Chapter 160: Chapter: 160 My name is Raven Jivan.

“Intuition: Life.”

The moment Raven spoke those words, the old man’s single eye widened so much it looked like it might burst out of its socket.

“What…?” he muttered, his voice shaking.

Raven did not hear him.

He could not even see him properly.

The world in front of Raven was blurry, washed in light and shadow.

His body felt empty, as if one more breath might be his last.

But one thing was clear.

His heart.

Thum.

Thum.

Thum.

Thum.

Thum.

Each beat was strong. Each beat was loud. It felt like his heart was shouting that he was still alive.

The sound grew faster. Stronger.

Thum Thum Thum Thum Thum.

His sword began to glow.

Not with fire this time, but with light.

Seven colors slowly wrapped around the blade, blending and separating, shining like a living rainbow.

The air around the sword trembled, as if it could not bear the pressure.

Raven stood there, unmoving.

His mind felt distant, like he was half awake and half dreaming.

The shape in front of him no longer looked like the one-eyed old man.

For a moment, he saw Manoj.

Standing there. Smiling softly.

Raven’s lips moved.

“This is my intuition,” he said quietly. “The one I gained just now.”

The old man staggered back without meaning to.

His instincts screamed at him.

Danger.

Death.

The sword in Raven’s hand felt wrong. No, it felt terrifying.

It carried a force that made the old man’s skin crawl, a force that seemed to touch his very life.

“This… this isn’t possible…” the old man whispered, his grip on his sword tightening.

Raven slowly raised his glowing blade.

The colors pulsed with the rhythm of his heart.

Life answering life.

Raven took one step forward and raised his sword, as if he was about to show a simple swing.

“This is the sword of life,” he said calmly.

“It is filled with life. And this life is me.”

The old man’s breath caught in his throat.

He tried to retreat, but there was nowhere to go.

The long battle had forced him back again and again, and now his back was pressed tightly against the wall.

Raven took another step.

“After I swing this sword,” he said, “I will die.”

There was no fear in his voice. No regret. No hesitation.

Another step.

“My early life was full of hardship,” Raven continued softly. “But even so… it was a good life.”

He closed his eyes.

Then he opened them again.

This time, the image of Manoj was gone.

Standing before him was the one-eyed old man.

Terrified.

The old man’s face had gone pale. His mind was in chaos. He did not know what to do.

He turned and tried to climb the wall with shaking hands, scraping his fingers against stone.

Raven took another step.

“Today,” he said, “with this life, I repay my mother… for giving birth to me.”

Another step.

“Today, with this life, I repay the wind… for helping me grow.”

Another step.

“Today, with this life, I repay the mother river… for quenching my thirst.”

Another step.

“Today, with this life, I repay the duke… for giving me my purpose.”

The rainbow light around his sword burned brighter, pulsing with his heartbeat.

Raven raised the sword high.

His voice dropped to a whisper, but it shook the battlefield.

“Today, I, Raven, use this life to repay my motherland… for giving me such a beautiful life.”

He took his final step forward.

“Life,” he said.

Then his eyes sharpened.

“For life.”

The old man lost all reason.

There was nowhere left to run.

His legs gave out, and he fell to his knees with a heavy thud.

“Please… please have mercy,” he begged, his voice broken. “Please have mercy.”

Raven did not answer.

He kept walking.

The old man’s hands trembled as he begged again and again.

At the same time, his fingers slowly slipped to his waist. A small dagger appeared in his palm, hidden behind his hand.

“Please… have mercy…” he cried, lowering his head.

Raven stepped closer.

Closer.

When Raven was only a few inches away, the old man’s face twisted.

“Die!!” he roared.

He thrust the dagger forward with all his remaining strength.

But it never reached its target.

Chik.

A soft sound echoed.

“Huh…?” the one-eyed old man muttered.

Something invisible had already passed through him.

A strange cold spread across his body.

His vision shook.

Then he realized….

His body was separating.

