Calmly and lightly, Grievous returned to his room. The faint creak of wooden floorboards accompanied his quiet steps.
The dim glow from the lanterns cast long shadows that flickered like restless spirits along the walls.
He reached his chamber, where the air was thick with the scent of leather and old parchment. The faint rustle of his formal cloak as he slipped it off echoed softly in the stillness.
He changed into his normal clothes, simple, dark, and unassuming. The fabric fell loosely over his frame, allowing him to move without restriction.
Grievous paused for a moment, his gaze lingering on a faded portrait that hung crookedly on the wall. It was a painting of a younger Grievous, fierce and radiant, eyes blazing with determination. The memory stirred something deep within him, a mix of admiration and frustration.
With a steady breath, he left his room and moved silently down the corridor to Edmund's. The wooden hallway was cold, the silence thick like a shroud. He reached Edmund's door and knocked gently, careful not to disturb the sleeping household.
After a few seconds, the door creaked open, and a sleepy Edmund appeared. His hair was tousled, and his eyes still heavy with sleep.
"You finally back, Dad," he murmured, voice thick with drowsiness.
Grievous smiled. He placed a hand on Edmund's head, feeling the fine strands of hair beneath his fingers.
"Yes, Edmund," he said in a low, gentle voice. "Looks like you were waiting for me."
Edmund nodded softly, a small yawn escaping him.
"I go to sleep now," he said. "Good night."
Grievous nodded quietly, watching as the boy shuffled back inside and closed the door behind him. The soft click of the latch was the only sound breaking the silence.
He stood in the corridor for a moment, gathering his thoughts. Then he moved towards his own room again. Inside, the room felt like a sanctuary, quiet, shadowy, and untouched by the outside world. He closed the door firmly behind him.
He gave way to a loose red robe, the fabric soft and comforting against his skin. The vibrant color stood out in the dim light, a stark contrast to the muted tones of the room.
Grievous sank into a plush chair, its surface smooth and inviting. The chair was covered with a simple yet luxurious fabric, and beneath it lay hundreds, perhaps thousands, of duck feathers, cushioning him like a cloud. He closed his eyes, surrendering to the quiet.
But rest would not come.
Inside, his mind raced with relentless urgency. Calmly, but with extraordinary speed, Grievous began to search his memories. He moved through layers of time and experience, sifting through fragments of knowledge, seeking anything that might unravel the mystery that troubled him.
He reached deep into the recesses of his mind, grasping at the elusive threads of understanding. He sought the key to the individual differences that blocked the extraordinary ability in certain cases.
His hand metaphorically brushed over two faint images. One was a test, conducted by Kaede herself when she first entered the organization two centuries ago.
She was in the prime of her youth then, fierce, ambitious, and unyielding.
The test had revealed two essential elements: Will power and Consciousness power.
Grievous recalled that in the past, he had bypassed Kaede's normal life, dismissing it as irrelevant. His focus had been on her memories tied to more pressing research. But now, those neglected details called to him with unexpected urgency.
The notes on Will power and Consciousness power were sparse, with no explanations, no methods for enhancement. It had seemed a dead end.
He formulated two hypotheses. Either these powers were innate, fixed at birth, immutable and unchangeable. Or perhaps they were present from birth but could be increased alongside a person's cultivation rank, growing stronger with effort and experience.
His thoughts lingered on Kaede. She had never shown interest in such concepts. Her magic was raw, pure, could be said to be purely offensive and defensive. She wielded power like a blade, without concern for subtler forces that might underpin strength. There was nothing in her path that suggested growth through will or consciousness.
The silence of the room pressed in on Grievous as he leaned back, the chair's soft embrace a stark contrast to the turmoil inside. He let out a long, slow sigh, the sound almost a whisper in the still air.
He whispered, a trace of sarcasm coloring his tone, "It seems I won't rest tonight."
The weight of the mystery settled heavily on his shoulders. The answers he sought remained just beyond reach, teasing him with their absence.
Grievous rose quietly, the red robe flowing around him like liquid fire. He moved to where his armor and mask lay, silent sentinels waiting for their master. With practiced efficiency, he donned each piece.
The mask slid over his face, obscuring his features but sharpening his senses. Shadows bent around him as he slipped through the corridors, a ghost among the sleeping.
Outside, the night air was cool and crisp, filled with the distant calls of nocturnal creatures. The moon hung low, casting silver light over the world below.
He moved without sound, a shadow among shadows, until he reached the place where old Kaede remained. He was certain she had not left.
