Single Mother of a Werewolf Baby novel Chapter 232

Chapter 232: The Tower of Legends

In the Ascendance Academy of Midgard, combat instructors held the same prestige as professors of other departments. Arrichion’s presence there was both strange and remarkable. He had only returned to Midgard a few years earlier, after being gravely wounded in battle on Molgrath. The healers who saved him had prescribed ten years of rehabilitation before he could rejoin the frontlines. Restless and unwilling to waste time, he had accepted a post at the Academy. Though his cultivation was suppressed by Midgard’s thin energy, his skill remained unmatched.

When Eleanor appeared in his school, a cadet choosing Mixed Martial Arts as her major in her very first term, Arrichion’s interest was piqued. Few had done so in centuries. He had no idea of her Mind Reaver bloodline, her uncanny ability to grasp and retain knowledge instantly... but when he saw how quickly she absorbed every lesson, he pushed her further. By the time their first session ended, she had received more than just a welcome: she had been given private tutoring by one of history’s deadliest fighters.

He even sent her away with a stack of books, each a cornerstone of strategy and combat. "On Anatomical Vulnerabilities: A Treatise on Every Species" by Graham Valerius. "The Art of War" by Sun Tzu. "Kinetic Principles: Force Redirection for Non-Humanoid Physiologies" by Grommash. "History of the Peloponnesian War" by Thucydides. "The Conquest of Gaul" by Julius Caesar. "Strategy: A History" by Lawrence Freedman. And "Lycanthropic Warfare" by Kaelen Volsung.

By the time Eleanor returned to the reception, it was already lunchtime, and others were gone. She was told Ophelia and Kiara had finished their enrolment and left for the shadow school. Her stomach growled, so she headed for the dining hall.

A crowd of cadets had gathered before the doors of the dining hall, which were still closed. Amidst the chatter, Eleanor spotted familiar faces... Ophelia, Kiara, and Maira, gossiping at a side.

Before she could join them, Ophelia saw and waved her over. "Ma’am! What happened in the combat department? We heard from the receptionist that you enrolled in Mixed Martial Arts and went to visit the school. Then you never came back. We waited, but you vanished. Where were you?"

Eleanor’s lips curved faintly. "I was the only cadet in three years to join Mixed Martial Arts in the primary term. The instructor for this term was Arrichion of Phigalia. He... gave me a long private lesson."

Ophelia tilted her head, puzzled. Before she could respond, Joshua Cordillera’s voice cut in from behind. He had overheard, and his eyes were wide with excitement. "No way! Arrichion of Phigalia? The ancient warrior? He must be over two thousand years old by now!"

"Who is this Arrichion of Phigalia?" Ophelia asked, blinking at Joshua’s reaction.

Eleanor turned her gaze toward her. "Official records say he was a champion of Mixed Martial Arts in the ancient Olympic Games. In truth, he was a war hero of Greece... his fame came not just from arenas, but from countless real battles. He was a legend in both war and sport. And his race..." She paused, letting the suspense hang. "...he’s a vampire."

Ophelia, Kiara, Joshua, and Maira all stared at her in shock. Their mouths moved, but no words came. Eleanor decided to press their disbelief further.

"Do you know who the head of the combat department is?" she asked.

"Who?"

"I don’t know."

"No."

"Who?"

The four answered in unison, their confusion palpable.

Eleanor’s expression flattened into its usual deadpan. "Supreme Grandmaster Scáthach."

Joshua’s brows shot up. "The Witch of Dún Scáith?"

Eleanor gave a single, steady nod. "Yes."

Joshua nearly shouted, "No way!" and the others joined him, exclamations bursting from their lips. "Unbelievable! Impossible!"

"I saw her name in the booklet the combat department gave me," Eleanor explained calmly. "Later, I asked the receptionist to confirm."

The group fell into stunned silence. Around them, cadets continued to gossip about rankings and courses, oblivious to the fact that the most terrifying legends of myth were now their professors.

***

After lunch, as Eleanor stepped out of the dining hall and prepared to head toward the Department of Mental Arts to enrol in one of her optional courses, a figure suddenly blocked her path.

A tall and muscular boy, proud and sharp-eyed, raised a hand to stop her. His aura crackled faintly, like distant thunder. "I am Raijin Stormrider of the dragon race. You must be Eleanor Raynor, am I correct?"

Eleanor met his gaze with polite calm. "Hello. I am Eleanor. How may I help you?"

She had seen his type before... arrogant, spoiled, convinced the world owed them respect. In her short life she had already met too many proud young masters to count. There was no profit in provoking them with words. Only action ever shut them up.

Raijin’s lip curled. "You scored higher than me in the Initiation Ceremony. Just by looking at you, anyone can see you’re weaker. I demand you step down voluntarily and yield your third-place ranking to me." His tone dripped disdain, his confidence absolute.

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