In times of war, abstract concepts like "right" or "wrong" don't truly exist — they're defined
by the winning side. After all, the losers are left with nothing but humiliation and
punishment, regardless of whether they started the conflict or not.
Trust and credibility are privileges granted only to the victors.
So truth — that much-praised justice — is shaped by those who win, no matter how many innocents had to be sacrificed for it.
In the end, "right" is defined by those who hold power.
The reasons for war can be wildly varied and irrational — from supposedly justifiable
causes like defending borders, to absurd ones like cultural or racial differences.
In this case, it began as a "justified" war. After all, it's gods versus demons — the literal
extremes of what we understand as "good versus evil." So it must be a righteous war for the good of all, right? But the gods are merely a race known as the Prismatics, named for a certain physical trait. And the demons? They're humans. So, is this war still righteous?
In the end, there are no righteous wars — wars are just wars. Period.
In the year 2018 A.D., according to the solar calendar, a boy was born with white hair and radiant eyes — a half-breed — in a world filled with countless races and powers. Born of a love so pure it saw no race, he was conceived impure.
The child of a goddess who gave her heart to a demon, without a thought for what might come of it. Born of a forbidden union, hidden in the deepest secrecy — thus came the boy — whose mere existence was enough to plunge this world, untouched by civil war for centuries, into a full-scale conflict. The gods, alongside their vassals and worshippers, against the demons and their few allies.
A cursed child, born with traits that surpassed even the standard of the Prismatics and exceeded those of the Superior Prismatics. Chosen by fate to rule over the gods — born as the Prismatic King — a phenomenon that occurs only once in many centuries. But the gods would never accept a half-breed as their king. And as if impurity weren't enough, he was also a demon's spawn.
Just days after his birth — and his mother's death during labor — the first true clash of this war erupted. It would later be remembered as the Great Sacred War.
A place that never knows peace, where sirens blare constantly, warning people to clear the launch pads and platforms. Where wounded and dead soldiers arrive without pause, even as more and more men are sent to the front lines.
This is the main military base of the demon army — or the human army, if you prefer.
A chaotic, deafening place, filled with the sounds of weapon tests, explosions from large and mid-scale magic, shouting, endless arguments, and a shared hatred aimed at a single individual.
It was in this traumatic environment that the boy — born of the forbidden union between goddess and demon — grew up. Everyone reminded him, constantly, that the war was his fault. That every death, every race wiped out in the first year of the war, was on his hands. His burden alone.
"This is yours, Soldier S," said a man in military uniform, hurling a box aggressively toward what appeared to be a child.
"Today marks your first official mission — of many — in this war that shows no sign of ending. Not that I think it'll end anytime soon."
The boy said nothing. He simply crouched and picked up the box that had struck him and fallen to the ground. Inside, he found a strange helmet — completely translucent and solid.
Beneath it lay a piece of paper — a pamphlet — explaining that despite its appearance, this was a "Soul Artifact," crafted using the latest advances in Techmage, the science that fused technology and magic to achieve optimal results.
After reading what seemed to be an instruction manual, the boy did what was required: biting the tip of his right thumb with his left canine, he drew two parallel circles along an imaginary horizontal line — spaced just enough to fit a third circle between them — and a long stroke from the center of those circles down to the base of the mask.
Once the steps — resembling a ritual — were completed, the once translucent helmet began to glow with a golden light, just like the blood used to draw the symbols. When the glow faded, a new form emerged — a mask.
"Heh, so that's what it looks like, huh?" said the man in uniform.
"Fine. Head to Barracks Three. You've got three minutes to get there before your mission begins with the squad you'll be joining."
"Now get out of my sight, brat." Those were the last words spoken to the boy, as the man waved him off dismissively.
The boy ran as fast as he could to the designated location. Everyone he passed stared at him with hatred and contempt. And so he arrived at Barracks Three, where his squad awaited.
All six members were already there.
