He wondered how many lives she had changed unknowingly through her investments. How many villages now prospered because of a loan she had extended centuries ago.
Yet, despite her achievements, Kaede was exiled. The cold edicts of the organization were merciless. One misstep, a collision with a powerful elder, and she was cast away like a broken relic. The remote place she now called home was both a prison and a tomb, a place where time slowed and hope thinned.
Grievous felt a pang of sorrow whenever he visited her. The loneliness clung to her like a second skin. He could see it in the quiet way she sipped her tea, the distant look in her eyes as she gazed at the horizon beyond the jagged cliffs. The world had turned its back on her, but she endured with a stubborn grace.
He thought about the organization's rules, how no one below the fourth rank could escape. It was a cage built from fear, designed to keep secrets locked away and ambitions chained. But the higher elders were shrouded in mystery. Kaede's memories hinted at shadows darker than exile, whispers of corruption and power struggles that even she could not think of.
Grievous's mind drifted back to his own past. The cutthroat world of politics had taught him harsh lessons. Trust was a currency more volatile than gold. Friends could wield knives as deftly as enemies. He had lived through betrayals that shattered alliances and tore families apart. His fall from grace had been swift and merciless.
'An intelligent person with high ambitions will not hesitate to sacrifice anything,' he mused bitterly. 'Not kin, not friends, nothing.'
That lesson had carved deep lines into his soul. In this new world, he resolved to act differently.
Grievous had watched Edmund closely, noting every flicker of emotion, every calculated glance. Without the mental enhancements, Edmund's raw intelligence was a force to be reckoned with. And that made him dangerous in a way that chilled Grievous to the bone.
But rather than raise him with cold discipline and suspicion, Grievous chose warmth. He sought to build a foundation of trust and kindness, hoping to mold Edmund into something rare—a powerful man uncorrupted by ambition alone.
It was a gamble. One that might cost him dearly.
The weight of centuries pressed down on Grievous's shoulders. The lessons of the past, the failures and the betrayals, were etched into his bones. Yet, in this quiet moment, with the sun dipping low beyond the mountains, he felt at ease.
Perhaps, in the warmth of his care, Edmund might find a path away from darkness, and become a devoted piece.
Grievous breathed deeply, the crisp air filling his lungs, as his mind thought about different things.
The sun had nearly dipped below the jagged ridges that framed the remote settlement where Kaede lived. The sky was painted in strokes of amber and violet.
The room was brighter than before, cluttered with scrolls, books, and strange artifacts. Kaede stood among her spoils, her expression proud but measured.
She had returned with a treasure trove worth more than ten million pounds, Grievous estimated. Priceless memories stored in crystalline containers, each holding volumes of weapon techniques, meticulously cataloged and preserved.
There were several detailed tomes on Rahul's Swords, a weapon style famed for its deadly precision and fluidity.
Most importantly, she brought knowledge of the power of Will and Consciousness, esoteric arts that promised to elevate his abilities beyond mere physical skill.
Grievous ran his fingers along the spines of the scrolls, feeling the weight of potential in every parchment.
He nodded slowly, the fire of ambition burning brighter within him.
"You have done well," he said, voice low but firm.
Kaede inclined her head, the faintest smile breaking her usual stoicism.
"I require more," Grievous continued. "Every month, bring the same amount of resources. No matter the cost."
She met his gaze steadily, understanding the gravity of his command.
"As you wish," she replied.
The path ahead was clear. Every piece of knowledge, every skill acquired, would be another step toward the impossible goal he had set for himself.
Grievous felt the familiar thrill of anticipation. The quiet preparation was over. Now, the real work would begin.
As he thought again, moving through the shadows of the world, Grievous thought about Edmund, and if this way that he was raising him with is right.
What strengthened Grievous's desire to continue on with this way, was that he had already seen the result of raising children like him.
And let me tell you, things were not good. They were like imps, and as they grew up they only cared about his wealth, and after taking everything he had to offer, they left him to rot in a simple bed in a rented apartment on a dirty street.
