Thinking about the past was something Grievous didn't overthink of, but as he remembered his first long-lived life , and how much he was a depressed at first from the betrayal, especially from his wife and eldest son, but after years of staying with himself and measuring his entire life, he found that he was the victim, so he felt this depression.
If he were in their position, he would most likely do the same for his own gain, so Grievous thought at the time.
When he realized this, Grievous came up with a fixed social law: Viewpoints determine reaction.
The simplest example is when a person steps on a spider. Everyone rejoices in killing the evil insect that invaded their home. Compare their reaction when someone steps on a butterfly. Everyone will be angry and will even curse the killer for killing the poor butterfly.
They are all just societal viewpoints and individual viewpoints, as the spider is the evil, ugly thing while the butterfly is the good, poor, beautiful butterfly. You can also call it the beauty dilemma.
Another example is if a soldier kills a soldier from the enemy country, he will be called a war hero, but if he kills his colleague, he is a murderer. From a distant and condescending point of view, they were all murders, and the community's reaction was determined by their view of the murdered.
Many of you will not understand the matter because they are also within that recurring circle of points of view, but when you look at the matter from a distance, you will notice that they are all lives, and all lives are equal, just as all deaths are equal.
For Grievous today, killing a human or killing an insect was the same thing, and he would not do both as long as the situation did not require it.
Grievous used to say in his last days: "Everything is equal, all lives and deaths are equal, and only we see the importance in the death or life of someone or the death or life of another being. We are simple social animals who like to follow the herd, where we feel safe, free from the danger of life. That is why we see our soldiers as heroes and enemy soldiers as mindless monsters, even though they both kill each other and even kill innocent people. The king, the prince, the minister, the villager, and the slave will not escape from death or life. They are all equal in the face of death. There is no difference between anyone, even a human and a cockroach. We are all merely temporary in this existence, and death will return us to nothing."
Grievous grew older, and in his last twenty years, he was alone with himself, contemplating his life and human existence.
He began his journey with one sentence: What is a human?
The room where Grievous spent his final years was sparse, illuminated only by the flickering light of a single light. Shadows danced on the cracked walls, mirroring the turmoil within him. The silence was thick, broken only by the soft scratching of a quill on parchment or the occasional creak of the ancient floorboards beneath his feet.
He often sat by the window, gazing out at the world beyond, a world that once felt vibrant but now seemed distant and fragile. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it the scent of rain and earth, grounding him even as his thoughts wandered to abstract realms.
'What is a human?' he asked himself again, the words echoing in the hollow chamber of his mind.
He saw humans not as heroes or villains but as fragile creatures caught in a relentless tide of instinct and circumstance. Their choices, he realized, were often shaped less by morality and more by survival and the need for acceptance.
He thought back to the faces of his wife and son, the very souls who had betrayed him. There had been anger, yes, but beneath it all was a profound sadness. They had acted out of fear, desire, and self-preservation, just as he might have if the roles were reversed.
'Is betrayal an act of evil or an expression of necessity?' he pondered. The question gnawed at him, refusing to settle comfortably in his mind.
In the quiet moments, memories surfaced unbidden. The laughter of his children, the warmth of his wife's smile, the shared dreams that once seemed unbreakable. Those fragments of joy now felt like distant stars, beautiful but unreachable.
He did not blame them. Instead, he saw their actions as reflections of the very nature of humanity, flawed, complex, and endlessly contradictory.
Outside, the world moved on. Seasons shifted from the harshness of winter to the tentative bloom of spring. Grievous watched the budding leaves with a detached curiosity, wondering if life renewed itself out of hope or mere habit.
He remembered the spider and the butterfly. How easily admiration could turn to revulsion, and vice versa, depending on the lens through which one viewed the world.
In that, he saw a cruel irony. Life's value was not inherent but assigned by perspective. A truth that could comfort or condemn, depending on where one stood.
Sometimes he imagined himself as the spider, misunderstood and despised, or the butterfly, fragile and cherished. Neither role brought peace. Both were subject to the whims of others.
He thought of the soldiers, those men caught in the machinery of war. To their families, they were heroes or villains, but in the cold calculus of existence, they were simply lives ended, no more and no less significant than any other.
'Perhaps,' he mused, 'the real tragedy lies in the stories we tell ourselves to make sense of death and loss.'
Grievous felt a growing weariness. not of body, but of the endless cycle of judgment and justification. The world thrived on divisions, on casting shadows and light, but he longed for something beyond.
He wanted to see clearly, beyond the veil of illusion and bias.
His reflections deepened as the candle burned low. He thought about his own life, the choices made, the wounds inflicted and suffered. He saw a pattern of pain and resilience, of hope and despair woven together.
'Is this what it means to be human?' he wondered. To carry contradictions within, to seek meaning in a world that offers none explicitly.
He found solace in the thought that all beings shared this burden, though none spoke of it openly.
Grievous recalled the words he had once spoken aloud: "We are simple social animals who like to follow the herd, where we feel safe, free from the danger of life."