"Finally arrived, brat," said a man with a deep voice; his face was hidden behind a pigeon mask — white, with a sharply orange beak.
"Join the formation and put on your mask already. That face of yours only draws unnecessary attention, brat."
The boy nodded, complying with the order to wear his mask. But despite agreeing, when he reached toward his head to put it on, he realized the mask was no longer in his hands — which sent him into a panic. He looked around in every direction, desperate to find where he might've dropped it, but saw nothing.
"Oh, spare me. Why the hell did they send us a damn kid who doesn't even know what he's doing? What is this, it's still the first year of war and we're already out of soldiers?" said a woman's voice — foul-mouthed, yet calm and sweet in tone.
"Hey, brat, were you already wearing those earrings before, idiot? All Soul Artifacts take on a unique standby form, and judging by the magical power and mana absorption those damn earrings are giving off, I'm sure that's your artifact."
"I don't get why it's a pair of earrings. Mine takes a similar form in standby mode — but it's just one, not a pair," she added, letting out a low huff of disapproval.
The boy listened to her explanation, which felt more like a formal complaint. He touched his ears and realized he was indeed wearing earrings he'd never seen before.
He turned his gaze back to the woman, his face full of doubt — clearly, he had no idea what to do.
"What? Don't look at me with those damn eyes. Gives me chills," she snapped, catching the boy's expression.
"Come on, An. Don't be like that. Despite appearances, this poor kid is still just a newborn, isn't he? Even if he looks like he's twelve, he's still just a one-year-old baby. The spark of this war is nothing but an infant — pathetic," said another woman, her voice firm but feminine, responding to An's attitude.
"Look, little one. My artifact becomes this lovely hairpin, see?" She pulled back her long red hair and showed him a butterfly-shaped pin, mostly silver with ruby accents.
"Beautiful, right? Soul Artifacts in standby mode don't always resemble their active form. But to use them, you just have to want it. Hmm, how do I explain…"
"Oh, I know. When you want to walk, you just think about going somewhere, or simply move your leg, right? It's the same with artifacts — once you've placed your blood on them, they bind to your soul instantly. That's where the name comes from. Anyway, just want it, and the artifact will do what you desire."
"Like this," she finished, as her artifact emitted a soft glow and vanished, taking her hair with it and covering her face with a tabby cat mask. Like a helmet, it concealed her entire head.
The boy, now understanding, closed his eyes and focused. He thought, "What do I think when I move my arm...? I just want to, right? What drives that movement anyway?"
He didn't know how, but he knew he had to succeed — and he did. He felt a brief warmth on his ears, where the earrings were attached. Opening his eyes, he confirmed he was now wearing the mask.
"Oh, another bird for the team. Well, at least you figured out how to use your artifact. Now we're no longer forced to look at that horrid face and those bizarre eyes of yours," said the man in the pigeon mask. He glanced around, then checked the watch on his wrist — it was time to leave. Any delay would mean punishment for insubordination.
"Whoa, time to go. Here, we all use codenames based on our masks. Just call us that... Welcome to the special squad Zoo, little monster — I mean, Raven."
They boarded a heavily armored military vehicle — far larger than any typical one — powered by magic stones stored near a small magical reactor where the engine block should've been. And so they departed toward the mission site.
Upon arrival, Pigeon tossed a black cloak at the boy, saying it was the squad's uniform — even though everyone else wore gray, not black. Still, the boy was expected to wear it.
"Ah, finally here. Well, we're just here to observe. In the end, you'll be doing everything, Raven," said Pigeon, stretching after hours seated in the vehicle.
"See that structure ahead? You're to destroy it and deal with the enemies inside — alone, of course. We're just here to watch you this time," he concluded, clearly the squad leader, pointing to a building several leagues away.
"Now go."
The boy, now acting under the codename Raven, simply nodded and headed toward the designated structure. They had parked atop a hill hundreds of meters above sea level, while the target was a building nestled in a forest clearing at sea level.
