Quietly, he closed his eyes and began to immerse himself in the thoughts of the old mage. Her name was Kaede Daizon, from the noble Daizon family in one of the neighbouring kingdoms.
The name carried weight, whispered among circles that valued both lineage and power. Grievous felt no sentiment toward her heritage or personal history. Such details were mere noise to him. He sought only what was useful.
The memories unfolded as if woven with threads of arcane knowledge and political intricacies. Most notable was the organization that Kaede worked for. It was an organization spread across the entire continent, an intricate network of influence and power.
At its pinnacle stood a council of over twenty individuals, each bearing the formidable power of a fifth-rank mage. The sheer scale of their reach fascinated Grievous. Their influence was subtle, yet absolute.
Kaede herself was a powerful mage with a high elemental focus on fire, magma, and speech magic. Fire and magma were expected from a mage of her stature, but speech magic caught Grievous's attention most.
It was a rare and misunderstood art. In his mind, speech magic was not some trivial novelty. It was a magic with a principled basis and tremendous power. Yet, the world had dismissed it as trash magic.
There were no offensive or defensive spells crafted from it, no blazing infernos or impenetrable shields. The existing spells were weak, primarily used to transmit orders directly to the minds of weaker subordinates within the organization.
Grievous found that dismissal baffling. To him, speech magic was simply a much weaker type of his own devastating ability. At its current strength, it seemed basic, almost rudimentary, like a child's first step toward something far greater. He imagined its potential. Speech magic was like a whispered command in a storm, subtle yet unstoppable under the right hands.
'If only I could find a user of speech magic or someone with a natural affinity for it,' he thought, 'I would experiment endlessly. There must be a foundation here, a seed from which a new form of power could grow.'
His mind wandered through possibilities, each more enticing than the last. Speech magic could be shaped, honed, and amplified.
It could be the key to bypassing certain barriers that brute elemental force could not breach. Grievous hummed softly, a low sound of intrigue and approval.
Another fragment of memory caught his attention, unique creatures that could be used as living batteries. The idea was as strange as it was fascinating. These creatures housed Shen inside their stomachs.
A magician could pour their own Shen into one of these creatures, storing it safely. When their own reserves ran low, they could draw the stored energy back, replenishing themselves as if they had double the amount of Shen.
'This is ingenious,' Grievous mused. 'A perfect backup system for magicians in the heat of battle or during prolonged spellcasting.'
According to the memories, the head of the Zegneif noble family possessed one such creature. Grievous's lips twisted into a sarcastic smirk. "The things that I have to do seem to just get more. Shouldn't it get less?" he muttered under his breath.
It was an absurd situation. His list of tasks and challenges grew longer with every passing moment, even though he had barely scratched the surface of what lay before him. This was only the beginning. The weight of future struggles pressed down on him, yet he felt no despair. Instead, a cold resolve settled in his chest.
Slowly, he continued exploring the memories, sifting through layers of arcane knowledge. His attention fixed on specific memories about magical mathematics. He began analyzing them carefully, adding their lessons to the theoretical understanding the original body's owner had possessed.
Magical mathematics was deceptively simple at first glance. It relied on basic mathematical equations to form and shape spiritual energy into the physical form of spells.
This framework explained why beginner spells were weak and easy to comprehend. A simple understanding of magical mathematics yielded only first-rank spells, predictable and limited.
Yet, the deeper a mage's comprehension of their element, the more profound their understanding of magical mathematics became.
This deeper mastery unlocked the ability to create complex and superior spells, whether in scale, effect, or subtlety. The relationship between element and mathematics was symbiotic.
Mastery of magical mathematics was divided into ranks, mirroring the ranks of mages themselves.
However, it was not bound by the limitations of magical rank. A fifth-rank mage might possess less mathematical understanding than a third-rank mage, whose theoretical grasp could surpass raw power. This distinction fascinated Grievous. It hinted at a dimension of magic seldom appreciated by most.
As for Grievous's current mastery, he was still at the first advanced rank. He saw clearly that his grasp of magical mathematics was adequate but incomplete.
What truly eluded him was a profound comprehension of his elements themselves. He understood the equations and formulas, but the essence of the elements, their nature beyond theory, still a mystery.
'Comprehension without study is impossible,' he realized. 'I must delve deeper. Theory alone will not carry me forward.'
The realization stirred a rare flicker of humility within him. Knowledge was not a simple prize to be seized. It demanded patience, dedication, and an openness to discovery. For all his confidence, Grievous knew this was a journey with no shortcuts.
