My Family in the Novel?

Chapter 222: Father and Son interlude

He knew a day like this would come...

One way or another, he anticipated that the hatred simmering in Adrian's eyes would reach its boiling point, crashing down upon him like a tidal wave.

No matter how formidable his own abilities were, he understood that some conflicts were beyond his control.

While he could part mountains and ascend to the heavens with his sword, he couldn't hope to quell the raging sea of Adrian's wrath.

'Even I can't split the whole ocean'

Initially, he had approached Adrian with a sense of curiosity, a desire to ascertain whether the young man standing before him was truly the same Adrian he once knew.

Doubts had begun to gnaw at him after the incident at the mansion, casting a shadow of uncertainty over Adrian's identity.

Yet, as he gazed into those familiar eyes, he realized his mistake.

The tears shimmering in Adrian's gaze were a stark reminder of the depth of emotion that still lingered within him, just as they had in the past.

The hatred burning in Adrian's eyes was unmistakable, a blazing fire fueled by years of pain and resentment.

And now, as expected, Adrian stood before him, sword drawn and pointed menacingly in his direction.

His gaze lingered on the golden sword that materialized in Adrian's hands, its radiant glow a testament to Adrian's status as the chosen hero.

There was no denying it—he was indeed the hero, destined to wield the legendary blade that now gleamed in his grasp.

As he braced himself for the inevitable confrontation, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret.

Regret for the rift that had formed between them, regret for the pain that Adrian had endured, and regret for the role he had played in it all.

The duke couldn't deny the twinge of shame that coursed through him, a bitter reminder of his own failings and shortcomings.

Regret gnawed at him like a relentless beast, clawing at the edges of his conscience.

He knew he had no right to feel remorse now, not after everything that had transpired, but still, it lingered within him like a persistent ghost.

As Adrian's divine energy pulsed around him, surpassing even the mightiest of templars he had faced, the duke couldn't help but marvel at the sheer magnitude of power emanating from the young man before him.

In terms of quality, Adrian's divine aura rivaled even that of the saintess herself—a formidable testament to his status as the chosen hero.

Then, without warning, Adrian surged forward, closing the distance between them in the blink of an eye. His sword flashed with lethal intent, aimed directly at the duke's neck.

To the untrained eye, Adrian moved like a blur, his movements almost too fast to track.

But to a seasoned sword master like the duke, Adrian's speed was nothing more than a leisurely stroll. Dodging or blocking the incoming strike would be child's play.

Yet, as their eyes locked in a moment of intense scrutiny, the duke found himself inexplicably drawn into the depths of Adrian's gaze.

In that fleeting instant, he saw not just the fury and determination burning within Adrian's eyes, but also a haunting reflection of his own past.

The faces of Adrian and his mother intertwined in his mind, their features blending together in a poignant tableau of sorrow and longing.

Would she have worn the same expression as Adrian now, if she were still by his side?

The thought lingered in the recesses of the duke's mind, a poignant reminder of the bonds that had been broken and the wounds that had yet to heal.

'Looks like I truly failed you, Selah,' the duke muttered under his breath, a pang of guilt weighing heavily on his heart as he closed his eyes, bracing himself for whatever fate awaited him.

But his moment of resignation was abruptly interrupted by Adrian's sharp voice, cutting through the silence like a knife.

"What are you doing?" Adrian snarled; his anger palpable in the air.

Opening his eyes, the duke was met with Adrian's furious gaze once again. Although Adrian's sword had not yet reached him, the sensation of searing pain in his neck persisted, as if the very air around him had turned scalding hot.

Glancing down, the duke's heart sank as he witnessed the radiant heat emanating from the holy sword, its golden glow casting an eerie light in the dimness of the room.

Despite its divine origins, the holy sword seemed to possess a consciousness of its own, responding to the emotions of its wielder with uncanny precision.

Did it recognize the wielder's sadness and anger, reacting accordingly to inflict pain and punishment? The duke couldn't help but marvel at the complexity of the holy sword's nature.

They said that the holy sword couldn't harm humanity, but as the heat continued to sear his skin, the duke couldn't help but wonder if that was indeed the truth.

If the hero had the right to judge and punish a single human being, Adrian would undoubtedly have all the justifications he needed—especially for someone like the duke.

Complex emotions swirled in Adrian's eyes, betraying the turmoil that raged within him. The duke tried to steel himself against the onslaught of emotions, to maintain a façade of indifference, but deep down, he knew that pretending not to care would be a futile endeavor.

Involuntarily, a question escaped the duke's lips, hanging in the air like a heavy fog.

"Do you hate me, Adrian?"

It was a question he already knew the answer to, yet he couldn't help but seek confirmation.

A part of him yearned to bring this confrontation to a swift conclusion, but another part—a part that he scarcely acknowledged—craved a final, definitive answer.

From Adrian himself, he wanted to hear it—clear and unequivocal. Never once had Adrian openly expressed hatred towards him.

Even as a timid child, Adrian had never uttered a word of animosity.

Now, as the hero, the irony was not lost on the duke. Something had changed within Adrian since that fateful day at the mansion, something he couldn't quite pinpoint.

But beneath the exterior, at the core of his being, Adrian remained the same.

The duke needed closure, a final resolution to the lingering doubts and uncertainties that plagued his mind.

He needed Adrian to vocalize his feelings, to extinguish the embers of self-loathing that smoldered within him, and to finally release the last vestiges of the memory of Siela being Adrian.