"Hey, why the hell did they send us this cursed kid, huh? Are we babysitting a damn monster now?"
"And what's all this crap about 'he'll do it alone'? If they wanted him dead, they should've just given us a direct order instead of staging a fake mission death. Damn, I'd love to kill that little bastard myself. What the hell is that bunch of assholes in high command thinking?"
"Fuck this, I've got better things to do than play nanny," said the woman with the sweet voice and filthy mouth, wearing a caramel-toned dog mask, clearly frustrated as she kicked one of the squad's armored vehicle tires.
"Yeah, indeed. In theory, it would be more practical to get rid of him that way. However, there's no way to do it without splitting the army in two. After all, despite everything, there are still those who argue he should be treated like a normal child," said a man with a deep, commanding voice, wearing a mask shaped like an owl, predominantly white and brown. After a long sigh, he continued: "It's truly hard to understand how anyone could see that monster as a normal child. I mean, come on — one year old and already has the build of a twelve-year-old. Not just physically, but mentally too. That thing is an abomination, plain and simple."
"Silence."
"We're not here for a friendly gathering or whatever. We're on a mission. And stop saying things that could get you punished — or worse, silenced. Especially you, Bitch," ordered Pigeon, cutting off the pointless discussion among his subordinates.
Now just meters from the massive structure, the young Raven scanned the area. Though he was concealing his presence, he found it strange that no enemies had appeared yet. Not only that — there was no sound at all, as if no one was there.
"Okay, this is weird. Silence, aside from the forest creatures, and no sign of anyone within several kilometers. Was the intel wrong? Or was it leaked?"
"Wouldn't be the first time I ran into spies, but whatever. I doubt they'd send me out without verifying the intel first. After all, in this one year of existence, I've never been allowed to leave my cell — I mean, my room — except for special occasions."
"But still, there's a sign that people were here — or at least used to be. And since my mission is to bring down this massive building, they'll probably show up once I start, right?" thought Raven, standing before the towering structure. He let out a long, deep sigh.
"Well, time to play the role of living weapon. The sooner I finish here, the sooner I can go back to my 'happy' little cubicle," he muttered with irony and gloom.
Having made his decision, the boy approached the building. He stretched out his right arm and placed his hand against the wall, releasing one final sigh.
Then, the wind around him began to shift, forming a kind of vortex. This change was caused by the mana he was channeling — the first time in his life he'd used magic through a Soul Artifact. He couldn't fully control it.
When the small atmospheric disturbance ended, a massive surge of mana burst from his hand into the building. Like a bomb, it exploded a large portion of the structure. Yet it remained standing, supported only by a few pillars on the far side — and thanks to the enemies inside sensing the mana shift, they managed to use magic to raise earthen columns, holding the building up and minimizing casualties.
"Wow, didn't expect the building to still be standing. But yeah, that's on me for not wanting to kick up too much dust. I also didn't want to destroy the surrounding vegetation."
"It's such a beautiful forest, and I can sense so many creatures in it. Would've been a shame if I'd gone all out," Raven said, heading toward the opposite side — toward the enemies.
The men who had escaped the debris were now desperately trying to rescue those less fortunate. They were doing everything they could to save their allies, hoping they wouldn't become victims of the cruel enemy who had attacked them.
Amid the cries of survivors calling out names of the missing, hoping to dig them out alive, the sound of footsteps began to echo — growing louder with each step.
The sound came from a figure dressed entirely in black, except for his face. He wore a mask split down the middle — white on the left, black on the right — with an unidentifiable golden symbol on the forehead.
"Hey, please, I ask you to surrender."
"I'm truly sorry for those injured in the explosion. Honestly, I didn't think anyone was here. That's why I did things the way I did. If I'd known, I would've come straight in to talk and try to convince you to surrender peacefully."
"Now, please, follow me. My companions are watching from a hill to the north. I just need to take you to them," Raven said, his voice sweet and calm, as if trying his hardest to resolve everything with words alone.
