My Family in the Novel?

"Impressive…!"

Although he complimented me, the frustration lingered as none of my attacks seemed to reach him.

Despite my efforts—striking from the left, executing spins to reinforce my strikes, and infusing Aura to enhance my speed and strength—all proved futile against the man standing before me.

His subtle movements allowed him to effortlessly evade and deflect my sword strikes.

While I may not have claimed mastery over the blade, I held a fair amount of confidence in my sword skills.

However, the ongoing battle only intensified my frustration.

"Haah…!"

I leaped into the air, attempting to launch an aura-infused strike, but as expected, our swords clashed with a resounding clang.

In a swift motion, he effortlessly redirected my momentum, kicking me in the stomach and sending me flying several meters away.

The echo of the clash still resonating, he clapped his hands, a gesture that mirrored the sound of our swords meeting.

As I lay there, catching my breath, he approached with a genuine smile, extending a hand to help me stand.

"Your skills were rather commendable, sir hero. There are only a handful of people I have faced with as much talent as you," Libert said appreciatively.

His genuine smile remained intact as he assisted me to my feet, acknowledging the prowess I had displayed in our duel.

"Surely you jest I couldn't even hit you once"

"Hoho, if I were that easy to hit, I wouldn't be allowed to teach you the ways of the sword, sir hero," Libert chuckled, his deep voice resonating through the training ground as he slightly stroked his thin beard.

His words held a wisdom forged through years of experience, and it was evident that his skills were far beyond the norm.

Indeed, though I had only encountered Libert today, the prowess he demonstrated in our training session surpassed the bounds of normality.

Throughout the short time we spent together, he revealed that he was the former captain of the templars, explaining the exceptional level of his swordsmanship.

It became clear that his strength was comparable, if not equal, to that of seasoned swordmasters.

Yet, despite my best efforts, I found myself unable to land a single hit on this middle-aged mentor, much to my chagrin.

Glancing to our right, I noticed Elena, who seemed to be concluding her own training session.

Exhausted and defeated, she announced, "I give up!" Her words echoed through the training ground as she dramatically collapsed onto the ground.

She took heavy breaths, the rise and fall of her ample breasts mirroring the rhythm of her labored breathing.

Clad in her usual saintess attire, it proved inadequate in concealing the voluptuous peaks beneath.

Elena's chest, akin to fluffy mountains, remained an undeniable focal point despite her sacred vestments.

Glancing to my right, I observed Libert discreetly looking away, demonstrating a measure of respect. It was a relief to know that, at the very least, this seasoned swordsman retained a sense of propriety. After all, I held the exclusive privilege of appreciating such aspects of Elena's form.

'I'm, the only one allowed to enjoy such peaks'

Closing the distance between us, I approached Elena and handed her a dry towel. "Good job…!" I commended, offering support as she rose from her training-induced exhaustion.

"Thank you…" she replied, grateful for the assistance.

"Saintess, although your strength may be lacking, the power you possess is enough to hold your own against a veteran templar. We only need to refine your skills with the mace a bit more," Fredrika, her training instructor, offered encouragingly, a warm smile gracing her face.

"Y-yeah…," Elena responded, her head slightly bowed in acknowledgment. The prospect of more training seemed to unsettle her, a subtle indication of the challenges she anticipated.

Observing the wooden weapon they were utilizing, I couldn't help but marvel at Elena's ability to wield such a heavy instrument.

Though crafted from wood, the spiked head alone hinted at its substantial weight, making it clear that mastering such a weapon required significant strength and skill.

While Elena's actual weapon was a baton, a more delicate instrument, Fredrika likely chose to train her with the heavier mace.

This approach not only honed her proficiency with weightier weapons but also imparted crucial skills in maneuvering the sacred relic she wielded.

As our training session concluded, we bid farewell to our respective trainers.

With expressions of gratitude and promises to meet again for further improvement, we made our way back to our rooms. The halls echoed with the echoes of our footsteps.

"Did you know about this, Elena?" I inquired, a curiosity lacing my tone.

"No... but I did expect it," she replied calmly… she might be the saintess but I guess the pope doesn't inform her of everything,

As expected, she was unaware of our newly appointed teachers, but the matter seemed inconsequential at the moment.

Observing her, I noticed Elena twisting her shoulder uncomfortably. Concerned, I gently touched her shoulder and asked, "Does it hurt?"

"Ow...!" she winced in response, indicating that she might have strained herself a bit too much during the training.

"Don't worry, I can heal something like this easily," she reassured me, a golden light enveloping her hands. As she touched her shoulder, the pain seemed to dissipate, and she twisted it experimentally, offering me a smile.