His mind returned to Kaede Daizon. Despite her noble status and powerful magic, she was but a single thread in the vast tapestry of this continent's arcane landscape. Yet, through her memories, Grievous glimpsed the intricate patterns that connected mages, noble houses, and ancient organizations. Each detail was a puzzle piece, essential to understanding the whole.
He opened his eyes slowly, the shadows in the room shifting with the fading afternoon light.
As for Grievous at the time, he did not yet need to create his own spells, those intricate spells meant for combat and complicated tasks.
He decided to postpone studying the elements until a later time. He understood well that comprehending them now would not help him craft stronger spells than the ones he already had. The rank restriction on casting spells was something that many magicians found abhorrent. It was like having a gun pointed at an unarmed enemy who was trying to kill you, but lacking the fingers to pull the trigger.
Only a handful of spells could be cast by magicians below their rank. These exceptions consumed very little Shen compared to other spells of the same rank. So, with enough Shen, one could use them.
Of course, there were anomalies, too rare and mostly dangerous exceptions, who could wield powerful spells beyond their rank. But every time they did, their souls suffered deathly wounds, some so severe they might take centuries, even hundreds of years, to recover. For that reason, unless it was a life-or-death fight, such reckless casting was avoided.
Grievous let out a quiet sigh as he watched the sunlight slowly seep through the open window and balcony. It hastened to announce the dawning of the morning, the end of the night's darkness with its shining stars and bright moon. The transition felt like a ritual, ancient and steady, a reminder of time's unyielding march.
He rose and stepped onto the balcony, the cool morning air brushing against his skin. Calmly, he looked out into the distance. The sun was sliding softly across the sky, the familiar palette of twilight and early morning hues blending like the brushstrokes of a long-forgotten artist. It was a scene that belonged to no one and everyone, timeless and serene.
Grievous said nothing, his lips sealed in quiet contemplation. The calm and simple beauty of the moment wrapped around him like a comforting cloak.
"The feeling of the sun on the skin is truly a wonderful feeling," he murmured. "I truly missed this while I was locked away in my room, weak, unable to touch it."
He lifted his hand into the warm sunlight, letting the gentle heat seep through the fresh morning air.
"It feels nice, indeed."
He lingered on the balcony for a long time, not speaking, simply drinking in the peaceful view. His thoughts drifted like the clouds above, unrushed.
Half an hour passed before he finally turned back inside. He moved quietly, almost reverently, and dressed in his formal clothes. His mind was already racing ahead, calculating risks and outcomes.
'Edmund will undoubtedly be strong,' he thought, 'if my belief about who he is turns out correct. But that strength will also be dangerous to me if it surpasses acceptable limits. I must keep a full rank difference between us at all times. That is my only protection in case he is one of those people. At least, if nothing else happens.'
With resolve, Grievous approached Edmund's room and knocked softly.
There was no response.
He opened the door quietly and stepped inside.
The boy lay curled in a tight ball, sleeping deeply as if he hadn't slept for centuries. From his nostrils escaped gentle snores, simple, unguarded breaths that betrayed a rare moment of peace.
'He sleeps like this because he is used to waking from pain,' Grievous thought. 'His mother must have hit him hard enough to teach him to protect the places where the beating hurt most. Those memories might have faded from his conscious mind, but his muscle memory hasn't forgotten. He is a little lump of misery, yet somehow he escaped death.'
The thought settled heavily on him.
'Any child born to a prostitute faces two grim possibilities most of the time. One: the brothel where their mother works will use them as a tool for those who crave such corruption until they die, whether from disease or at the hands of those who relieve their desires through them. Two: they will be sold as slaves, forced to die from overwork and starvation. Both fates are almost invariably brutal.'
Grievous's gaze softened as he watched Edmund's chest rise and fall steadily.
'Those who survive these horrors become mere remnants of human beings, shattered mentally and spiritually. They rarely become anything more than tools in the hands of masters or continue down paths deemed immoral by society. Even in my modern world, there were countless such cases in second and third-world countries.'
He knelt beside the boy and reached out gently, brushing a stray lock of hair from Edmund's forehead. The skin was pale but warm, fragile like thin porcelain.
'But you… you are still here. You fought through it all. That means your luck isn't simple at all.'
'If you survive this, I will make sure you survive the next.'
The room was silent except for the boy's steady breathing and the faint creak of the old wooden floor beneath his knees.
Outside, the world woke slowly, the sun climbing higher, promising a new day. A day where perhaps, fate might finally tilt in Edmund's favor.
Grievous remained there for a long moment, gathering his thoughts, weighing decisions.
The morning light spilled brighter through the window, casting long shadows that stretched across the room like silent witnesses to the past and the future, and most importantly... the present.