"Hahaha, a foolish boy who looks more like a child with that skinny little body actually thinks he can come here and act tough?" retorted a towering man with a massive build. He was a lupine Ser-Feral, with brown fur.
"A worm who serves the demons like you should just shut up and be purged by the gods — and by us, their faithful."
"MEN, MOVE!"
"Show this Servant of Demons the fate that awaits those who defy the natural laws of our world — the fate of sinners. DEATH TO HERETICS!" the man roared, rallying his troops.
After his cry, everyone stopped tending to the wounded and turned their full attention to Raven. They all charged at him.
One man took the lead, wielding a sword imbued with flame magic. Raven, in response, drew his firearm and fired several shots, aiming at non-lethal areas. However, the man dodged every bullet — even melting some of the projectiles mid-air.
The man and the young Raven had closed the distance — the sword could now reach its target. The man launched a precise strike toward the boy, who, in response, made his cloak flutter dramatically as he swiftly drew a sword from his right hip, having tossed his firearm aside.
"Hey! Why fight when I offered a peaceful path? DO YOU REALLY WANT TO KILL THAT BADLY!?" shouted the young Raven, locked in a clash of strength, blade against blade. "Come on, just surrender so we don't have to keep fighting, please."
Just as he finished speaking, he sensed something approaching at high speed. Instinctively, he teleported a few meters to the left, narrowly dodging a magical attack — a wind blade, sharper than any steel and nearly invisible to the eye. Unfortunately, his sudden movement left him exposed. The man he had been clashing swords with launched a fire attack, setting his cloak ablaze.
"Ah! Hot, hot, hot — damn it, why didn't they make this fireproof?!" the boy cursed, flailing on the ground to extinguish the flames.
"Whew, finally out. Wait… what's that smell? Burnt feathers? Fur? My cloak wouldn't smoke that much… and I'm not a chicken, damn it."
Turning around, the boy saw the swordsman lying on the ground — struck by the wind blade he had dodged. But that wasn't all. The beautiful forest he had tried so hard to protect when destroying the building with minimal damage… was now engulfed in flames.
The wind and fire attacks had collided, amplifying each other and redirecting the blast. The forest burned as far as the eye could see. All life there was lost.
The young Raven was devastated — more shaken than he had ever felt in his short existence, for reasons he couldn't even explain.
"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE FIGHTING ME, NOT KILLING INNOCENT CREATURES WHO HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS, YOU BASTARDS!" he screamed in fury — a fury that, to his enemies, made no sense. After all, in war, everyone suffers eventually.
"IS THAT WHAT YOUR DAMN GODS TELL YOU TO DO?! YOU SICK FREAKS!"
He was clearly out of control. He looked around, lost, unsure of what to do. His enemies kept attacking, and he had to dodge everything while trying to figure out how to save the forest.
The young Raven was desperate — so much so that his mind went blank, entering a state of shock.
Though he had been sent to the battlefield, he had never truly been trained. That was one of the main reasons people called him things like "abomination," "monster," and worse. In that moment, he instinctively flipped a switch inside himself — a switch that takes years, even decades, to master in combat: he activated Soul Expansion.
Soul Expansion, a commonly known technique, was never meant for combat or support. If anything, it was a technique of control and domination — establishing a domain where only the strongest reign, and only their chosen may act (if permitted).
Each person is born with a soul level, and changing it is absurdly difficult — though not impossible.
A weak soul can never remain free under the Soul Expansion of a stronger one. Nor can a weak soul imprison a strong one.
There are also the so-called Royal Souls — individuals born to lead, naturally superior. In rare cases, a powerful soul might subjugate a Royal Soul in a soul clash, but usually, only a stronger Royal Soul can suppress another.
Unfortunately for everyone present, the boy born to reign over gods — whose throne was denied and usurped — would never lose when it came to magical power, mana, and soul strength, even if his physical body couldn't match.
Unaware of what he was doing, the boy expanded his soul naturally. Every individual within several leagues was frozen in place, with him as the center. No soul could move without his permission. Even his Zoo squad companions, far away, were now subject to his will.
