"Damn it," I muttered, using the last of my breath. Looking up into the starry night, listening as countless mana-made arrows whistled past me, one struck my leg. As the arrow dissipated, rather than a sizzling sear I usually felt, a surge of cryogen ushered my leg throughout, rendering my very nerves frozen.

"You still have 100 more years before you can surpass me, boy," The dragon roared as it flew past me.

Time passed. Although it was only a few minutes, to me, it felt like ages. My mind felt blank, and my vision grew dimmer; noises became muddy. Finally, I can be at peace.

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'Why is heaven so bright?' Opening my eyes, I spotted what I perceived to be a doctor?

"Congratulations, you have a healthy boy." Said the doctor.

Although she wasn't the most ordinary-looking doctor, she wasn't out of the realm of being one either. When I finally got the chance to look up, I found my "mother" cradling me in her arms. As I felt my cheeks being pulled apart, looking slightly to my left, I found my "father" and his monstrous hands on my face.

Looking back up at my mother, an irritated expression formed on her face. "Oliver! Archer was born just a second ago, and you're already trying to hurt him!" She angrily shouted at him.

"Calm down, Sasha. I was only trying to play with him. I wouldn't hurt my son, would I?" He refuted, looking at me for an answer. Staring back with a blank expression, I then slowly started to fake a cry.

"Look at what you've done, and you made him cry." She retorted

"It's common for a baby to cry when first coming out of the womb." The doctor said, trying to sympathize with my father.

As the days swiftly flew by, before I had noticed, a month had passed in front of my eyes. During that time, my parents had fought a great mass of arguments over which profession I would embark on. Not even leaving me my own choice. Oliver wanted me to become a swordsman, while Sasha had wanted me to become a mage. Although I wasn't precisely a swordsman or mage in my previous life, their skillsets had been beneficial throughout my years.

Being a continental, just a step away from world-class, mercenary assassin, I had been adept in daggers and short swords rather than a longsword or broadsword. Mana, however, was necessary for anyone to function correctly without being degraded in my old world. Being adept in 3 out of 4 elements also aided in spreading my name, but the world recognized me for my physical abilities, not my mana capabilities. But, despite obtaining all the fame and glory I once had, I still managed to die full of regrets.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Watching my father train his broadsword through the window for what felt like hours, he had almost endless energy; he never showed any signs of fatigue. Swinging, slashing, cutting through the air, you could almost see the air splitting apart.

"Daddy is training hard out there, isn't he." My mother spoke to me in a low voice.

"Yeah," I replied.

"Your daddy used to be an A-class adventurer back when he was in the Luminous guild."

"Wow," I responded, trying to act surprised. I totally wasn't a continental class mercenary.

During broad daylight hours, I have a strict schedule consisting of eating, sleeping, learning, and free time. Although it was hard to sleep during the day, given I am mentally 32 years old. On the other hand, education and free time are currently at the center of my attention. Most of the books my mother read me were made for actual babies, and the small number of books that taught me about this world didn't suffice too much.

As I kept "growing" in my parent's eyes, years flew in no time, and here we are already celebrating my 3rd birthday.

"Happy birthday Archer." My parents sang in unison.

"Thank you," I said, trying to put up a happy expression. 'Can we just get this over with? Where is my gift.'

"Archer, close your eyes and put your hands out."

As I conceded to my father's command, feeling a handle, my hands plummeted to the ground.

Sasha yelled at him. "Just what kind of sword did you give him?!"

"Did I give him the wrong sword? Oopsies." He replied, looking a bit hindered at my mother.

I slowly opened my eyes. My father grabbed the sword out of my hands and replaced it with a much lighter, wooden sword.

"Happy birthday, Archer. I bought you a wooden training sword." He said. "The other sword is for when you're older, hehe."

"Thank you," I replied. 'Damn, this frail body can't even hold a real sword yet. I guess I have some work to do.'

As my mother interrupted my train of thought, I heard her say, "Archer, I know how much you love reading. Here, I've bought you some picture books."

Not wanting to read those picture books, I replied, "Can I use the library instead?"

My mother, with an almost dumbfounded expression, responded, "Ummm, I'll allow it but only one hour a day. I don't want you to get immersed in reading."

Satisfied with the answer, I gave her a -"thank you, mama."

She immediately ran and hugged me tightly, sapping the air out of my lungs.

'When did I ask to die twice...?'

My father pried my mother away from me.

"Look who's trying to hurt our son now," He said with a smirk on his face.

'Oh no, not again.' I already knew what was about to unfold.

My mother, already fuming, responded, "How can I hurt my son by hugging him?! You're the one teaching him how to use a sword. Is that not already dangerous in itself?"

My father, raising his voice a little hoarse, shouted, "How is teaching Archer how to use a sword dangerous? It's for his own protection."

'There they go again, arguing in front of their own son. Do they not have any decency?'