After some time, Grievous said, "Now let's get heavier."
Edmund nodded as he approached Grievous, who raised two dumbbells, each half a kilogram, and handed them to the child.
"Start slowly and calmly," Grievous instructed. "Do not rush the results."
Edmund nodded again, his small hands closing tightly around the cold metal. He began to mirror the motions his father had just demonstrated, lifting the weights with careful deliberation.
The room was quiet except for the faint clink of metal and Edmund's measured breathing. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, casting warm patterns on the polished wooden floor.
Grievous watched closely. 'Fortunately, I was trained in these things in my youth,' he thought, recalling the long hours he had spent at a gym near his childhood home, balancing strength with discipline. 'That time has served me well.'
His gaze softened as he observed Edmund's focused expression. The boy's determination was earnest, though his arms trembled slightly with the unfamiliar effort.
Minutes slipped by unnoticed. The rhythm of the exercise settled into a steady cadence, the same slow lifts, controlled descents.
Half an hour passed quietly, the only sounds the whispered shift of fabric and the soft thud of weights returning to the floor.
Grievous noted the slight flush on Edmund's cheeks as fatigue began to creep in.
"No need to push further today," Grievous said gently. "No matter the goal, patience is the first step."
Edmund nodded, relief washing over his features. The boy's small frame sagged slightly as he lowered the dumbbells, and Grievous could see the faint sheen of sweat on his brow.
Noon was approaching, the golden light of midday filling the room. Grievous felt a quiet satisfaction, progress had been made.
They left the weights aside, and Grievous headed for the washroom.
Soon, Edmund followed, scrubbing away the exertion of their training. The ritual of cleansing felt almost sacred.
Once refreshed, they dressed in elegant clothes made of fine silk. The fabric caught the light with subtle luster, folds draping gracefully over their forms.
Grievous adjusted his cane carefully, placing his weight cautiously on his supposingly injured foot.
Together, they walked to the study room where Teacher McCarthy awaited.
The room was circular, with four chairs arranged around a large wooden table. Its polished surface reflected the soft glow of candles set in ornate holders.
Seated was a woman in her forties. Her olive-coloured hair cascaded gently over her back and shoulders, catching the light with a natural sheen.
Her face was simple but expressive, marked by faint wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. Her skin bore a reddish tint, fading slightly to pale white.
Her clothing spoke of modesty and middle-class sensibility, a milky white blouse buttoned neatly to her neck, paired with a long skirt of soft, light brown fabric that swept the floor.
She looked up as Grievous and Edmund entered, a gentle smile touching her lips.
Recognition sparked in her eyes at the sight of Grievous. She rose quietly, a graceful movement. Her gaze then shifted to Edmund, and she stood fully, bowing respectfully in Grievous's direction.
Grievous stepped forward with ease, breaking the formality. "No need for formalities, Miss McCarthy. After all, you are my teacher."
Miss McCarthy smiled lightly and nodded. "It has been some time, Young Master Grievous."
He acknowledged her with a calm nod, but then noticed her glance drifting towards his cane and the slight crooked angle of his left foot.
"While we were on vacation, I injured my left foot," Grievous explained, meeting her eyes. "I need a Cane to get around for now."
A flicker of embarrassment crossed Miss McCarthy's face as she realized her stare had been more obvious than she intended.
She murmured a quiet apology, but Grievous returned a warm, understanding smile.
"There is no need to apologize," he said easily. "After all, news like this spreads quickly within the fiefdom."
Her eyes softened, and she nodded in acceptance.
Grievous turned his attention to Edmund, who stood quietly beside him, looking both curious and eager.
"Anyway," Grievous continued, "I found this child wandering on one of the streets and decided to adopt him. He began to consider me like his father."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle in the room.
"I saw that he would need proper education to be accepted among noble families. I did not see anyone more suitable than you to teach him the language first."
Miss McCarthy's lips pressed into a thoughtful line as she absorbed the information.
She understood well the practices of the nobility. Adopting talented individuals from the common folk was not unusual. Many nobles sought to enrich their households, sometimes out of genuine care, other times for prestige.
In this case, she believed, Grievous's reasons were sincere.
"Thank you for trusting me with this," she said softly.
"There is much to learn," he said, "but with your guidance, I have no doubt Edmund will thrive."
Miss McCarthy smiled again, a rare sparkle lighting her eyes.
The afternoon sun dipped lower outside, casting long shadows across the study.
Within the quiet room, a new part of Edmund's life was beginning, one filled with promise, patience, and the slow building of a future.
