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With the dawn light hitting Desmond square in the face through the window, Desmond felt no slight annoyance, but they say that habits tend to be carved into the bones, so much to his chagrin; Desmond still got out of bed.

Right next to where Desmond had been lying was Kyuru, sleeping peacefully. With her cute little hands pressed together off of her chest and her body in a fetal position, Kyuru looked adorable beyond any quantifiable level.

Desmond always struggled to clear his mind to start the day, but today he found it particularly difficult to drive away from the shadows of the nightmares he had in his sleep. It wasn’t even a new scene for him; on the contrary, it was a nightmare he had had dozens of times in the past, although these had become less constant over time.

The nightmare always started the same way, with Desmond sitting next to his mother playing the piano. It was the scene of the first time Desmond was able to play the piano together with his mother, something Desmond had been practicing a lot for; it was a happy and pure memory of his childhood.

However, that beautiful part of his dream was always ephemeral, the walls around him blurred, and now only ashes remained from that piano. In front of Desmond, there was no longer the music room where he always practiced, and instead, he was in the middle of the street, surrounded by chaos.

Another familiar scene, another memory, but this was not a memory of joy or beauty, but a memory of pain and loss; this was where Desmond watched his parents die. An event that could never be reversed no matter how much Desmond wanted it to, but seeing his parents die once again was only the beginning of the nightmare.

The humiliations, the sacrifices, and the atrocities that Desmond committed in the name of survival passed before his eyes, like the most bizarre and bloody kaleidoscopes, reminding Desmond of who he really was. And that was precisely what Desmond always saw at the end of his nightmare, a reminder of who he was, that image that kept haunting him like a vengeful ghost, that damaged child in the mirror.

Taking a deep breath, Desmond pushed that image out of his mind and tried to use the exercise to clear his mood.

.....

For an hour, Desmond went from the usual warm-ups to training and practicing the fighting styles he was versed in, something that took another couple of hours.

As was routine for Desmond, dawn had advanced enough to begin the day’s tasks by the time he had finished working out. Contrary to usual, Desmond did not rest after going through the standard exercise; instead, he directed his attention to a particular object next to his bed.

The same object that Katya had been looking at when she mentioned Desmond’s pride, a thing that caused both dislike and bad memories on Desmond’s part; a sword inside its sheath.

One step, two steps, three steps; for someone who was always decisive and concise with his actions, Desmond’s efforts as he walked towards the sword were slow, restless, and hesitant. Desmond’s lack of confidence only increased when he held the sword in his hand. Usually, Desmond wouldn’t have given the matter much thought, but Katya’s sudden mention of the subject and the nightmares still fresh in Desmond’s mind made him all too aware of the matter.

Pulling his sword from its sheath, Desmond could have sworn he caught a glimpse of that same boy damaged in the reflection of the sword’s steel, but as soon as he checked again, there was nothing strange about the reflection.

Smiling with incomparable bitterness, Desmond commented, “I really need a decent break.”

Desmond didn’t even need Kyuru to point out how unstable his mental state was at the moment; Desmond could easily sense how upset he was. Desmond was having a rough time because of the lack of rest and stress or because of all the times his visit to Serefia made him question morality.

“However, there are things that are not forgotten.”

Suddenly, flashes of silver filled the room, quickly covering a three-foot radius around Desmond. A closer look reveals that these flashes were caused by the sword’s movement in Desmond’s hand, who wielded it with mastery and skill that would put the likes of Erigard to shame.

Wrist movements were subtle, changing the sword’s direction and angle moved in ingenious ways. The slashes were long and wide at times but short and precise in the next instant, with occasional thrusts blending effortlessly with the rest of the movement.

Desmond was not only trained in the art of the sword, he could well be considered a master of it, but then the question remained; Why did Desmond never use a sword?

Desmond had the opportunity to request a custom weapon for his mission to Erack, but he asked for a pair of daggers instead of a sword.

This would not be so strange, considering that Desmond was skilled in using many melee weapons. But it only took a few minutes to see Desmond’s swordsmanship to realize that it was the sword where he had the most excellent skill among all the weapons Desmond knew how to use.

However, Desmond would not use a sword, he refused to use one, and the reason for that was because, unlike the rest of the weapons Desmond used, he did not learn to use a sword in a dojo; Desmond had learned it from his father Eiden Astryd in his place.

Eiden Astryd was not only a great soldier and investigator, but just like his son, Eiden possessed an incredibly high talent for martial arts. Unlike Desmond, who owned a skill that could only be described as a bug in the system, Eiden was more normal, as he had only mastered a few fighting styles throughout his life.

Eiden Astryd was generally a reasonably normal father, although perhaps training his son from a young age to be a soldier did not fit into that category; this was primarily fueled by the outsized talent displayed by Desmond from a young age.

On the whole, Eiden was a fairly average family man, having enjoyed a whole life with a loving wife, being good friends with his neighbors, and having had a memorable time raising his son. Maybe only one thing was strange about Eiden: his obsession with swords.

In fact, Desmond never knew the reason why his father was so obsessed with swords and sword art; Desmond only remembered his father being scolded by his mother on several occasions for continuing to buy blades for his collection.

But Eiden’s obsession with swords was more than just a hobby. Eiden had mastered various sword styles, later giving birth to his own personal style, which Eiden never used in combat since it was something he had already achieved at a relatively advanced age.

From what Desmond remembered, Eiden used to talk a lot about that achievement, calling it his pride, something he later taught Desmond, who only needed a couple of years to fully master this art of the sword.

Seeing Desmond’s achievements over the years, Eiden Astryd had come to a regrettable conclusion for a man as proud as he was, and that was that his entire life’s work barely covered a couple of years of effort of his son.

From that day when Desmond completely mastered his father’s sword art, and ever since, Eiden Astryd began to call Desmond his pride. Such was the father’s nature; no matter how much Eiden was overshadowed by his son’s talent, Eiden Astryd couldn’t be happier about it.

Unfortunately, just like Desmond had given up on his mother’s music in the past, Desmond had also stopped using the sword. However, Desmond developed a psychological aversion to using the blade overtime.

That dislike had been built up over time and reflected Desmond’s dislike for himself. Accustomed to reading all kinds of legends and heroic stories for Claire, Desmond had read and seen brave and righteous heroes carrying swords in their hands to defeat evil a million times.

When she heard these stories or when she watched these heroes, Claire’s sparkling eyes were a constant reminder to Desmond of how different he was from these heroes. Desmond subconsciously began to associate swords with the weapons of heroes, and his dislike for what he would never be moved to this weapon that was once the pride of both father and son.

Even Desmond knew how ridiculous the whole thing was, but he couldn’t help himself; he could only work on putting his past traumas behind him, one step at a time.

With that in mind, Desmond continued to swing the sword, his movements becoming more fluid as time passed and the discomfort Desmond felt as he held the sword becoming easier to bear.

Watching from the bed, Kyuru lay with a tired smile on her lips as she watched Desmond train with the sword. The fairy had a hard time feeling the brutal wave of dark emotions that Desmond had begun to emanate since he had taken the sword. But now, seeing a faint smile forming on Desmond’s lips and feeling how that darkness was quickly overcome by the calm lake that was Desmond’s current mindset, Kyuru felt better and was eager to see what the day had for them.