That safety, he understood now, was an illusion. True freedom came not from conformity but from acceptance, acceptance of life's transient nature and the equality of all existence.
He closed his eyes, letting the silence envelop him. The questions remained unanswered, but that no longer troubled him.
Instead, he felt a quiet peace, born from the recognition that life and death were but two sides of the same coin, and that his own place in the vast tapestry of existence was both insignificant and profound.
He was a man who had lost much but found understanding.
And in that understanding, he was finally free.
The candle guttered and went out, leaving the room in darkness.
Outside, the world waited, indifferent and eternal.
Grievous left Edmund sleeping in his room and quietly slipped out.
The dim light from the moon filtered through the thin curtains, casting a pale glow over the wooden floor. The house was mostly silent except for the soft breathing of the child and the faint creaks of settling timber. Grievous paused at the doorway for a moment, watching Edmund's peaceful face, so innocent and untouched by the ruthless gears of fate grinding outside.
As he changed his clothes into simple clothes, Grievous said, "Just being near Edmund brings good luck and makes the odds bend in my direction. Undoubtedly, it is the most important thing in my hands right now."
He caught his reflection in the mirror within his dresser. His features were sharp, almost too refined for a man who had been through hell and back. But his eyes told the story of sleepless nights and battles fought both without and within.
Grievous smiled widely as he observed himself in the mirror.
"I need to search for and increase my number of pieces. For now I can start developing Edmund as a mage but that will be a little early, he is only five years old after all."
His fingers brushed the cool glass as if trying to touch the man reflected back, a man who was equal parts strategist, survivor.
"At least I will wait until he is 10 before I start making him stronger. I also have to set a limit, which is the late second rank. When he reaches the late second rank, I will already be at the fourth rank."
'Talents need financial support, so even if he is a genius without resources, he will remain at a rank for dozens of years,' he thought, the truth settling heavily on his shoulders.
"I finally understood why even servants in great noble families are stronger than the heirs of middle and low noble families. Everything is due to resources and their availability and nothing more. And those great families have control over the regular market and the black market, so everyone is tied to them in one way or another. It's not that different from my world to be honest."
The weight of those words echoed his experience from before, the brutal politics of power where wealth, connections, and influence were the real magic, not the spells or talents one was born with.
He moved quietly and stretched his body on the bed, thinking.
'Edmund is without a doubt a terrifying talent. If I really wanted to make him reach the third rank or even the fourth or fifth rank, it would be easy since he is still a very young man and does not have inner demons. But that would take him out of my control and my ability's control, and this is simply unacceptable, as I do not want a time bomb planted next to me.'
The memory of past betrayals was a cold shadow lurking behind his resolve.
'Whoever gets stung from a hole once becomes cautious and is not stung again.'
After the final betrayal and his fall from his position, Grievous had developed more caution than before.
He had been cautious before it, as he expected betrayal, but he did not expect it to come from every direction, all at once.
The betrayal by his own party was expected, but the betrayal of his wife and offspring was unexpected at that moment.
He expected betrayal from everyone, but he never expected everyone to come together and betray him at the same moment.
The pain from that memory was not sharp anymore, but the lesson was etched deep in his soul.
He wasn't shocked, he was just unprepared for it, and thus the Nine-Headed Demon legend ended.
All that malice and intelligence was destroyed by a plan prepared by a higher intelligence.
Grievous was undoubtedly intelligent, but that does not make everyone around him less intelligent, especially in a field like politics where everyone is both smart and malicious.
Grievous was no fool, so he simply learned from his mistake and no longer trusted anyone but himself.
He simply always expected betrayal, and as the saying goes - "Better safe than sorry."
He closed his eyes and quietly appeared in the Mind Palace, standing quietly and staring around.
The Mind Palace was a vast, endless expanse of shifting colors and shapes, a place where ideas took solid form and thoughts could be dissected like physical objects.
"I need to improve my comprehension of the elements now as I will need to create my own spells in addition to the ones I already have."
His voice was calm but carried the weight of determination.
"But first I have to try these spells here."
Grievous quietly increased his comprehension to the maximum, and in a fraction of a second he cast a spell, and a clone of himself quietly appeared at his side.
"Oh, really interesting."
As he slowly turned around the clone and stared at it, Grievous said.
The clone mirrored his every movement perfectly, down to the smallest twitch of an eyebrow or the faintest curl of a lip.
It was eerie and fascinating at once, like facing a reflection that was somehow alive.
He studied the clone's form, analyzing the magical threads that held it together.
'This is more than just an illusion,' he mused. 'It is a tangible extension of my power, a piece of myself that can act independently but remain bound to my will.'
The possibilities raced through his mind. Such a spell could be invaluable in espionage, in battle, or even in deception.
Yet, the clone was not perfect, it lacked the spontaneity and unpredictability of a living being.
Still, it was a start.
Grievous flexed his fingers, feeling the residual energy humming beneath his skin.
'If I can refine this, expand its capabilities, I could multiply my presence across the battlefield or the court.'
For now, he would build carefully, like a master craftsman shaping a delicate mechanism.
Every piece had its place and purpose.