With her knowledge of the original Grievous, who could be considered a genius in terms of thinking and non-magical knowledge, actions like this were not far from him.
Edmund, who was hiding timidly behind Grievous, finally stepped forward. Grievous gently moved him with his hand, guiding him closer with a quiet authority. After Edmund was settled next to Grievous, Miss McCarthy turned her full attention to the boy. She lowered herself to his level, crouching down so their eyes met.
Her smile was warm and motherly, radiating kindness and patience. "What is your name, young sir?" she asked softly.
Edmund felt comforted by the calmness in her voice. It was balanced perfectly between soft and confident, like a melody that could soothe even the most anxious heart. The warmth in her smile reached deep into his chest, wrapping him in a gentle embrace. He straightened his small back and responded with a courage that surprised even himself.
"My name is Edmund!" he said clearly.
Mrs. McCarthy nodded approvingly and extended her hand toward him. "Hello, Edmund. My name is Gosalyn McCarthy, and I will be your language teacher. I hope that our classes will be enjoyable and useful."
The boy hesitated briefly, then reached out his hand. Their palms met in a firm yet gentle handshake. Edmund uttered a quiet "Mmm," as if to confirm his hope for the same.
Grievous watched the interaction with a calm smile. He thought, 'Without a doubt, McCarthy is a distinguished teacher, unlike many others. She is calm, patient, and has excellent, interactive teaching methods. Even a young student like Edmund won't find himself bored.'
The quiet beginning of Edmund's educational journey unfolded seamlessly. Grievous sat quietly in one corner of the modest study room, holding a book about the theoretical art of swordsmanship. He kept a watchful eye on the lesson but remained unobtrusive.
In his own world, Grievous knew little beyond some basic martial arts he had learned to protect himself in his youth. His life had been too busy and focused on other pursuits to waste time mastering weapons arts. His skill with pistols and small firearms was more than enough, and that had sufficed for years.
But this new world was different. Sword and magic ruled here. Grievous understood that if he wanted to survive and thrive, he needed to learn their ways. Unfortunately, the original owner of his body had no interest in becoming a swordsman or a magician. His dreams had been to become a government official in the capital, far from the battlefield.
So while waiting for spells to come to him naturally, Grievous decided to use his time wisely. He focused on absorbing the theory of swordsmanship. With his current knowledge, he could create mental simulations, so much of arenas in his mind where he could try out basic techniques without physical practice.
The basics of swordsmanship were largely straightforward. Yet, Grievous found the sword itself to be a weapon with limitations. Its reach was short, and its properties somewhat lacking in versatility. He pondered alternatives instead of diving headfirst into swordplay.
His eyes landed on a particularly eye-catching weapon: the halberd. Memories from history lessons during his school days surfaced. Many regarded the halberd as a simple infantry weapon, but Grievous saw its broader potential. It surpassed the long or regular sword in many ways, even rivaling the mighty great sword.
He turned the pages of the book with deliberate calm and began reading swiftly. The halberd's art was built on three pillars: speed, control, and raw power. If the wielder possessed these qualities, they became an ideal user, capable of dominating the battlefield.
As Grievous ran countless mental simulations, Edmund's first lesson came to an end. The boy's eyes sparkled with curiosity and accomplishment. Grievous closed his book, placed it neatly on the table, and rose from his chair.
Miss McCarthy looked directly at Grievous and said with a bright smile, "He is a genius, Mr. Grievous."
Her enthusiasm was infectious as she continued, "He is simply a genius! He understands things that others only grasp after at least seven lessons. He reminds me a lot of you. You were a genius child too, especially in theoretical and linguistic sciences."
Grievous smiled respectfully. "He is someone I chose carefully, after all."
"Maybe in just three months, he will master the language. He will be able to speak, write, and read fluently," Miss McCarthy predicted confidently.
Edmund beamed with pride and lifted his head just a little higher upon hearing his teacher's words.
"All of this will be thanks to you," Grievous said with a simple nod, his voice steady and sincere.
After a brief exchange of pleasantries, Miss McCarthy bid them farewell. She made arrangements to come teach Edmund four times a week. Her footsteps echoed softly as she left, leaving a gentle warmth in the air.
Grievous looked out the window, watching the soft glow of the late afternoon sun filtering through the trees. He calmly placed his hand on Edmund's head. "Well done, son," he said quietly.
Edmund opened his mouth, wanting to ask something, but before the words could form, Grievous shifted the topic in his mind. He crafted a white lie to tell the teacher, something of a harmless story to explain away the boy's curiosity.
Edmund's eyes flickered with questions, but Grievous knew the time for answers would come later. For now, this moment was enough.