An hour passed, and Grievous remained utterly focused on shattering the ancient wall of the Shen Basin. Each strike of his will sent ripples through the air, as if the very essence of the world trembled beneath his determination.
The colossal cracks crept closer together, like veins of lightning etched upon stone. Finally, with an inaudible explosion that seemed to swallow the very sound, the shell began to vanish into nothingness.
Grievous did not pause. He reached out with his mind and body, dragging the fragile remnants of the Shen toward the Mind Palace.
The giant pillar that stood at its core awaited nourishment, and the delicate fragments were the lifeblood it desperately needed. His hands moved with precision, weaving unseen threads that pulled the essence inside as if coaxing a reluctant spirit home.
The air hummed with quiet power. The subtle glow of the pillar brightened as the new energy merged with the old.
Half an hour passed, and Grievous felt the first tangible shift within the forming Shen shell. The process that would elevate him to a greater rank had begun. Slowly but surely, the structure of his power solidified, a delicate latticework of soul and energy knitting itself into something stronger, more refined.
His soul and body tingled with the sensation of evolution. The familiar yet exhilarating feeling of growth surged through him as his rank rose to the late stage of the third level. The transformation was not sudden or violent but a steady unfolding, like a flower blooming beneath the sun. A pleasant warmth spread from within, filling every fiber of his being.
"It feels nice, no doubt," Grievous murmured, standing upright. His eyes gleamed with renewed purpose. He moved his hands through the air with a speed far beyond the perception of any normal human eye, tracing patterns that shimmered with arcane energy.
Kaede, ever attentive, awaited his command. "Bring me more spells," he ordered without hesitation.
Grievous , silent as a shadow, melted away from the chamber and vanished into the palace's depths. The old fox's mind raced ahead, already planning the next steps.
'Now I must prepare another medicinal bath,' Grievous thought, 'something potent enough to bolster the reserves needed for the fourth rank. The path ahead will demand everything I have.'
He understood the gravity of what lay before him. Advancing to the fourth rank was no simple feat. It required meticulous preparation of soul, consciousness, and willpower. Rushing forward without readiness invited disaster, calamities that could shatter not just his progress but his very existence.
The cautious magician had no intention of gambling with his future. He devised a plan to face his inner demons head-on, to understand the shadows lurking within himself before they could consume him. Ten years was the timeline he set, a decade to nurture himself and those around him, to build a foundation solid enough to withstand the storms to come.
During these years, Edmund would be his primary focus. Not merely a pawn but a true knight, trained and sharpened to stand by his side through trials yet unseen. Edmund's potential was undeniable, and Grievous intended to cultivate it with care and precision.
Kaede, however, was a different matter. She served a purpose, but her role was limited. She lacked the talent, the will, and the fortune necessary for long-term plans. In Grievous's eyes, she was a temporary piece on the board, expendable once her use had passed.
His thoughts drifted to the organization Kaede hailed from. It was a dangerous entity, one that required a subtle yet powerful touch to bring under control. Grievous's plan was audacious: after perfecting his mental manipulation abilities, he would infiltrate the organization's headquarters and seize control of its leaders. With their minds bent to his will, the entire organization would become his pawn.
This was not the first time Grievous had orchestrated such a coup of influence. At the height of his political career, he had maneuvered behind the scenes, subverting powerful owners of giant companies and bending them to his command. Financially and socially, they answered to him without knowing it.
Such tactics were the currency of power in political circles. Hidden hands shaped nations and economies, and there was an unspoken agreement among the elite: no one interfered in another's domain. Grievous had mastered this dangerous game long ago.
It was a simple rule designed to prevent division within the home front, to avoid civil war should the situation deteriorate beyond control. A rule born from hard experience, etched into the bones of the organization like a silent oath.
Grievous understood this well. He did not stretch his influence blindly into countless companies, even though his title as president granted him the authority. He knew too well which hands gripped which companies, and more importantly, which hands would choke if he overreached.
A delicate balance of power existed beneath the surface. A balance that, if disturbed, could erupt into chaos. Grievous was no fool. He played the long game, moving carefully through the shadows. His ambition was vast, but tempered by caution. According to his plan, the organization was a tool, a means to gather wealth, intelligence, and influence. His fingers curled around these assets like a hawk clutching its prey. He intended to seize all he could. But he was painfully aware of his current limitations.