Seeing his enemies stop attacking — without knowing why — he cast a spell capable of altering the climate and summoning rain. Though it extinguished the forest fire, the cost was immense. That spell, when used, typically required over a hundred elite mages.
Even with his overwhelming power, the young Raven lacked the knowledge and practice to wield it. His own strength was a double-edged sword. The Soul Expansion had already pushed him to the limit.His power became uncontrollable for a few brief moments — and he lost consciousness.
When he finally awoke, the entire perimeter — once a ruined building surrounded by a vibrant forest — was now nothing but a crater, filled with remnants of magical energy and mana. Mana and power he knew all too well. After all, they were his own.
"That smell… rust… something burning… My hands are red for some reason… Wait, is that iron scent coming from my hands? Strange… I'm still alive, even after collapsing in front of my enemy."
These were the first thoughts that crossed the young Raven's mind as he opened his eyes and regained consciousness.
He was kneeling, legs spread, in the middle of one of many oddly colored puddles that had formed — created by the mixture of blood staining the ground, rainwater blending with soil into mud, and dissolved ash.
"Strange… no one around. Did they just give up?" he wondered, lifting his head and scanning the area.
"Wait… my mana levels are way lower than when I blacked out… Don't tell me…"
As the truth dawned on him, he froze in shock.
Beneath his mask, his eyes widened in horror and disgust at the scene of destruction etched into his mind.
He raised his hands — normally pale and porcelain-like — and saw that the red staining them was a mix of enemy blood and other impurities. His soul and mind screamed in silent despair.
His revulsion was so intense that he vomited — without even having time to remove his mask.
Minutes later, once he managed to return to a semblance of 'normal,' he removed the mask and cleaned it with hot water using magic, inside and out, restoring its original black-and-white appearance — instead of the deep crimson it had become. He also washed himself, though his hands trembled intermittently.
When the young Raven rejoined the Zoo squad, still stunned, with a bitter taste in his mouth and his stomach churning, no one said a word. The entire team feared him — feared what he might do if they spoke. Even though he didn't fully understand what he had done, they had witnessed everything, unable to move or even blink under the grip of his Soul Expansion.
He simply entered the vehicle and sat down, head bowed, in silence. The return trip — once filled with chatter among the squad while Raven remained quiet — was now marked only by the sound of wind rushing through the open windows.
"My fault. Entirely mine. Only mine… This war… the millions of deaths in just these twelve months… I thought I could be a normal human, even with my power and unnatural growth. But I was just closing my eyes to reality. I'm not human — I'm a monster, as they always said. No… comparing monsters to me is an insult to them. At least they have a reason to exist, right? It really would've been better if I'd never existed."
Lost in thought, the boy stared at his trembling hands — clean, yet still dripping with imaginary blood in his eyes. A stream of crimson flowing from his palms to the floor. Inside, he let out a silent laugh of suffering.
"I'm not okay, I'm not okay, I'm not okay, I'm not okay, I'm not okay, I'm not okay…" He kept repeating it internally, torturing himself with the mantra.
And so, on his first official mission, the young Raven broke — after finally peeking over the wall of uncertainty and hope, and facing reality unfiltered.
Upon arrival at the base, each member exited the armored vehicle and went their separate ways. They all removed their masks, revealing expressions of deep relief — a clear sign of how suffocating it was to wear those Soul Artifacts. But the young Raven was the only one who kept his mask on, silently heading to his room, where he locked himself in and wouldn't leave unless summoned by his superiors.
✧✧✧
Pigeon, meanwhile, made his way to a grand building adorned with the symbol of the illustrious Silva Family on all four exterior walls — a display of power and fame, a clear expression of ego.
Upon entering, he took the elevator to the top floor, which housed only one room: the Human Army High Council's conference chamber. There, the highest-ranking commanders convened — a place inaccessible to nearly everyone. Even the janitors were heavily monitored, practically imprisoned, due to the extreme importance of the discussions held within.
