Thud!

The one-eyed old man landed heavily on the ground. The earth cracked beneath his feet. Dust and green gas rose around him.

His face was twisted with rage.

His single eye was bloodshot, filled with a deep desire to kill.

Thick veins bulged around it, and those veins had turned green. The poison was already inside him.

His skin, though fierce just moments ago, was turning pale second by second.

But none of that mattered to Raven.

Raven was in worse shape.

Arrows were stuck all over his body. Blood soaked his armor.

His legs trembled, barely holding him up.

Yet his grin never faded.

He slowly raised his sword.

With a sharp motion, he sliced through the arrows one by one, cutting off the shafts close to his body.

He did not pull them out. He knew if he did, he would bleed out before the fight even started.

Blood still poured down his body.

But Raven stood straight.

He dragged his sword along the ground as he took a step forward.

The metal scraped against stone, making a harsh sound in the silent battlefield.

"Come," he said, his voice hoarse but full of madness.

"Old fart… let me see what a swordmaster can really do."

The one-eyed old man growled.

His aura exploded outward.

The ground shook as pressure filled the air. Even poisoned, even weakened, his power was terrifying.

Raven took a step forward, his grin sharp and wild.

"I heard young master Vivian killed a swordmaster when he was only at fifth star," he said.

He paused, his grin widening into open mockery. "If I remember right… he also killed Kafrik Trampling. Isn't that true?"

The memory flashed through Raven's mind.

When the news had spread, it had shaken the whole land.

A fifth star killing a swordmaster. People had called it a miracle. A legend in the making.

Back then, Raven had felt proud.

He had thought, I will serve him one day.

He never imagined his own life would end like this.

Raven let out a slow breath.

A bitter smile appeared on his face.

But inside that smile, there was madness.

"Then let me see," he said softly, his eyes burning, "if I can also defeat a swordmaster."

Boom!

Raven kicked off the ground.

The earth cracked and broke as he rushed forward.

His body moved faster than before, lighter, as if something unseen was pushing him ahead.

He raised his sword high.

Then he brought it down with everything he had left.

Clang!

The one-eyed old man barely blocked it. The impact shook his arms.

Sparks burst out as their swords collided.

His feet dug into the ground as he was forced back half a step.

Pain shot through his arms.

His bones screamed.

His teeth ground together as he struggled to hold the strike.

"You bastard!" the old man roared. "I WILL KILL YOU!"

He tried to push forward—

Then his body suddenly weakened.

His breath hitched. His muscles felt heavy. The poison surged through his veins.

But he was no fool.

Years of battle saved him.

He quickly pulled back, retreating several steps, his sword held tight, his single eye locked onto Raven.

The green veins around his eye pulsed.

The fight had truly begun.

As the old man retreated, Raven did not give him even a breath of space.

He rushed forward and shouted, "Fire!"

Flames burst out along his sword. Red fire wrapped around the blade, burning and twisting in the air.

Raven swung his sword sideways.

Boom!

Boom!

Boom!

The ground cracked as the two collided again.

Clang!

Clang!

Clang!

Raven and the one-eyed old man exchanged blow after blow.

Swords crashed together again and again, sparks flying in every direction.

Neither of them showed any sign of yielding.

But their bodies told a different story.

Both were breathing hard. Their chests rose and fell violently.

Blood spilled from fresh wounds on their arms, shoulders, and sides.

Each clash made their movements slower, heavier.

Still, they fought on.

As Raven continued to strike, his eyes slowly lost focus.

The battlefield faded.

Memories surfaced.

He remembered the first time he had ever held a sword.

He was young then. He was not alone.

Many others stood beside him, all of them nervous, all of them holding swords for the first time.

And the man who gave them those swords was Duke Vined.

Raven could still hear his voice, calm and steady.

"A sword," the duke had said, "or any weapon, is nothing more than a tool made to kill."

The memory felt clear, as if it were happening again.

"But," Duke Vined continued, "what that weapon becomes depends on the one who holds it. If a protector holds a sword to protect others, then the sword becomes good."

Raven's grip tightened.

"If someone holds a sword only to kill," the duke had said, "then it becomes evil."

Clang!

Raven blocked another strike, sparks bursting in front of his eyes.

"So remember this," the duke's voice echoed in his mind. "It is not the weapon that decides. It is you."

Boom!

Raven forced the old man back with a heavy strike.

Blood dripped from his arm.

His vision shook.

Yet his grip on the sword became firmer.

He lifted his head, fire still burning on the blade.

His eyes sharpened.

The memory changed.

It was a few months later, after he had met Manoj for the first time.

Raven remembered that day clearly.

He had been drenched in sweat after training when he noticed a boy about his age standing nearby.

The boy kept looking around, nervous and unsure, as if he did not belong there.

Raven walked up to him and held out his hand with a wide grin.

"Are you new here?"

The boy hesitated, then took his hand.

Raven laughed and said, "Let's become knights when we grow up. Let's repay the duke."

He had said it so easily back then, without thinking too deeply.

Manoj did not answer.

But a few days later, when they were resting after training, Manoj spoke again.

"Can we really repay the duke?" he asked quietly.

That question stayed with Raven.

He had no answer.

For a long time, it felt like a weight on his chest.

Then, not long after that, the duke's son was born.

Vivian.

A once-in-a-generation genius.

The whole duchy had celebrated. People spoke of the child with awe and hope.

That was when Raven finally found his answer.

He remembered turning to Manoj and saying, "We can't truly repay the duke."

Manoj had looked at him in silence.

"But," Raven continued, his eyes firm, "we can serve him. We can serve his son for our entire lives."

He clenched his fist as he spoke.

"That way, even if we can't repay everything, we can repay at least half."

Raven smiled back then, full of belief.

"So we'll become strong," he had said.

"Strong enough to strike down every enemy that stands in their way."

The memory slowly faded.

The sound of clashing swords returned.

Raven's blade trembled in his hand.

But his resolve did not.

As those memories surfaced, Raven's mind shifted again.

It returned to the moment he stood before Manoj's dying body.

Manoj had been lying there, covered in blood, his breath weak and uneven. And yet… he had smiled.

"I'm sorry, Raven," Manoj had said softly. "I don't think I was able to repay the duke."

At that time, Raven had been too broken to understand those words.

His mind had been numb. His heart had been tearing itself apart.

What he remembered most were Manoj's final words.

"We'll but for now… goodbye."

Tears slid down Raven's face as the memory played again.

His lifelong friend.

The one who had trained with him, laughed with him, suffered with him.

The one who had shared every joy, every anger, every hatred.

He was gone.

And in his final moments, he had felt regret.

Raven's shoulders trembled.

Tears fell onto the battlefield as he whispered, "You said you couldn't repay the duke…"

His voice cracked.

"No," Raven murmured, gripping his sword tighter. "You already repaid your part, buddy."

Clang!!

Raven suddenly stepped in and brought his sword down with full force.

Clang!

The impact was brutal.

Sparks exploded between their blades as the one-eyed old man was driven backward.

His feet scraped across the ground as he staggered, barely keeping his balance.

His arm went numb from the shock, and pain shot up to his shoulder.

He took two unsteady steps back, breathing hard.

The pressure from Raven's strike had shaken him to the core.

"And now," Raven muttered, his voice low and firm, "it's my turn to repay the duke."

He closed his eyes.

For a brief moment, the world went silent.

His breathing slowed.

His tears stopped.

Then—

His eyes snapped open.

They were clear.

Clear like still water.

The madness was gone. The pain was still there, but it no longer controlled him. In its place was something calm. Something alive.

Raven opened his mouth.

Only two words came out.

"Intuition: Life."

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