My Family in the Novel?

I took a moment to collect myself, adjusting my shirt as I used my aura to wipe the sweat from my skin.

The morning air felt heavy with the remnants of our shared passion, and a short sigh escaped my lips as I glanced back at the sleeping figure of Analise, wrapped in the warmth of the blanket.

What we had indulged in was certainly more than just a typical morning greeting. Despite the initial intentions, Ana and I had lost track of time in our fervent embrace.

Yet, as I buttoned my shirt and admired her serene face, I couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over me. We had truly savored every moment together.

As I approached the door, my gaze fell upon the small runic symbol etched with my mana, a precautionary measure to ensure our privacy during our intimate moments.

It seemed my instinct had been correct; the intense magical energy emanating from outside indicated that someone was eager to interrupt our solitude.

And I know exactly who it was, Afterall I accidentally made eye contact with her while I was busy humping on Ana….

'I shouldn't have looked through the window above…'

With a resigned breath, I reached for the doorknob, mentally preparing myself for the inevitable confrontation that awaited.

The runic symbol vanished with a soft sound, and as I opened the door, I braced myself for what was to come.

But what greeted me was expected and unexpected?

Dark chains, woven with sinister mana, encircled my neck, their presence a stark contrast to the tranquility of the morning.

"M-eralda?"

It's been quite some time since we interacted like this but I completely forgot she had access to this fuck…

"Did you have fun? Must be fun thinking with your dick, right? You even forgot about me for a few hours," her words pierced through the air, delivered with a sharpness that cut to the core.

I couldn't help but notice the dimming light in her emerald green eyes, a reflection of the hurt that simmered beneath the surface.

I gulped audibly, the weight of her accusation settling heavily upon my shoulders.

While her words felt somewhat out of line, I couldn't deny the truth in them.

My actions had indeed led to her feeling neglected, and for that, I couldn't help but feel a sense of remorse.

'Haa... for now, I guess a little bit of punishment is acceptable' bracing myself for whatever consequences lay ahead.

It seemed that accepting my fate only invited further retribution, and in an instant, a punishing blow struck me squarely in the face.

The déjà vu I got back with Elena echoed in my head.

…..

Swoosh!

The sound of my blade cutting through the air echoed through the training ground as I practiced my swordsmanship. With each precise strike, I felt a sense of satisfaction as my movements grew more fluid and controlled. The tip of my sword traced a streak of motion, up and down, honing my skills with each repetition.

Despite swords not being my preferred weapon, as a hero, mastering swordsmanship was essential. Even without relying on my Aura, I felt confident that I could easily dispatch a B-rank monster with my current level of proficiency.

"So, you're saying the duke is here right now and he's planning something I probably can't deny?" I inquired, turning my attention to Meralda, who hovered nearby in a state of ethereal grace.

It was strange to see her floating beside me; couldn't she choose to rest on one of the nearby benches instead? Nevertheless, I focused on her response, eager to learn more about the situation at hand.

"Yes," Meralda confirmed, her voice carrying a distant tone as she observed my training with a hint of fascination.

Despite her spectral form, her presence was as tangible as ever, a constant reminder of the otherworldly forces that surrounded us.

As I continued my practice, the weight of the impending meeting with the duke pressed upon me like a heavy cloak.

It would be our first interaction since the incident at the mansion, a confrontation I could no longer avoid.

But what could the duke possibly possess that would compel me to leave the sanctuary of the church? It must be related to the matters concerning the other me...

The thought gnawed at the edges of my consciousness, leaving me with a sense of unease.

'Should I access my memories? No… letting it flow naturally would be best'

At this moment, my identity remained in a state of flux. While the merging of Ian and Adrian was well underway, I hadn't fully assimilated Adrian's persona.

Despite the convergence, instantaneous access to all of Adrian's memories eluded me.

It was as though our souls acted as a natural filter, safeguarding against potential brain damage from an overload of information.

Delving too deeply into Adrian's memories could prove detrimental while I was still in the process of digesting his identity.

There seemed to be an invisible barrier preventing me from accessing certain aspects of Adrian's experiences. It was a frustrating realization, but one I had to accept for the time being.

Setting aside these internal struggles, I redirected my focus to the task at hand. The conversation with the duke took precedence, and I couldn't afford to be consumed by doubts and uncertainties.

"Oya… I didn't expect Sir Hero to be here this early; our daily training is scheduled for past noon, Sir Hero," Libert, my current sword teacher, finally arrived.

The gentle yet proud look he gave me reminded me of the expression my father used to wear when I diligently practiced my sword aura.

It seemed Libert's spirit resonance was at an all-time low, as he failed to notice Meralda floating nearby, scanning him with curious eyes. It was a relief, as it would have posed a problem if others could see her.

"Well, I woke up earlier than usual," I replied, offering a simple excuse to mask the turmoil of thoughts swirling within me. Using the sword provided a welcome distraction from the weight of my internal struggles.

"Shall we have a short duel, Sir Hero?" Libert proposed, his demeanor a mix of gentleness and aggression as he brandished a steel sword in one hand, the other poised casually at his back.

"Sure," I agreed, recognizing that practical training was always more beneficial than solitary practice. With a nod of determination, I readied myself for the upcoming duel, eager to test my skills under Libert's guidance.

