Quietly, the rest of the week passed with the same motions. Grievous spent his days wrestling with the halberd, trying to tame its unwieldy weight and awkward balance. Each swing was of patience and control, every movement a cautious movement between his body and the weapon's unwieldy length. He was painfully aware of the distance between clumsy swings and graceful mastery.
He understood well that progress would not come quickly. His hands still trembled when shifting the halberd's heavy blade, and more than once, he nearly caught himself with the weapon's sharp edge. It was frustrating, but he reminded himself this was the natural path, the slow crawl toward familiarity. He had to get used to it at his current rank before dreaming of any grander skill.
The halberd itself seemed almost alive in his grasp, a wild beast that resisted his attempts to tame it. Yet, there was a strange comfort in its weight. He could almost taste the potential, like a storm gathering just beyond the horizon.
This evening, when the sun dipped below the jagged skyline of the estate, Grievous slipped through the shadows with practiced stealth. The world around him grew quieter, the streets hushed as if holding their breath. He moved like a whisper, unseen and unheard, to the place where Kaede awaited him.
Kaede was a mystery wrapped in silence, her presence as steady as the moon's glow in the night sky. She brought everything he asked of her without question. Tonight was no different. When he arrived, she handed him a small bundle wrapped in dark cloth. His eyes flicked over the contents briefly before he handed her a new task.
"You must find everything about Rahul's Swords," he said with calm authority. "And gather all items used for the medicinal baths. One month. No excuses."
Kaede inclined her head once and disappeared into the shadows, leaving Grievous alone with his thoughts.
Quietly, he returned to his room, the familiar space offering a small refuge from the weight of his tge world. There, he laid out what the old mage had brought him. It was an overwhelming collection: 113 spells drawn from the four elements he had access to.
His eyes lingered on the most prominent ones. The Shadow Clone spell caught his attention first. It created a clone with half the caster's offensive and defensive power, a complex second-rank spell. The clone was not just an illusion but a tangible force on the battlefield, capable of fighting alongside him.
Then came the Shadow Arrows spell. It conjured arrows of pure shadow, invisible to the naked eye and even to the untrained eye of the first rank. These arrows moved silently, striking without warning—perfect for ambushes or distraction.
The Shadow Ring spell was equally fascinating. It formed a giant ring, within which all shadow element spells of second rank and below were enhanced by twenty percent. Though he could not yet wield these second-rank spells, he felt a spark of excitement. These were far more advanced than anything his family had ever taught him.
Gluttony was a different beast altogether. Its lowest spell was already third rank: the Book of Gluttony. This spell was like a pocket space, a mystical vault where spells could be stored without limit to element but restricted by rank. Sixty-eight spells in total—thirty-eight first rank, twenty second rank, and ten third rank.
The sheer utility of this spell fascinated Grievous. A mobile arsenal at his fingertips could tilt any battle in his favor.
Another spell of Gluttony was the Sword of Zentorius. This weapon absorbed any third-rank or lower spell cast against it and returned the energy to the sender.
The malicious elegance of turning an enemy's power against them was a cruel, beautiful thing in Grievous' mind.
Gluttony was a devastating element on the battlefield, not just for offense, but for manipulation. It could turn the enemy's strength into their undoing, or bolster allies in unexpected ways. Grievous felt an undeniable connection to it, recognizing it as his strongest and most comprehensive element.
Space magic was rarer in his collection, but one spell stood out. The Zentosil Gate, a rank four teleportation spell, could open a portal spanning over five hundred thousand square kilometers. The user could travel instantly to any known location through a miniature wormhole.
Other spells allowed for short-distance teleportation, but none matched the grandeur and scope of the Zentosil Gate. The possibilities this opened up were staggering to him.
Finally, his attention settled on the Darkness element. Several spells intrigued him, but one in particular shone brighter than the rest, the Atal Halberd spell. A third-rank weapon creation spell, it formed a weapon utterly resistant to any light element attacks or weapons.
The Atal Halberd absorbed light element spells and weapons below the fourth rank without exception. It was a terrifying defensive tool, turning the brilliance of light into nothing more than fuel for its own dark, evil powers.
Grievous felt a chill run down his spine as he imagined wielding such a weapon.
He leaned back, letting the weight of the knowledge settle over him. Each element offered a unique path, a different flavor of power and strategy.
Yet, it was Gluttony and Darkness that called to him most fiercely. They were primal, cruel, and cunning.
He wondered, 'How long before I can wield these with the precision of a master?'
He knew the road ahead was long and arduous. Mastery would not come in days or weeks, but only through relentless practice and unyielding will.
Tomorrow, he would return to the halberd. He would swing and strike until his arms burned and his mind wavered.