The glow around Raven’s sword faded away, the seven colors disappearing like dying embers.

Raven stood still and whispered, almost to himself,

“With this… I have repaid my life.”

The old man stared at him in disbelief.

Then his body split apart.

One half fell to the left.

The other fell to the right.

Thud.

Thud.

The sound echoed across the battlefield.

The one-eyed old man had been cut clean in two.

There was no blood.

Not a single drop.

Everything, flesh, strength, life itself, had been drained dry, swallowed by Raven’s sword.

Raven remained standing, silent, his blade dull and lifeless.

Looking at the sword, Raven sighed.

“Everyone must die one day,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “And I… I am going to die too.”

He lifted his head and looked at the sky.

Dark clouds covered it. Heavy. Low. It looked like snow would fall soon.

“Today,” Raven whispered, “my life is ending.”

A thought rose in his mind.

Was this worth all the suffering?

Another voice answered from deep within him.

What is life without suffering?

Raven tried to answer it.

“Everyone must suffer,” he thought.

“Suffering is the path to understanding.”

“One must endure hardship to learn what it means to live.”

His breathing was slow now.

“My suffering was not because heaven favored or hated me,” he continued in his heart.

“This is simply life.”

A faint smile appeared on his lips.

“And I lived it,” he said. “I lived it while enduring everything.”

His body felt lighter.

“For all my life,” Raven murmured, “I had no surname.”

He tightened his grip on the sword one last time.

“Today, I give myself one.”

He looked straight ahead, his eyes calm and clear.

“I am Raven,” he declared softly.

“I lived this life.”

“And from this moment on… I shall be called Raven Jivan.”[1]

He closed his eyes as the cold intensified. Just as he started to sink deep into unconsciousness, he heard a voice.

“Sir Raven…”

His eyes snapped open.

The moment his eyes opened, they widened in surprise before returning to their usual calmness.

A gentle, unconscious smile appeared on his face.

Standing before him was a woman as bright as the morning sun. Her presence felt warm, soft, and real.

“Erza…” he murmured.

All this time, no matter how hard he had tried, he had never been able to recall her face. It had always slipped away like a fading dream.

But now…..

Her face was clear.

Vivid.

Like a beautiful painting etched into his soul.

Raven looked at her and smiled, a calm and peaceful smile.

“For the last time,” he said softly, “remember me as Raven Jivan.”

Erza’s lips trembled.

She gave a bitter smile and nodded, then slowly walked toward him.

She raised her hand and gently touched his cheek.

“I will remember you,” she said quietly, “for my entire life.”

With those words, her figure began to fade.

Light scattered like mist in the air.

Raven remained standing, smiling.

As he finally closed his eyes, his breath grew still.

And then….

It vanished.

This man was once an orphan, taken in by the Duke of the Indrath Empire.

He struggled his entire life with one goal, to repay the man who had given him a home, a name, and a purpose.

In this final battle, he was granted the title of Vice General.

Yet the price was cruel. His entire battalion was annihilated. His lifelong friend, Manoj, died on that battlefield.

Even so, Raven did not give up.

Alone, he fought on.

He cut down thirty thousand Trampling soldiers by himself and slew their commander, giving his army the chance to recover from despair and shock.

And when death finally reached him, he did not fall.

Countless arrows pierced his body. Blood soaked his armor. Still, he remained standing.

Peaceful.

As the first snowflakes drifted down and settled on his unmoving form, the battlefield grew silent.

To his enemies, he would forever be a nightmare.

To his allies, he would be an idol.

And to history, one truth would never change….

Whenever the word sacrifice was spoken, his name would be remembered as its meaning.

Because he was Raven.

Raven Jivan.

A man who fought until death claimed him, and even then, refused to fall.

On that silent battlefield, only his soul had departed.

His body still stood.

But Raven Jivan… was no more.

__________

[1The word jivan (जीवन) originates from Sanskrit and means life. In simple terms, Raven’s surname, Jivan, literally signifies life.

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