Single Mother of a Werewolf Baby novel Chapter 243

Chapter 243: Mixed Martial Arts

When Eleanor entered the Mixed Martial Arts School, she found the same shade of darkness and the same absence of life. But this time, she knew Instructor Arrichion would be waiting in the dark room.

"Instructor, I am here for training," she said aloud, her voice carrying into the silence.

As expected, Arrichion emerged from the shadows. "You are here. Good. Follow me."

He led her into another room, which was a lot larger and bare in the middle. The walls were lined with shelves, each holding rows of neatly ordered weapons. In the centre of that immense space stood Instructor Arrichion, a mountain of a man whose stillness was more intimidating than any combat stance.

Eleanor followed and stood before him in her green robe and uniform. Her heart beat steadily, firmly, with determination. She had trained Martial Arts before... under Oswyn Elizabeth Raynor, the former clan head of the Raynor Clan. But this was different. This was under a conqueror, a true legend of Mixed Martial Arts.

"The foundation you possess is a scaffold," Arrichion’s voice boomed... not with sheer volume, but with a density that seemed to vibrate in her bones. "We will not tear it down. We will use it to build a fortress. Your mind is your greatest asset and your greatest liability. It records everything. But your body must feel it. Your bloodline gives you some advantage in learning, but not much in the reality of life and death. Today, you will learn to make your body remember."

He began to circle her like a predator weighing its prey. "I do not believe in styles. I believe in efficiency. In the singular, perfect motion to end a conflict. Not only a conflict... a true warrior can end a war if they can overwhelm their opponents completely. We will start with the three pillars... Structure, Breaching, and Finishing."

He paused, then commanded, "Structure is the most unbreakable form of a martial artist. All power flows from the ground... it is the root of the fighter. A tree without roots will topple at the slightest breeze. Now, assume your basic horse stance."

Eleanor slid into the stance she had first learned as a child in Teresa’s family dojo, later refined under Oswyn’s guidance. Feet spread wide. Knees pressed outward. Hips lowered into a controlled squat. Back upright, chest proud, spine slightly curved, but balanced.

"Adequate for a rookie. Useless for a master."

In a blur, Arrichion was behind her. His foot tapped the inside of her ankle. "Your root is narrow. A push here," his hand pressed against her shoulder, "and you fall."

She stumbled, catching herself just in time.

But he did not allow her to reset. For the next hour, it was a relentless assault on her concept of stance. He shoved her, kicked at her feet, yanked at her arms... all while barking corrections. He called it Dynamic Rooting.

At last, after thirty minutes of brutal adjustment, he seemed somewhat satisfied. "Now... widen your intent! Feel the energy from the floor! The academy’s nanobots in your body will respond once you command them. Tell them what you need... stability under extreme pressure!"

Eleanor felt it... a light stinging in her dominant muscles, spreading across her frame. Her body was shifting, ever so slightly, as though tuning itself.

"Now, move to a forward stance. No... not a lunge. A falling step. Catch yourself with your structure. Again! Follow me in your own way. Do not copy me."

Fortunately, Eleanor’s eidetic memory caught every micro-adjustment of Arrichion’s body... the precise tilt of his spine, the subtle shift of weight. But knowing was not the same as being. Her muscles screamed, unaccustomed to such exacting calibrations.

Then she felt it... a strange, warm humming deep within her bones and muscles. The nanobots were rewriting her... mapping optimal firing patterns of neurons, adjusting tendon tension, refining muscle memory from the inside. It was alien, invasive, but undeniable.

Her next stance was not perfect, but it was different. Stronger. Firmer. More rooted than before.

When Arrichion shoved her this time, she swayed... but she held.

A grunt that might have been approval was her only reward. "The scaffold holds. Now we add the walls."

"What we will do is Breaching," Arrichion continued. "The Art of the Opening. You cannot break a fortress by pounding its walls. You find the flaw... the crack, the single loose stone... and apply precise, overwhelming force."

The next hour was a brutal lesson in anatomy and physics. Arrichion drew a practice dummy woven from enchanted straw out of his storage ring. It perfectly mimicked the density of muscle and bone.

"The body is a structure. A chain of weak links... the ankle, the knee, the hip. Break one link... and it will be over." He didn’t strike the dummy’s legs. Instead, he tapped the side of its knee with the toe of his foot. There was a sharp crack as the enchantment broke, and the leg buckled inward.

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