Because power was never given freely.
It was taken.
And Grievous was ready to claim his.
The day had already passed and Grievous was in his room, pondering the thoughts about magic and the spells that he had just gotten.
The darkness outside his window was complete, a velvet blanket that covered the world in silence. He had not noticed the transition from day to night.
Time had lost its meaning somewhere between the first spell and the hundredth, dissolved into the endless ocean of knowledge that now flooded his consciousness. The candles on his desk had burned low, their flames flickering in the still air like dying stars.
The spells swirled in his mind like a storm of light and memory. Each one was a complete entity, a self contained system of energy and intent that could reshape reality in ways both subtle and profound. He could feel them pressing against the boundaries of his consciousness, demanding attention, begging to be understood. There were dozens of them, each more complex than the last.
And as he thought about so he could feel different things in his mind as he began to ponder the spells and things about magic.
The experience was unlike anything he had ever known. It was as if a library had been compressed into a single thought and deposited directly into his brain. He could wander through the memories of the old mage at will, examining spells he had never seen, studying techniques he had never imagined.
But with that knowledge came a weight that was almost physical. The old mage had spent decades acquiring this understanding. Now it all rested inside Grievous, it was simply exhausting.
He closed his eyes and reached deeper into the flood of information. The first rank spells were straightforward enough. Attack spells, defense spells, utility spells that could perform a hundred different tasks.
They formed the foundation of any magician's arsenal, and the old mage had known more of them than anyone Grievous had ever encountered. But it was the higher rank spells that truly captured his attention.
Second rank spells required more energy, more control, more understanding of the fundamental principles that governed all magic. They were exponentially more powerful than their first rank counterparts, capable of feats that bordered on the miraculous. Grievous could feel the knowledge of them lurking just beneath the surface of his awareness, waiting to be unlocked.
Third rank spells were the stuff of legend. Only the most powerful magicians could cast them, and even then, the cost was often terrible. The old mage had known perhaps a dozen, and each one was seared into his memories with the intensity of a man who had paid dearly for the knowledge. Grievous shuddered as he touched those memories, sensing the tremendous power that lurked within.
But there was more than just spells in the old mage's memories. There was theory, philosophy, the accumulated wisdom of a lifetime spent in pursuit of magical mastery.
The old mage had understood magic in a way that few ever did on her rank. He had seen the patterns that connected all things, the invisible threads of Shen that wove through every aspect of existence. That understanding was perhaps more valuable than any single spell.
Grievous began to organize the chaos in his mind. He sorted through the memories with methodical precision, categorizing spells by rank and function, separating theory from practice, knowledge from experience.
It was slow work, tedious work even, but it was necessary. A disorganized mind was a dangerous mind. He could not afford to be searching for a spell in the heat of battle only to find himself lost in a maze of half remembered incantations.
He thought and thought then finally sat on the wooden floor and began to harness the spells to his own.
The transition from thinking to doing was seamless. One moment he was swimming through memories, the next he was reaching for his own spiritual energy, testing its limits, exploring its boundaries. The Shen flowed through him like water through a riverbed, ancient and powerful and utterly responsive to his will.
He started with the basics. A simple illumination spell, the kind that every apprentice learned in their first week of training. He held out his hand and felt the energy gather in his palm, warm and bright and eager to be released. The spell formed without effort, a sphere of soft white light that hovered above his skin and cast dancing shadows across the walls.
It should have been easy. It was easy. But Grievous did not dismiss the spell immediately. Instead, he examined it. He looked at the way the energy had been shaped, the patterns it had formed, the delicate balance of forces that kept it stable. In other words, magical mathematics.
The old mage had understood this spell on a level that transcended simple casting. She had known its every facet, its every weakness, its every potential variation.
Grievous dismissed the light and tried again. This time, he altered the pattern slightly, introducing a variation he had found in the old mage's memories.
The light changed color, shifting from white to pale blue. Another variation, and it became warm instead of cool. Another, and it began to pulse with a gentle rhythm that matched his own heartbeat.
The possibilities were endless. Every spell he had inherited could be modified, improved, adapted to circumstances the original creators had never imagined.
This was the true power of understanding magical mathematics. A magician who merely memorized spells was limited by the knowledge they possessed. But a magician who truly understood the principles behind those spells had no limits at all.
He worked through the night, practicing spell after spell, internalizing the knowledge until it became second nature. The candles burned to nothing. The darkness outside his window gave way to the first gray light of dawn. Still he continued, driven by a hunger that could not be satisfied.
His eyes were closed, his breathing steady, his mind finally at peace. The chaos of borrowed memories had been tamed. The spells had been made his own. He had taken the first step on a path that would lead him to power beyond imagining.
But he continued...