"I, Brigadier General Frederico Marcoco da Costa, currently operating under the codename Pigeon, have come to report the latest mission assigned to me by Your Excellency, Marshal Diogo Silva. I request permission to enter and fulfill my duties," declared Frederico, standing at attention before the lone door on the top floor of the opulent building.
As he finished speaking — without breaking his stance — the massive double doors before him opened, splitting the Silva Family crest that adorned them, just as it did throughout the building. Now, the same crest was visible again — but in colossal proportions.
"Enter, General Frederico," responded a deep voice. Few words, yet they carried immense power and pressure.
As Frederico passed through the doors, they shut immediately behind him. He stood at attention before an imposing table, at the head of which sat the owner of that powerful voice — and the only other person in the room.
"I, Brigadier General Frederico Marcoco da Costa, salute Your Excellency, Marshal Diogo Silva. Long life to the Silva Family," he declared proudly and fervently, standing at attention before his superior.
"At ease, General Frederico. Proceed with the report. We both have much to do," replied the Marshal coldly.
"Thank you for your continued leadership, sir. Proceeding with the report: the mission went smoothly as always, sir. We successfully purged the enemy troops who had snuck into our lands like rats, sir. However, regarding the true core of the mission… there are complications, sir. Oliver—"
Frederico's report was interrupted by the sound of a violent punch — the Marshal had slammed his fist onto the table, glaring with fury.
"You dare speak that name in my presence? You actually planned to say it!" the Marshal demanded, his voice and expression filled with rage at the mere mention.
"I apologize, sir. The individual placed under my supervision displayed power far beyond what the researchers had indicated, sir. Not only that, but a soul force that no member of Team Zoo could withstand. And as if that weren't terrifying enough, the individual resembled more a wild beast than a soldier during the mission, sir," Frederico concluded.
"I suspected there would be some discrepancy between the researchers' data and reality. On a scale of 1 to 10, how great was the difference, General?" asked the Marshal, his tone and expression once again cold and composed.
"Well… honestly, may I request that the scale be extended, sir? I have a recording of the battle. I believe it would be best for Your Excellency to judge for yourself," Frederico replied, his voice trembling at the memory.
"A power strong enough to shake you — a decorated hero — that's intriguing. Very well, show me the recording."
Frederico then pulled a translucent amber-colored stone from the left pocket of his trousers and placed it on the floor, pointing at it with his right hand. He began channeling a bit of mana into the stone.
"I don't believe the Memory Stone captured everything, as it cracked from the mana he released — which reached us even though we were leagues away. Truly a monster," said Frederico, making final adjustments to show his superior what words could not convey.
When the Memory Stone began transmitting the few remaining images, they were so shocking and unimaginable that Marshal Silva dropped the cup he was holding — his beloved coffee.
Despite his many years on the battlefield under the Silva Family banner — countless battles spanning decades before the current war — the Marshal had never witnessed anything as terrifying as that individual in a frenzy. A power that should not exist. And precisely because of that, it was uncontrollable — an aberration.
"Brigadier General Frederico Marcoco da Costa, destroy that stone and burn the report before this causes further internal complications… We must handle this with utmost secrecy," said the Marshal, responding to what he had just witnessed. His eyes were deep, and it was clear he was struggling to maintain his cold, detached tone.
After a few moments of silence, allowing him to think, he continued:
"From this moment on, his danger classification will be reassigned. The entire research team will undergo investigation. As for Team Zoo, led by Brigadier General Frederico Marcoco da Costa, they will be subjected to a full battery of physical, psychological, and magical examinations — to determine whether prolonged exposure to massive mana levels, or even soul subjugation, has affected them. That is all. Dismissed."
As he finished speaking, he had already risen and was heading toward a door behind his chair — which resembled more a throne than a seat.