"See..." she said triumphantly.

"I see... that's too bad, I was planning to massage it though," I remarked nonchalantly.

"Wai- what?" she exclaimed, genuine surprise in her voice. "N-now that I think about it, it still hurts, I think!" she hastily added.

A chuckle escaped me at her cute reaction.

…..

As Isabella carefully adorned herself, her fingers brushed against her lower abdomen, a perplexing sensation lingering.

"It's still there… I'm still pure, so what was that red thing just now?" she wondered, contemplating the mysterious occurrence. Tapping the floor with her cane, she navigated her way out of the unfamiliar room with a determined resolve.

As the door creaked open, Isabella ensured her exit was as noiseless as possible. She harbored a distinct suspicion about the room's owner and couldn't afford to attract any undue attention or trouble. Her plan was to sidestep any complications, yet fate seemed to have other ideas.

"Oh, my who? …I didn't expect to see a person coming out of the young master's room. I thought he left quite early in the morning? May I ask what you were doing there, miss?" A graceful voice reached Isabella's ears the moment she stepped out.

Despite her blindness, she was adept at discerning individuals by the distinct spirits and auras surrounding them.

Isabella recognized the golden-white color of the spirit, a trait unique to Analise, Adrian's personal maid. Despite her blindness, Isabella had honed her ability to distinguish people through their spirits, and the gentle, beautiful aura surrounding Analise was unmistakable.

Caught off guard by the unexpected encounter, Isabella contemplated her response, realizing that trouble had indeed found its way to her despite her intentions to avoid it.

As Isabella faced the intense gaze of Analise, the maid's gentle inquiry did little to mask the suspicion emanating from her eyes.

Their first official meeting took an unfortunate turn, and Isabella sensed that any hope for a positive relationship had swiftly evaporated.

"Ana?" but the situation only escalated when Louise Obelia, another complicating factor, joined the fray. Louise's sudden presence, standing right behind Analise, added another layer of scrutiny to Isabella's predicament.

"Who are you?" Louise demanded, her piercing gaze fixing on Isabella.

Despite the discomfort still lingering from the recent encounter, Isabella managed a smile as she looked at the two women, her mind racing to conjure plausible excuses to extricate herself from the situation. She took a moment, then opened her mouth with a sense of urgency.

"The Pope sent me to check upon the hero's room," Isabella declared hurriedly, her words designed to quell any rising suspicions.

Without waiting for a response, she swiftly made her way out of the place, her footsteps fast and determined, despite the pain in her buttocks.

Her escape was marked by a slightly crackly gait, her hand holding her back for support.

"Ah, wait...!" Louise attempted to prevent her, but Isabella dashed off hurriedly.

The unexpected agility for a seemingly blind person surprised both Analise and Louise.

The two women exchanged skeptical glances, their suspicions mounting.

Not hearing Isabella's name and witnessing her emergence from Adrian's room only intensified the mystery.

With Adrian currently out with Elena, Isabella's presence in his room, regardless of the Pope's orders, raised further concerns

….

Making her way out of the troublesome scene, Isabela slowed down, leaning on a pillar for support as her feet trembled from the intense pain coursing through her.

Whatever transpired the previous night had left her in this agonizing state, and the details eluded her.

'Did the hero do something to me?' she wondered, struggling to connect the dots between the pain she felt and the mysterious bloodstains on her bed.

And to make matter worse her breasts felt aching pain every now and then…

Like someone forcefully squeezed them as much as they can.

However, aside from the physical discomfort, she couldn't pinpoint any actions of Adrian's that might have led to her current predicament.

At least now, she knew she had been sleeping in the hero's room, her back and buttocks aching as if subjected to a forceful impact.

Despite the searing pain, Isabella had somehow managed to walk this far, a testament to her resilience.

Unlike her fellow nuns and priests, she lacked the ability to use healing spells. Even the simplest of spells to ease her pain seemed beyond her reach.

As she contemplated heading to her room to heal and rest, another set of troubles appeared on the horizon. "Isabella…?" she heard another voice, and this time, it was a voice she least wanted to encounter.

It was Elena, the one and only saintess of this holy kingdom.

''S-saintess…''

''What are you doing here? Are you hurt?'' Elena slowly approached her, intending to heal her, observing the pained actions she was doing. But Isabella stepped back.

''I-I'm fine…!''

''You don't look fine though. Did you hurt yourself, Miss Isabella?'' another voice chimed in.

And her body froze upon hearing the cool voice.

Adrian was asking her with a hidden smirk on his face.

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