Compared to the fifth-rank monsters lurking at the top of the organization, he was still a fledgling. A weakling in their presence. His strength was not yet enough to confront them directly. So for now, his plans remained seeds, waiting to be nurtured until he could ascend the altar and increase his personal might. The altar, his gateway to transformation, beckoned like a distant beacon.
Grievous' ambitions expanded with each rise in rank.
Yet this new challenge was different. The stakes were higher, the players more dangerous. The organization was steeped in secrets and dark ambitions. Grievous's patience and cunning would be tested like never before.
He paused, letting the weight of his plans settle in his mind.
'Patience,' he reminded himself. 'Ten years. That is all I need.'
The Mind Palace pulsed within him, its great pillar glowing steadily with the power he had fed it. It was a beacon of his progress and a symbol of the years yet to come.
Outside, faint whispers of the world's chaos drifted through the walls, but inside this sanctum, Grievous was calm, a master of his fate.
He flexed his fingers, feeling the arcane energy thrumming through his veins. The long road lay ahead, but he was ready. Every step was calculated, every move precise.
The old fox smiled inwardly, a glint of fierce determination in his eyes.
In the shadows, power was not given. It was taken. And Grievous planned to take everything he desired.
'I must go back first and prepare the first step in evolving to the fourth level!' Grievous thought, excitement prickling his skin like electricity as he appeared inside Edmund's room.
Despite all, Grievous was human. The surge of strength thrilled him, it was a pulse of life, a promise of domination. Yet beneath that thrill lay a faint undercurrent of worry, a shadow cast over his mind. It was the worry about Rahul's Swords. That terrifying group, whispered about in legends and nightmares alike.
They were the reason Grievous craved power. To survive them, he had to become stronger. To face them was to stare death in the eye and refuse to blink. The question lingered: why did he believe in such an obscure entity that had appeared only in a dream? The answer was surprisingly simple.
In a world where immortality could be grasped, where superhuman abilities and magic thrived, such warnings were not dismissible as mere fantasy. Before the dream, Grievous had never heard of Rahul's Swords. His subconscious mind was not playing tricks. When he searched, he actually found them, a real group, a tangible force. They were not random figments but a looming reality.
Grievous understood the paradox. His ultimate goal was immortality. Rahul's Swords posed a threat to that goal, a dangerous obstacle standing in his path. Yet, if the ancient legends were true, they were also a key, a possible way to reach that elusive immortality.
This duality fascinated and unsettled him. He did not allow fear to chain him to inaction. Instead, he embraced determination. To hide away and shrink all his life was not his way.
He had learned the hard truth: personal strength was the only true shield. Not the power of friends or loved ones. Not the might of family or kingdom. Only personal power could protect a man when the world turned against him.
Even the strongest pawns were borrowed power, fragile and fleeting. If an enemy was stronger, those pawns would be stripped away or turned against him without hesitation. Grievous had trusted others before. And each time, betrayal had cut deeper than any blade. Even his own offspring had turned their backs on him.
He clenched his fists. Trust was a luxury he could no longer afford. Only himself could he count on. His own strength, honed and sharpened like a blade, was his salvation.
As the dim light of Grievous's room flickered, Grievous allowed his mind to wander. The room was small, cluttered with books. Edmund sat by the window, his gaze distant. The air was thick with unspoken tension.
Grievous felt the weight of the world pressing on his shoulders. He knew the path ahead would be treacherous. Allies would become enemies. Shadows would deepen. But he also felt a surge of hope.
'To reach the fourth level,' he mused, 'I must shed weakness like a snake sheds its skin. Only then will I stand tall against those monsters. Only then will I carve my name into history.'
The thought steadied him. His breath slowed, each inhalation a pledge to himself. He would endure. He would evolve.
Outside, the night crept in, wrapping the estate in a cloak of silence. Somewhere deep in the darkness, Rahul's Swords waited, group wrapped in menace. But Grievous was no longer a man to be consumed by fear. He was a predator sharpening his claws.