Obeying his superior's order, General Frederico picked up the Memory Stone and crushed it with tremendous force, reducing it to dust and fragments with his right hand. With his left, he held and burned the report documents.
"Well, things are going to get complicated from here on out. But for now… what awaits me is a well-earned rest, so I won't waste time worrying about it. Not like there's anything I can do anyway…" said Frederico as he left the room.
"Just hope nothing falls back on me when I return…"
Following the report and discussion between Pigeon and his superior, the Marshal, the guards surrounding the young Raven's quarters were increased — not only in number, but in power.
The boy, for his part, did not leave his room even once in the following months. No one had forbidden him or issued any orders — it was a choice he made himself: isolation.
Fifteen months passed since the young Raven's voluntary reclusion. One morning, a soldier in military uniform approached the door of his quarters.
"Your presence is urgently requested in Special Planning Room Three. You have five minutes to report. I repeat: your presence is urgently requested in Special Planning Room Three. You have five minutes to report."
That was the only thing the soldier — clearly of low rank — said after knocking on the door, before turning and walking away.
With a deep sigh, the young man rose from his bed. He looked at his hand before clenching his fist abruptly.
"All right… time to work, isn't it? Haha…"
In his thoughts, he tried to console himself. Though his eyes were fixed on his hands, his gaze was directed somewhere far away — perhaps a memory, perhaps a premonition.
Arriving at the designated location within the allotted time, the young man immediately stood at attention, awaiting orders.
"You've finally arrived. As you were told, this is an urgent matter. A supply convoy headed to the village we're assisting was attacked en route — and based on the distress signal we received, the escort has no chance of winning this fight. You'll go as reinforcement. His Excellency, Marshal Silva, ordered that you be sent alone, believing you'll be more than enough. So don't disappoint His Excellency. I'll give you the rest of the details. Step up to the table," said a man clearly acting under the Marshal's orders, proudly displaying the Silva Family crest over his heart.
After a few minutes of concise — yet precise — explanation to save as much time as possible, the young man was dispatched to fulfill the mission assigned to him.
He flew alone, using magic, for five days and four nights at maximum speed, until he reached the site where the convoy had been ambushed — where the escort team had been fighting relentlessly all that time.
Upon arrival, he was greeted with an image that would remain etched in his mind for years.
The escort team originally consisted of 426 soldiers — a regiment trained specifically for this type of mission. But that didn't mean they were weak; quite the opposite. Due to the extreme importance the army placed on supply transport — one of the requirements demanded by their allies, and a safeguard against betrayal or abandonment in this brutal war — all soldiers were elites.
These transport soldiers were far superior to many units deployed directly on the front lines. But even with such strength, of the 426 elite soldiers, only 13 remained alive when the young man arrived. All the others lay on the ground, mingled with the bodies of the enemies who had fallen alongside them.
"Well… I guess our reinforcement didn't make it in time. Men, it's been an honor serving with you. But I think this time… it's over."
"Haha, the captain's getting sentimental before dying, huh?"
"Captain, if you wanted to confess your love, you should've told that woman you like — not us."
"Yeah, true. In the end, I'll die unmarried. Ironic… I dodged marriage for 43 years, and now I regret it. Ahaha."
"Too late now, captain. I know it's cliché, but… if there's another life, I'd want to fight by your side again."
"Agreed. Like I said: it's been an honor serving with all of you. But honestly… if I could choose, I'd rather we never had to fight. Ahahaha."
"Hehe, captain… In the end, the snake smoked us too… Heheheheh."
The few surviving soldiers, even in the face of imminent death, spoke no curses or bitterness. Despite the desperate situation, each wore a sincere, radiant smile, while silent tears streamed down their faces.
Some sang one last time, others took a final sip or drag with the last of their strength. But all seemed at peace with how they were leaving — carrying natural regrets, yes, but accepting them.
None of the soldiers had any strength left to fight. Their bullets were gone, their blades shattered, and their mana depleted. They had truly given everything to fulfill their roles and duties.
