Grievous was always wary of two things: betrayal and outside interference from an element he could not control.
These twin dangers lurked in every shadow of his carefully woven plans, threatening to unravel everything he had worked for. For him, caution was not just a habit but a necessity. Without clear limits set for these unpredictable variables, he feared his grand designs would collapse miserably, like a house of cards caught in a sudden gust.
He understood the power embedded in his schemes, the intricate chess moves that could shape kingdoms and destinies. Yet, he also knew that no plan was perfect.
There were always unexpected variables, wildcards that refused to be tamed. The only recourse was to control these variables as much as humanly possible, to anticipate and prepare for the unknown with unyielding vigilance.
The intelligent person knows themselves with their weaknesses and strengths, Grievous reminded himself often. But the genius person was the one who could wield those tools for their own benefit, turning vulnerabilities into weapons and strengths into shields.
There was a saying he had held close for years, a saying from a wise general who had faced countless battles: "Know yourself once, know your enemy ten, and know your friend a hundred."
Grievous had pondered this saying deeply. To an intelligent mind, it was clear that the general was warning against ignorance not just of oneself, but of others. It was a call to recognize personalities, natures, and hidden motives, a reminder to remain cautious even with those closest to you.
Trust was a fragile thing, and the closest friend could sometimes be the deadliest foe.
He had been working on that saying for a long time, studying its meaning through countless trials. Yet even with all his experience, Grievous accepted that he could never know everything.
After all, he was just an ordinary mortal trapped in a repetitive world, lacking any brilliant abilities. But that had changed once he moved to the new world, a place where his mind could stretch beyond old limitations.
The three arrived at the government building, its stone facade towering and imposing in the afternoon sun. This time, however, the familiar figure of the uncle did not come out to greet them. Instead, his assistant appeared, calm and respectful, bowing slightly as he addressed Grievous.
"The master sends his best regards and hopes that Mr. Grievous has enjoyed this trip."
Grievous responded with a soft smile, nodding in acknowledgment.
"Send my regards to Uncle and tell him that I really enjoyed it."
The assistant's eyes gleamed with respect as he inclined his head. Then, without another word, Grievous and Edmund stepped into the waiting carriage. The driver cracked the reins sharply, striking the lizard beneath the carriage. The creature stirred, muscles rippling under scaly skin, and began to pull them away from the building.
The air inside the carriage was heavy with the scent of leather and polished wood. Edmund turned to his father with a grin, eyes bright.
"That sausage pasta dish was really good."
He leaned forward, eager.
"I want to eat it again."
Grievous let a simple smile cross his lips, his voice calm and steady.
"As long as this is the case, I will have the chef prepare a dish for you from time to time."
Edmund's face lit up, his eyes sparkling with joy.
"Father is the best."
Grievous said nothing but smiled quietly. Deep inside, he thought, 'He's a really simple kid. Unlike the snakes I had in my first life.'
The memory of those deceitful allies weighed on him, but he refused to blame them entirely.
'After all, I was the one who made them this way.'
A sigh escaped Grievous as his mind drifted to the descendants he had left behind in his original world, their fates unknown, tangled in webs of betrayal and ambition.
Edmund noticed the change instantly. His youthful face clouded with concern as he studied his father.
'He seems to be thinking about something sad,' the boy thought quietly. 'I don't want to see him sad.'
Grievous caught the unspoken worry in Edmund's gaze and he returned the thought silently.
'He's a really good kid who doesn't want to see his father sad, huh.'
The carriage rocked gently as the lizard trotted steadily toward Lord Hyde's palace, the cityscape blurring past the window.
Outside, the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the cobbled streets.
Inside, silence settled between father and son, a comfortable pause filled with unspoken understanding.
Grievous's mind returned to the delicate balance he always sought, between trust and suspicion, between control and chaos.
He knew that in this new world, every decision, every relationship, carried weight. He would need all his caution and wisdom to navigate the treacherous paths ahead.
For now, though, he let himself savor this simple moment with Edmunda brief respite from the storms of his thoughts.
The future was uncertain, but Grievous resolved to face it with the same measured care that had become his greatest weapon.
---
Quietly, the carriage continued to move towards the palace, its wheels whispering softly against the cobblestone road. The evening air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of jasmine from the nearby gardens.
Grievous leaned slightly from the open window, his sharp eyes tracing the dim outlines of the city as the sun dipped below the horizon. The fading light cast long shadows over the ancient stone walls, making the fortress ahead seem both majestic and foreboding.
He let his gaze wander as he contemplated his current position.
'Fortunately,' he thought, 'I have a fourth rank aura concealing spell that does not consume a large amount of spiritual energy compared to its rank.'
The thought brought a small measure of satisfaction. It was a rare advantage, one that not every mage could claim. Even a third rank mage could cast it if they possessed above average talent. This spell was a subtle veil, a ghostly cloak that hid his presence from prying eyes.
Grievous had tested its limits many times. He knew it was hidden even from the eyes and senses of full rank 4 mages, so long as they did not employ a detection magic spells.
Those spells were incredibly rare, almost esoteric. 'Detection magic,' he mused silently, 'is a strange and analytical element of magic.' It functioned like a prism, breaking down the magical aura to reveal its type, element, and rank.
In some rare cases, a high rank user could even cancel weaker spells upon detection. That was the true terror of detection magic. It did not just reveal, it could dismantle.
Grievous's heart tightened at the thought. He longed for such power but knew it was beyond his reach for now. 'I have no hope of acquiring it before the seventh rank,' he admitted in his mind, a sting of frustration accompanying the admission.
Legends whispered of those who reached the seventh rank and bore the Gluttony element.
They possessed a terrifying ability: to take items, devour them, and add their power to themselves. This ability was unlike any other. It surpassed mere accumulation, it was an act of magical consumption, a devouring of power itself.
'This is exactly why the Gluttony element is feared by many high ranking magicians,' Grievous reflected.
Most who wielded this element found their advancement blocked beyond the sixth rank. The stronger mages above this threshold imposed bans and suppression.
Their concern was simple: their own elements and spells might be stolen by this insatiable force. It was a curse and a blessing, a doubleedged sword. Grievous felt a shiver run down his spine at the thought of such power and its consequences.
He considered the hierarchy of ranks once more. The first and second ranks were considered the bottom of the world, the foundation upon which all others stood.
The third rank was the middle tier, a place where many mages lingered, honing their skills. The fourth and fifth ranks represented the top of the natural world, where true mastery began to shine.
Beyond these, ranks six and above were in a league of their own, existing on a different plane. Grievous recalled the stories told by elder mages. Even if one thousand late fifth rank magicians united, they could not defeat a single sixth rank mage. The disparity was vast and unforgiving.
Those who achieved the sixth rank or higher were called Raigon. The name itself carried weight, drawing from ancient mythology.
It was said to mean the Destroying Dragon, a force of nature beyond mortal reckoning. Grievous felt a mixture of awe and ambition stir within him. To reach such heights was a dream few dared to chase, yet he clung to that hope.
The carriage rattled softly as it rolled closer to the palace gates. Grievous straightened, the aura concealing spell humming faintly beneath his skin. The estate's lights flickered like fireflies in the growing darkness.
He could see palace guards patrolling the perimeter, their forms sharp and alert under the glow of torches.
His mind raced with possibilities.
Grievous felt his resolve harden. The world around him was vast and filled with peril, but also opportunity. His journey was far from over.
As the carriage neared the grand entrance, he allowed himself a brief moment of calm.