The bitter truth gnawed at him like a relentless worm. The very ones he had nurtured, the ones he had hoped to call his legacy, had turned into shadows of selfishness.
They had no loyalty, no gratitude, only cold calculations. He had witnessed it firsthand, the cold betrayal that followed the glittering smiles and empty promises. The memory of their hollow eyes haunted him, as if they had drained the warmth from his soul and left only a bitter chill.
If he were like them, he would have done the same, following the principle of maximum benefit that transcends everything, but he also felt that it was wrong for him as a victim.
Simply put, that was one of the many human contradictions. They always look for their own interests at the expense of others, but when the same happens to them, they feel that that was unfair towards them. You can call it victim syndrome.
He turned the thought over in his mind, the irony slicing through his reason like a jagged blade. 'To be so ruthless when it serves you, yet so wounded when it happens to you. Is this the nature of man or just a twisted game we all play?'
Of course, humans are complex creatures, and understanding them for you, readers, is not easy, as the depths of the human self are flooded with strange contradictions. But that is what gives humans their amazing beauty, as they strive for perfection but will never achieve it. But observing their quest, their effort, and their journey to search for that and set it as a goal in their eyes is more like a gift, as it gives you, the readers, different perspectives.
Grievous often found himself caught in that paradox.
One of you may be searching for idealism or perfection for a specific reason, whether moral perfection, aesthetic perfection, power perfection, etc. No one should mock that journey and search, it simply gives the person a goal to follow, a path, and their life story.
He knew that path well. It was a lonely one, winding through shadows and light alike. The pursuit of power, of strength, was not just a means to an end for him. It was a way to reclaim control over his shattered existence. To build something unbreakable from the fragments of betrayal.
Grievous came out of his thoughts and then calmly went to the red-haired blacksmith.
The air was thick with the scent of burning coal and metal. The blacksmith's shop was a cavern of warmth amidst the chill of the night outside. Tools hung like silent watchers on the walls, and the faint glow of an oil lamp flickered, casting long shadows that danced like restless spirits.
Slowly and quietly, in his shop, the blacksmith turned towards one of the shadows and said as he felt a slight change in the air, "So you have come."
Grievous moved quietly from the shadows and said, "As agreed, the month has passed."
The blacksmith nodded, his broad hands resting on the wooden counter worn smooth by years of labor. His eyes, sharp and steady beneath the curtain of fiery hair, held a spark of pride. "I finished making the weapon two days ago already."
He placed a small, intricately carved watch on the counter with a deliberate care, as though it were a precious relic. The ticking was steady, a heartbeat against the quiet.
Then he quietly took out a Cane from his space ring. The Cane was black, one meter long, of metal that was black and shimmered slightly under the light of the oil lamp. Dark red veins ran through it that looked like blood, and on the hilt itself was shaped like a tail full of scales. The body from the middle to the bottom looked a little sharp and also thinner.
Grievous took the weapon and as soon as he held it, he felt its great weight and thought, 'My body is still weak, undoubtedly.'
The cold metal pressed into his palm sent a shiver through his arm. It was heavier than he expected, dense with power and arcane arts. The veins of dark red seemed almost alive, pulsing beneath the surface like the lifeblood of some long-forgotten beast. The craftsmanship was exquisite, every curve and edge perfected with the blacksmith's meticulous hand.
The giant said as he smiled, "Just infuse it with a little of your Shen and with just a thought it will transform into its halberd form."
Grievous's eyes narrowed, the faintest flicker of excitement stirring beneath the surface of his calm facade. The idea of wielding such a weapon, one that could shift and change with his will, filled him with a quiet fire.
Outside, the night pressed against the windows like a living thing, dark and unyielding. Inside, the lamp flickered, casting its golden glow over the promise of a new beginning.
Grievous flexed his fingers around the Cane, feeling the cold pulse of the metal against his skin.