As they prepared to die, their enemies launched a combined spell — a massive sphere of destructive energy. Though they had faced something similar before — at the tragic cost of sacrifice — now they had no strength left. This was the end.
As the sphere neared the soldier at the front — who couldn't even move to delay death for a moment — he simply opened his arms, ready to embrace it. Eyes closed, tears falling, a smile on his face — carrying emotions too complex for words.
After a few seconds with his eyes shut, the soldier, surprised to still be conscious, decided to open them.
In front of him, the massive sphere of pure energy launched by the enemy was gone.
Instead — the only thing before him was an unknown figure. A small-statured being, cloaked in a long cape that fluttered faintly. He didn't have broad shoulders — but it was that back that had shielded him.
The long-awaited reinforcement had finally arrived.
"Hey. I just don't understand you… Honestly, I think it's impossible to understand. It makes no sense. Are you really happy to die here, in vain? All you'd get is a posthumous honor and a condolence letter to your families. Do you truly think it's worth dying with such a smile, as if it were something grand?" asked the young Raven — the reinforcement.
After his brief speech, he looked around. At the soldiers' faces. He noticed their expressions were confused by his words — unsure whether to see him as an ally or simply as someone who disrespected the memory of the fallen. So he decided there was no point in continuing that line of thought.
"Fine. Doesn't matter. You're free, after all…" he whispered, before shouting with force: "EVERYONE LISTEN. FROM THIS MOMENT ON, YOU MUST RETREAT. ANYONE WHO REFUSES TO FOLLOW MY ORDERS — REGARDLESS OF WHICH SIDE THEY'RE ON — WILL DIE. THIS IS YOUR ONLY WARNING."
The silence that followed was broken by murmurs of indignation. The allies began arguing among themselves, trying to figure out who the idiot was that the base had sent as reinforcement. How could someone speak with such arrogance after so many losses?
As for the enemies, they simply laughed and mocked him in the moments that followed.
"What's this? Judging by your voice, you might actually be on the battlefield, kid? Got any hair down there yet? Haha!" mocked one of the enemies. He stood at the front, and from his pompous speech and attire, it was clear he was their leader.
"Wait, sir… that appearance… isn't he the one they call the 'Messenger of Death'? The one the base warned us about?" asked one of the enemy soldiers, trembling as he pointed toward the young man standing before them.
"You must be imagining things. It's been over a year since the so-called 'Messenger of Death' appeared. After all that massacre and destruction, he was never seen again. Despite the resemblance, I highly doubt someone with that level of power would be sent on a mission like this instead of to the front lines," the man replied.
"Well then… looks like you've made your choice," murmured the young Raven, before launching himself toward his enemies with the calm of someone who already knew the outcome.
At the start, the group that attacked the supply convoy had a massive numerical advantage — 1,200 against 426. After days of conflict, that number had been reduced. Now, 837 enemies remained.
That was the number the young man faced.
That was the number he handled alone.
Whether it was the exhaustion from days of battle or simply an overwhelming difference in power, the young man emerged with only a few extremely minor injuries after a five-and-a-half-hour battle.
The surviving allied soldiers, who witnessed it all, didn't know what expressions or words to use. They all reached the same conclusion: it could only be called a miracle. It was that night, under the moonlight, that the "Messenger of the Gods" was born — a symbol of hope, a beacon of victory, a hero and a living legend.
After completing his second mission, the young man was never again left uncalled for more than a week. He became a symbol of resistance and a target of admiration, even though no one knew who hid behind the raven mask.
And so the days passed, and days became months, and months turned into years. The deeds of an unknown individual wearing a raven mask multiplied in rhythm and scale beyond comparison. Wherever he arrived, the tide of battle shifted, and victory was assured — regardless of the disadvantage.
Thus was born one of the living legends of the Great Sacred War. His name and identity remained unknown, but he was both exalted and feared. To the enemies, the Messenger of Death. To the allies, the Messenger of the Gods. In the end, merely two sides of the same coin.