But Adrian's answer halted the duke's tumultuous emotions in their tracks.

"No... no, I don't," Adrian's words rang out with a mix of intensity, confusion, and reluctance, yet despite the conflicting emotions, they rang true.

A hollow laugh threatened to escape the duke's lips at the absurdity of it all.

After everything he had done, after all the pain and suffering he had inflicted, Adrian was claiming he didn't hate him? It didn't make any sense.

But as someone who could easily discern falsehoods, the sincerity in Adrian's voice was undeniable.

From Adrian's perspective, the duke realized, everything he had done must have been nothing but a confusing jumble of meaningless actions.

For a child who had yearned for love, who had been neglected and kept in the dark about the truths of his past, it must have been like trying to piece together a shattered puzzle with missing pieces.

Adrian couldn't hate him because, in his eyes, there was nothing to truly hate—just a series of disjointed events that he couldn't fully comprehend.

As the weight of realization settled over him, the duke couldn't help but feel a pang of self-pity.

'I've become pathetic over the years' he thought bitterly, a bitter taste of regret lingering on his tongue.

But even in the midst of his self-condemnation, a flicker of hope ignited within him—a glimmer of redemption that perhaps, just perhaps, it wasn't too late to make amends and set things right.

"Adrian," the duke finally spoke, his voice weighted with a sense of resolve.

He knew what needed to be done.

"I won't say I'm sorry... that is a fact that I want you to live with," he asserted firmly, knowing that apologies could never fully erase the pain of the past.

"What happened in the past has already happened. I can't change it, but I will try to be better," he added, a glimmer of determination shining in his eyes. He knew change wouldn't come easy, but he was willing to make the effort.

As Adrian took his seat, the duke couldn't help but notice the confusion etched on his face, a silent reflection of the tumultuous emotions swirling within him.

He understood that discussing such matters without the proper context must be perplexing for Adrian, especially given the sudden shift in their dynamic.

"I will refrain from mentioning your mother from now on," the duke promised solemnly, recognizing the pain that the mere mention of her name brought to Adrian.

It was a vow he knew he might struggle to uphold, but he was willing to try, if only to spare Adrian further anguish.

"Adrian Vulter Tellus," he called out Adrian's full name, seeking to capture his attention amidst the chaos of conflicting emotions.

With a deliberate motion, he presented a ring before Adrian, its intricate design glinting in the dim light of the room. It was a token of significance.

"That is Siena's…" Adrian answered, his voice carrying a hint of recognition.

The duke couldn't help but be surprised at Adrian's correct identification of the ring's origin. He had expected Adrian to have long forgotten such details, but evidently, the significance of the ring had remained ingrained in his memory.

"This was the last thing Siena, your aunt, left me with before she left you with me," the duke explained, his gaze fixed upon the ring as if it held the answers to all of life's mysteries. The red gem at its center seemed to shimmer with a life of its own, casting a warm glow in the dimness of the room.

"It is proof, a token that you belong to my house," he continued, his words measured and deliberate.

"Right now, your very blood is being bound tight into this ring, binding you to the family of Tellus. I gave it to you when you were young, knowing full well you wouldn't know its meaning. And I was right, as you just chose to neglect it."

He couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret as he reflected on his decision to entrust the ring to a young Adrian.

In his naivety, he had hoped that Adrian would seize the opportunity to carve out his own destiny, free from the burdensome weight of expectation that he had placed upon him.

But in hindsight, it had been too much for a child to bear alone.

The ring wasn't just a symbol of Adrian's connection to the Tellus family; it held the power to set him free from its constraints.

"To think he forgot his aunt's last protection," the duke mused silently to himself, a tinge of regret coloring his thoughts.

The weight of his decision bore down on him heavily, a reminder of the burdens he had unwittingly placed upon Adrian's young shoulders.

Suddenly, a surge of determination coursed through him, and his hands clenched into fists, crackling with a surge of electricity. With a decisive motion, he shattered the connection between Adrian and the magical stone that bound him to the family, severing the ties that had bound him for so long.

"Adrian Vulter Tellus, from this moment forth, you are no longer a Tellus," his voice rang out, firm and unwavering. "I hereby excommunicate you from the family... You are free now."

Adrian appeared bewildered by the sudden turn of events, but the duke couldn't help but feel a sense of relief wash over him.

Though Adrian may not understand the full implications of his newfound freedom now, the duke was confident that he would come to appreciate it in time. After all, a father's duty transcended even the emperor's orders.

For the first time in his life, the duke felt the weight of fatherhood bearing down on him, an unfamiliar sensation that left him feeling strangely awkward.

But he knew that severing Adrian's ties to the family was the right decision, one that would pave the way for a brighter future for them both.

Letting go of Adrian now brought with it a myriad of benefits.

Politically, it might not have been the most advantageous move—after all, the emperor had sent him here with the explicit purpose of bringing Adrian back to the empire.

But on a personal level, the duke knew that severing Adrian's ties to the family was the right decision.

As he informed Adrian of his remaining duties in the holy nation before bidding him farewell, the duke felt a sense of closure wash over him.

He had done all that he could for now, and it was time to give Adrian the space he needed to come to terms with his newfound freedom.

Exiting the room, the duke felt a weight lift off his shoulders, a sense of relief flooding through him.

Despite the uncertainty that lay ahead, he was confident that he had made the right choice—for Adrian, for himself, and for their future.