With determination burning in my veins, I tightened my grip on the sword and lunged forward, intent on landing at least a single strike on Libert. Even a scratch would suffice. I couldn't shake off the frustration from our previous encounter, where I failed to make a dent in his defenses.

"I'll show this middle-aged man why I'm the hero," I thought, steeling myself for the confrontation.

But minutes later, I found myself immobilized, blood gushing from my mouth. I hadn't managed to land a single hit.

Libert hadn't even used his sword offensively; instead, he wielded it like a shield, effortlessly deflecting my strikes or redirecting them to throw off my balance.

His attacks were precise and relentless, consisting of punches and kicks aimed at my vulnerable spots.

As the blows landed, always targeting the same spot, I couldn't help but marvel at Libert's skill. His gentle demeanor belied the truth—he was a true monster with a sword, a demon in disguise.

The image of a kind uncle dissolved, replaced by the stark reality of his formidable prowess.

Despite my best efforts, I was no match for his expertise, humbled by his overwhelming mastery of the art of combat.

'You suck, Master…' Meralda's useless comment grated on my nerves, but I brushed it off with a dismissive retort.

'Shut it!' I snapped, not in the mood for her sarcasm.

Especially with that sadistic grin of hers while she kept poking my face, it made me want to pinch those plump cheeks of hers.

As Libert approached, offering me a hand to stand up, I hesitated. My body throbbed with pain from the intense training session, but I knew I had to push through it.

Grasping his hand, I braced myself for the effort of rising to my feet.

To my surprise, as I stood, a sudden lightness washed over me, and the pain in my stomach and chest vanished.

Even the ache in my muscles seemed to dissipate, replaced by a comforting warmth.

Golden light enveloped me, and I realized that Libert possessed healing abilities beyond what I had anticipated.

This old master of mine was full of surprises indeed.

"I know templars and paladins have access to healing spells, but I didn't expect it to be this potent," I remarked to Libert, genuinely impressed by his skill.

He chuckled in response, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Hmm… Usually, my healing spells aren't this strong. It seems the natural affinity of your body with light magic helped amplify the effects," he explained, stroking his chin thoughtfully as he observed me with curiosity.

Now that I reflected on it, I realized that my vulnerability to light had lessened after the incident with the holy sword, when I had wielded its power to its fullest extent.

It was difficult to discern whether this change was a positive or negative development; on one hand, it further demonstrated the influence of the goddess on my being, but on the other hand, it could potentially complicate matters.

Regardless, I resolved to be grateful for the reprieve it offered, at least for the time being.

"Sir Hero, it seems you've honed the basics quite well. Your natural talent for the sword is astounding," Libert remarked, his words carrying a tone of genuine admiration.

"Haha, compared to you, I don't really compare though," I replied modestly. Despite my progress, I knew I still paled in comparison to seasoned warriors like Libert and Tristan. The latter, especially, possessed a skill with the sword that was unparalleled—trying to measure up to him would be like comparing a glass of water to an ocean.

"That's understandable. I've been informed that you're new to the ways of the sword, yes?" Libert inquired, his gaze penetrating yet kind.

"Yes,"

"But you're not new to its principles," he observed with a small smile, his eyes holding a depth of understanding that spoke volumes.

'He saw through it, huh?' feeling a mixture of surprise and admiration for Libert's perceptiveness.

Almost everyone here believed that I was new to the sword, and I often played the role of a novice. But it seemed my natural affinity for swordsmanship couldn't escape a master like him.

"Well, my father taught me a few times…" I replied, offering a partial truth to his suspicion.

"The duke?" Libert inquired, his expression contemplative as he seemed to come to an understanding.

"I see," he said, nodding in acknowledgment.

Though it was my actual father who had taught me, not the duke, the distinction seemed inconsequential at the moment.

As Adrian.

The duke had also played a role in my training, whether out of obligation as the head of the family or as a father figure.

I couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction knowing that Libert's curiosity had been satisfied.

After all, it wouldn't be unusual for someone like me to be trained by the duke; he was my father, after all.

Despite his aloof and overbearing demeanor as a swordmaster, he had still been present in my life.

Memories of his stern voice echoed in my mind, correcting my stance or critiquing my sword swings with unwavering dedication.

"Again…"

Swing!

"Again…"

Swing!

"Again…"

"Father, I'm tired—"

"Again…!"

The memories of my childhood training sessions flooded back, each repetition a testament to my father's relentless determination to mold me into a skilled swordsman.

Back then, I couldn't even hold my own in a fight. It was only thanks to Ana and Lilliana, who tirelessly healed my wounds, that I managed to endure.

"That explains why I thought I was fighting with an experienced yet clumsy swordsman at the same time… Did you not train much with the duke?" Libert's curiosity brought me back to the present.

"Nah, I stopped after Father decided I had no talent for the sword," I admitted, a bitter edge creeping into my tone.

"That's absurd," Libert interjected, his disbelief evident.

"Well, in his eyes, I wasn't talented enough…" The memory of my father's disappointed gaze still haunted me, a constant reminder of my perceived shortcomings.

"Besides, making and studying potions was my thing to begin with," I added, attempting to lighten the mood with a forced chuckle.

As Adrian, I lacked natural talent for the sword, but I possessed intelligence and a knack for memorization.

If only my father had shown as much love, care, and attention to nurturing those abilities, perhaps I would have pursued a different path—one that led to mastery of magic rather than the sword.

"Pathetic…"

Would he have said that if I was as talented as Lilliana?

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