The building was silent, its walls steeped in secrets and memories. Grievous paused, listening to the quiet pulse of the night.
He wondered what she was doing there, alone and still. What thoughts held her captive in the darkness?
His mind churned with questions, but no answers came.
Yet he knew one thing for certain: the path ahead was fraught with uncertainty. He would need to delve deeper, to search harder, to challenge everything he thought he knew.
Because the secret of the individual differences, the key to unlocking the hidden power of his own, was waiting to be found. And he was determined to find it.
Silently, Grievous slipped through the shadows, his movements fluid and deliberate.
The alley was narrow, cloaked in darkness, with only the faintest silver glow of moonlight filtering through the gaps between the buildings. The damp stone walls seemed to close in on him as he approached the spot where old Kaede waited.
He barely breathed as he reached her side, the air heavy with the scent of rain and aged wood. Kaede's eyes flickered up to meet his, calm but alert, her weathered face lined with the stories of countless years.
Without a word, Grievous spoke the secret phrase by the cracked wall. The stones shifted slowly, grinding against one another to reveal an opening. The hidden door yawned, revealing the small, dimly lit room beyond.
Grievous stepped inside, the faint scent of incense lingering in the air. Kaede was already gathering her belongings, preparing to leave. Her hands moved with quiet efficiency, folding scrolls and packing them into a worn leather satchel.
Her eyes met his briefly, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. She was ready to do what he had commanded, and more.
Another thought settled in her mind, carefully placed by Grievous before his departure.
She must seek out everything related to the power of Consciousness and Will, whether it was a theory, a practice, or a development method. No detail was too small, no fragment of knowledge insignificant.
He also impressed upon her the importance of the weapon arts. She was to secure every technique possible, especially focusing on the spear and halberd. These weapons held the key to his future battles.
Grievous nodded once, quietly satisfied. He turned and left as silently as he had come, his footsteps fading into the night.
With the task set, he returned to his home. The small room was functional, a place carved from luxury. He felt the weight of exhaustion pressing against his enhanced body and mind. Even with his improved mental clarity and physical stamina, the relentless pace of his work had worn him thin.
He let himself sink into the narrow cot, closing his eyes without hesitation. The world outside slipped away quickly. His dreams were calm, untroubled by the turmoil of his waking hours.
Eight hours passed in silence.
When Grievous woke, the sun was already filtering softly through the thin curtains, painting warm patterns across the floor. The room was bathed in gentle morning light, the air fresh and cool against his skin.
He sat up slowly, stretching his arms and legs. The muscles felt tight but ready. His mind was clear, free from the fog of fatigue.
"There is nothing to do but physical training and the halberd," he said aloud, his voice steady and resolute. "In a month, the real challenges will begin."
The days that followed slipped by with quiet regularity. Each morning, Grievous rose with the sun and devoted himself to honing his body. He moved with purpose, every muscle working in disciplined harmony.
He practiced the basic halberd techniques obsessively. Thrust, Strike, Drag. His wooden training dummies bore the brunt of his efforts, battered and splintered by the constant impact.
But there was a nagging frustration beneath his focus. Without a partner, he could not test his skills in real combat. The dummies provided resistance but no challenge. No unpredictability.
Still, he pushed forward. Mastery required patience as much as strength.
Meanwhile, Edmund's progress was remarkable. The young man's language skills had blossomed beyond expectation. His vocabulary had expanded to a level that allowed him to comprehend complex conversations and texts across multiple disciplines.
Grievous observed this quietly, a rare smile touching his lips. Edmund was becoming a formidable asset, his mind sharpening alongside his own physical training.
The month passed without incident. No unexpected threats arose to interrupt their preparation. The calm before the storm.
When the deadline arrived, Grievous donned his armor. His mask, cold and unyielding, hid the resolve burning behind it.
He left his home with purpose and made his way to Kaede's place first.
Thinking of Kaede's wealth again, it was not merely a collection of gold coins or dusty vaults filled with ancient artifacts. She had eyes in the markets of the Eastern Kingdoms, fingers in the trade routes that crisscrossed the continent, and silent partners who whispered her name in boardrooms far removed from the humbleness of her isolation.
Grievous often marveled at the contrast. Here was a woman cloaked in the humble robes of an old mage, her hair silver as moonlight, her hands gnarled like the roots of an ancient tree. Yet, beneath her quiet demeanor lay the mind of a formidable strategist. She had turned her arcane talents into a currency far more valuable than mere spells.