Corvus would forever remember that night of the swirling blizzard.

The roaring flames devouring his home, the cold corpses of his parents, and his own left arm brutally torn away and right eye gouged out by a demonic beast. The scent of blood mingled with the acrid stench of burning wood, pasting itself thickly inside his throat; no matter how he coughed, he could never clear it. In those fading moments on the brink of death from blood loss, he saw only the silhouette of a figure clad in a grey robe, and countless metallic runes dancing through the air, falling upon him like snow—cold, yet bearing a faint, searing heat.

When he opened his eyes again, he was not in heaven. He was in a subterranean workshop thick with the odors of formalin, engine oil, and ancient parchment. A swaying oil lamp hung from the ceiling, its dim, yellow light flickering as if it might die out at any moment.

"Awake? Brat, you're tougher than I thought."

The speaker sat beside the workbench, elegantly wiping a silver engraving knife. His movements were unhurried, as though the bandage-wrapped boy before him were nothing more than an ordinary commission. His name was Raven, known to the world as the "Ouroboros Magician." It was he who had rescued Corvus from the fangs of the monster, and using forbidden alchemy, forcibly grafted a dark-gold prosthetic arm and a crystal eye into the ten-year-old boy's body.

"Why... why did you save me?" The boy did not look up. His voice was as faint as a mosquito's buzz, yet laced with a vigilance and wariness unsuited to his age—like a wounded pup with a broken leg, still baring its teeth.

"I have a daughter." The man averted his gaze, letting out a self-deprecating chuckle. "About your age."

"Though... we don't meet often. It's been a long time since I last heard her call me 'Dad'." The man's tone grew faint, carrying a trace of either regret or helplessness, though the corner of his eye twitched slightly. "But when you get old, your heart softens a bit. Seeing a kid around her age about to die right in front of me, my hands and feet just moved on their own. I couldn't bear to watch."

Saying this, his gaze locked directly onto the boy’s silhouette, which bore a striking resemblance to an old acquaintance. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down, and a massive wave of suppressed, years-old emotion surged within his eyes. His voice grew deep and raspy:

"Besides, your father was..."

The words reached the tip of his tongue, but the man's voice abruptly cut short. That sentence, poised to unveil a heavy secret, hung suspended in midair. The atmosphere instantly turned profoundly solemn, and even the flame of the oil lamp seemed to freeze for a split second.

Corvus instinctively held his breath, leaning forward involuntarily, his eyes wide with shock and a desperate thirst for answers. "You knew my father? You two were—"

Looking at the boy's desperate eagerness, the man closed his eyes wearily. When he opened them again, the turbulent emotions beneath had been forcefully suppressed, replaced once more by his usual composure. He waved his hand and placed a piece of freshly warmed ration before the boy. The steam from the dry food condensed into a wisp of white smoke in the chilly basement.

"Forget it. I'll tell you later," the man said flatly, no longer looking at the boy. "Eat up first. Live on, and you will naturally find the answer."

After that night, Corvus learned two things: pain does not stop because you cry out, and secrets do not open because you question them.

He could only survive, until the day he dug the answers out of the darkness with his own hands.

The first three months were a living hell for Corvus.

"AAAAAHHHH—!"

Every day, blood-curdling screams echoed from the underground workshop. The rejection reaction between the magical artifact and human flesh felt like tens of thousands of venomous insects gnawing at his bone marrow. Every breath felt like swallowing glowing red iron shavings.

"Crying out is useless, Corvus." Raven stood by his side, his gaze cold and devoid of any warmth. "If you can't even endure this bit of pain, the mana inside you will run wild and blow your internal organs to pieces. Remember the night your parents died. Turn your rage into your fuel!"

Raven did not just adopt Corvus; he subjected him to a training regimen that bordered on cruelty.

"Listen up. The prosthetic limb and the crystal eye are not your tools; they are now your organs." Raven smacked the back of Corvus's head—not heavily, but enough to make his vision swim with stars.

Every dawn, Corvus had to sit on the freezing stone floor, attempting to channel the faint mana within his body into that heavy, dark-gold prosthetic arm. Initially, the moment the mana flowed into the arm, it would spiral out of control and dissipate, causing the metal joints to shake violently and shower him with sparks that scorched his shoulder blade.

"Close your eyes. Guide it with your breathing," Raven instructed from behind, his voice deep like the chanting of an ancient spell.

It took Corvus a full half-year before he could finally stabilize and condense the mana in the palm of his prosthetic hand, successfully sharing the vision of the crystal eye with Claude, the magic raven soaring through the sky. By then, his entire body had been battered and bruised by the rampaging mana. Overlapping burn marks, both old and new, layered upon his arms and back like a map drawn with records of failure.

Monsters would not stand still waiting for an anti-demon cannon to charge. To compensate for the balance issues caused by losing his left arm, Raven subjected him to extreme combat and swordsmanship training.

"Your left side is a blind spot, and your left hand is heavier than your right! This is both a weakness and your strongest weapon!"

Wielding a wooden sword, Raven ruthlessly struck Corvus down to the ground time and time again. Broken ribs and a bruised face became daily routines. Every time Corvus fell, Raven would never reach out to help. He would just stand there, coldly waiting for the boy to crawl back up on his own. He taught Corvus how to utilize the weight of the mechanical left arm to perform high-speed spinning slashes, and how to wield a heavy steel sword with a single hand.

"Combat isn't for looking good. It's for tearing the opponent's throat out in the shortest time possible." Raven's words were deeply seared into Corvus's combat instincts, like a scar carved into his bones.

Two years later, the twelve-year-old Corvus embarked on his first monster-hunting journey alongside Raven.

It was a "Ghoul" incident that occurred in a remote village. Raven did not strike personally. Instead, he sat on a tree branch smoking a pipe, watching the battlefield below with a cold eye as smoke rings drifted slowly into the night.

"Go, Corvus. Prove that you aren't just a cripple who wastes my rations."

Gripping his steel sword, his right eye flashing with an icy blue light, Corvus engaged in a desperate struggle against three ghouls in the dark night. His movements were agile and ferocious, the edge of his blade precisely severing the monsters' hamstrings. When the last ghoul pinned him down, its fangs mere centimeters from his neck, he slammed his left arm upward, jamming the dark-gold prosthetic hand directly into the monster's maw!

"Anti-Demon Cannon—Fire!"

Boom! The monster's head instantly exploded.

Covered in blood, Corvus dragged himself up from the ground. Though he gasped heavily for air, that crystal eye burned with a thirst for vengeance—that was not the gaze a young boy should have; it resembled a young wolf that had finally tasted blood.

Raven leaped down from the tree. Looking at the child he had raised with his own hands, a satisfied smile finally touched the corner of his mouth.

From that day on, this eccentric duo roamed the dark corners of the Empire. Raven handled the investigations and planning, while Corvus was the sharpest blade. Together, they slaughtered countless high-ranking monsters lurking within human society.

Until three years ago, when Raven suddenly vanished without a trace while pursuing a high-ranking humanoid monster organization. He left behind only an empty agency and Claude, the magic raven that had always followed them.

Back to reality.

Looking at Claude perched upon his prosthetic hand, the last words Raven had spoken before his disappearance surfaced in Corvus's mind once more. Those words were like a key, inserted into the deepest lock of his heart, never yet turned:

"Teacher... I will find you," Corvus whispered, his voice dissolving into the thick fog, almost completely lost even to his own ears.