping the warriors she encountered. By the tshe returned,

she was no longer merely Midgard’s Warden. She had becthe teacher of worlds... the Supreme

Grandmaster.

When the supernatural races finally set aside their rivalries to unite against the looming invasion from beyond

the stars, Yggdrasil itself petitioned her. It called for Scathach to lead as General of the Allied Midgard Army. But

she refused without hesitation. Her oath was older than Yggdrasil’s plea... she had sworn to her father that she

would remain in Midgard as its final bastion, not march to Molgrath for open war. Her promise was iron.

Later, when the great academy was raised in Kvernheim to forge the next generation of defenders, the allied

forces begged her to serve as Principal. Yet she surprised them. Scathach did not hunger for crowns or thrones.

She wished only to instruct, to find and shape the next prodigy who might inherit the legacy she carried. Thus,

the academy yielded, naming her instead as the Head of the Department of Combat, a master among masters,

free to teach as she willed.

At Yggdrasil's decree, the ancient fortress of Dun Scéith was bound to Kvernheim by a living link, so that

Scathach might dwell in her domain yet step into the academy at will. And so, the Witch of Dn Scaith, immortal

teacher and Warden of Shadows, becpart of the academy's beating heart.

ork

While Scathach was a master of all arms, a few weapons clung to her legend more tightly than others. Her most

famous was the spear, the Gae Bolg, a weapon said to pierce destiny itself. She was also renowned for the

Claideb, the classic double-edged sword. But Eleanor knew that Scathach’s art was never only about weapons. It

was about mastery—precision, psychological warfare, and techniques so advanced they seemed supernatural.

Though the world remembered her for her spearmanship, Eleanor suspected that the Grandmaster’s true

passion had always been something else: the raw, unadorned struggle of Mixed Martial Arts. Her father had

trained her not to rely on inherited power, but to hone her mortal body until it transcended its limits. And Eleanor

understood a truth few spoke aloud: the ultimate form of spearmanship was not wielding a spear—it was

becoming one.

Her choice was clear. She enrolled in the School of Mixed Martial Arts, with a quiet resolution to take extra

classes in the Spear School as well. After completing the formalities, she checked her updated course list:

[Course Selection: Primary Term]

Mandatory Courses:

1. Basics of Cultivation

2. Introduction to Supernatural Ethics & Law

Major Course: Department of Combat (School of Mixed Martial Arts)

Optional Courses: Two selections pending within five days

1. Introduction to Alchemy

2. Basics of Forge

3. Cultivation History and Paths

4. Healing Arts

5. Introduction to Formation and Arrays

6. Wilderness Survival

7. Fundamentals of Psionics

8. Magical Botany & Herbology

9. Music of the Spheres

10. Familiar Handling & Care

The receptionists voice pulled her out of her thoughts. "Please proceed to room 205 on the second floor. Your

school office will provide further instructions."

Closing the screen and thanking the receptionist, Eleanor climbed the stairs. Room 205 stood at the end of the

corridor, its door unremarkable, its interior strangely desolate. Dust and silence greeted her. The place felt

abandoned.

"Am | in the right room? Why isn’t anyone here?" she muttered under her breath.

"You are," Nora answered in her mind. "But you are not alone. Someone is in the side chamber, meditating."

Eleanor cleared her throat and spoke into the emptiness. "Hello? I've cto enrol in the School of Mixed Martial

Arts. Is anyone here?"

For a moment, nothing stirred. Then

cthe sound of movement, and a

figure emerged from the dark room.

An old man, draped in a violet robe,

who seemed to Re pithatatile

power, steppedfor ard. His bronzed

skin stretched over muscles knotted

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like ship's rope. His face bore the

history of violence... a flattened nose,

a cauliflower ear, scars like rivulets of

old battles. Yet it was not his scars

that chilled Eleanor for an instant... it

was his eyes. Calm, calculating, and

predatory. Eyes that had measured

countless opponents and ended

more than a few. The content is on

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chapter there!

He rolled his shoulders, the motion smooth, feline, almost careless, and then smiled. But the smile did not reach

his words.

"A cadet in her primary term, enrolling here? Unusual. If you want to learn about our school, go to the library. |

have better things to do."

Eleanor bowed her head slightly, her voice respectful yet steady. "Forgive the intrusion, sir. I've already enrolled.

| cto report."

This tthe man laughed, and it

was real. Deep, booming,

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unrestrained. "You've $) Siri, girl.

But are yop pertait?y se days,

nbbbHy touches this school until their

return from Molgrath. Everyone

wants swords, spears, flashy things.

Why would you choose bare hands

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over shining steel?" The content is on

novelenglish.net! Read the latest

chapter there!

Eleanor met his gaze without wavering. "Because | don’t want to wield a weapon. | want to becone. And |

believe this is the right place."

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The man’s eyes softened, though his

presence remained sharp as a drawn

u

blade. He gave a slow nod ]99%h

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Good. Thats theandvie? ['wanted to

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heat for many years." He

straightened his robe and spoke with

q q " q q

deliberate weight. "I am Arrichion,

Instructor of the Primary Term.

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Welcto the school." The content

is on novelenglish.net! Read the latest

chapter there!

Eleanor’s breath caught. She spoke before she could stop herself. "Arrichion of Phigalia?"

The man’s grin returned, this twith a spark of nostalgia. "I didn’t think, after so many centuries, that anyone

would still remember that name. Surprising."