Single Mother of a Werewolf Baby novel Chapter 225

Chapter 225: The Throne of Skulls

At last, Eleanor and her team reached the mountain’s summit. There, carved into the jagged rock, loomed the fortress they had glimpsed from below. The castle rose like a dark crown against the red sky, its towering walls jagged with age yet impossibly solid. From afar, it had seemed impregnable.

But as they crossed the wide stone bridge to its gate, it became clear that the battle had already been fought.

The main courtyard was littered with bodies... orc corpses, troll carcasses, even the twisted remains of goblin hounds. The stench of blood and smoke clung to the air. Cadets moved cautiously through the ruins, weapons drawn more out of habit than necessity. When Eleanor hailed one group, she learned what had transpired here... the castle had already been purged. No monsters remained alive.

Only one challenge was left... The Troll King!

His chamber lay at the heart of the keep. The cadets explained that once a group entered, they never returned to the trial grounds. Win or lose, the chamber was the end.

A queue had already formed. Six teams stood in line before them, their faces taut with fatigue and expectation. Eleanor’s group would be the seventh to step through those doors.

She ordered her team to rest. Their bodies needed strength, and minds needed calm. While they gathered their breath, Ophelia slipped away into the castle’s dim halls, her presence vanishing into the shadows as naturally as a sigh.

Eleanor sat cross-legged against a cold stone wall and summoned her status screen.

[Status]

Time Left: 0:38:22

Primary Objective: Kill the Troll King and recapture the stronghold.

Secondary Objective: Eliminate the monsters.

Team Members: 6

Points: 1322 (Rank–7)

[Do you want to hide the status screen? Yes/No]

With a thought, she dismissed it.

The spider had earned them five hundred points. Enough to solidify their lead, but her rank had not shifted. Eleanor felt no disappointment. In truth, she was relieved. Being third meant safety. The eyes of rivals would fall on the topper, not on her. For this first competition, survival and measured strength mattered more than glory.

The faint ripple of shadow heralded Ophelia’s return. She emerged silently at Eleanor’s side, bowing her head slightly.

"Ma’am," she reported, "there is a restriction placed over this castle. Cadets cannot ascend beyond the ground floor. Only the throne chamber is accessible. The upper levels are sealed by some arrays... most likely part of the trial itself. The monsters are gone, slain by the first wave of cadets. But I gathered these for us."

She laid down her spoils:... iron swords polished with use, sturdier bows strung with fresh cord, and quivers filled with sharp arrows. The weapons were still crude wrought iron, but compared to the rusted scraps from the orcs, these felt balanced, reliable, and ready.

Eleanor allowed herself the faintest nod of approval. "Good work. Distribute them. When it’s our turn, we will be ready."

***

It had been almost three minutes the sixth team entered the throne room. The glowing door rippled more brightly once, then dulled to a dull stone-grey. Eleanor pushed it open, and a suffocating darkness swallowed them whole. Nothing... no light, no detail existed beyond a few paces. Even with their wolf eyes, they couldn’t see far.

Jaciara slipped in last. The instant the door shut, the chamber flared alive. Light blazed as though the sun itself had been drawn down into the stone walls. The throne room revealed itself... vast, cavernous, and terrible. And there, seated on a throne of skulls, loomed their foe.

The Troll King!

He was monstrous... easily thrice the height of a fully grown werewolf. His white-grey skin stretched taut over slabs of rippling muscle. A crude yet imposing crown of crystal shards sat heavy upon his head, refracting light into fractured rainbows that danced grotesquely across his scarred face. His eyes glimmered with the dull intelligence of a predator, a cruel spark that relished the fight to come.

"Otherworlders!" he thundered, his voice a grinding avalanche of stone on stone. "You trespass upon my land. You slaughter my kin. And now you dare crawl before me?" His thick lips curled into a snarl, jagged tusks bared. "Arrogant! Audacious! Allow me to send you to your maker!"

The chamber trembled as the king rose. Step by step, he descended from his throne. Each stride sent tremors rippling through the floor, shaking loose dust from the vaulted ceiling. His crown burned brighter, shards of multicoloured crystal scattering across the stone like fractured suns.

And then he charged. The giant became a storm of motion, his bulk impossibly fast. His roar boomed like thunder, reverberating through the bones of every cadet.

Eleanor’s instincts screamed. She whipped her broadsword into guard... only to feel empty air.

Her hand clutched nothing!

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