The nearly fifty-year-old man nodded calmly and began to advance, followed silently by his wife and two sons. His steps were steady, measured.
After the head of the family entered first, Grievous began to listen to faint, almost inaudible whispers from the servants to his left. The murmurs floated in the air like fragile threads, barely catching his attention.
"It seems that something has happened to Young Master Grievous. Look at that cane he is walking with."
The old fox smiled inwardly, a slow, cunning twist of his thoughts. 'My plan will start on its main course,' he thought, 'let's see what happens.'
He moved forward with deliberate slowness. Each tap of the cane against the marble floor echoed slightly, a steady rhythm in the vast, palace.
'Fortunately,' he thought, 'in my world, I used to use a cane due to the loss of my right foot, so I'm somewhat used to this.'
The cane pounded on the ground with every step Grievous took as he slowly entered the giant palace. Directly in front of the entrance, beyond the heavy doors, stretched a vast hall. Two grand staircases curved upward on either side, their crimson carpets gleaming under the chandelier's soft light, meeting seamlessly on the first-floor balcony.
The air was thick with the scent of polished wood and faint traces of incense burning somewhere deep within the walls. The palace breathed of true history, power, status, and authority.
Calmly, his brother approached him, concern barely veiled beneath a formal expression.
"Hey Grievous, are you feeling unwell?"
Grievous looked slightly surprised, as if caught off guard by the question. Then he quickly and foolishly shook his head.
"I want to rest."
The brother nodded quietly, eyes flickering with a mixture of doubt and relief. Without another word, he let his younger brother go, watching silently as Grievous limped up the stairs.
Slowly and quietly, the Cane tapped on the stairs covered in bright red as Grievous climbed. Each step was deliberate but at the same time laborious, the familiar weight of the cane a physical reminder of his current weakness.
He thought calmly, 'I must go to the branch of that special intelligence organization. I think I will do it but not now, I will wait for the night.'
The palace's silence wrapped around him like a cloak, broken only by the faint echoes of his footsteps. The memories of a poor child from another life flickered through his mind. Quietly, he climbed into the room and closed the door behind him.
After sitting on the bed, he whispered to himself, a low breath lost in the storm that was his thoughts.
"I will need a lot of things. I need money."
The room was modest compared to the grandeur of the palace. Heavy curtains blocked out the daylight, and the air smelled faintly of old paper and leather. The bed creaked softly beneath him as he settled, the cane resting against the wall.
Quietly, the man began to feel his mental strength extend instinctively, like the tentacles of an octopus spreading out in search of prey. His target was clear: the head of the family.
Slowly, he found him in the depths of the palace, the man's mind like a fortress but somehow not impenetrable. Grievous crept silently into the man's thoughts and added two discreet suggestions: Give Grievous three million pounds, and get him into the family treasury. Then he added one last instruction: Keep all of this in secret under the pretense that you will buy something.
On the other side of the palace, the father moved with dull eyes. Without suspicion, he retrieved the money from his private safe and placed it in a space ring, an enchanted container that could hold vast sums without weight or bulk a normal thing for most nobles to have.
He then headed toward Grievous' room.
With a muted knock, he paused, waiting for a response.
Grievous opened the door and smiled with a calm, almost serene expression.
The father moved forward, and Grievous quietly followed him, both heading toward the family treasury.
All the servants Grievous passed seemed to forget what they had seen, as if a veil of forgetfulness had settled upon their minds. They continued their work, unaware of the silent plot unfolding in their midst.
After some walking, the two quietly arrived at the basement of the palace, where the strongest guards in the family stood alert, their eyes sharp but respectful. They recognized the head of the family and stepped aside without hesitation.
Slowly, the large door opened, revealing the treasury. The guards moved to the side at the command of the head of the family, and the father and son entered quietly.
After closing the giant door behind them, the father stood silently to the side, his eyes blank and unreadable, while Grievous moved through the vast chamber. The place was filled with everything of importance to the family: weapons, spells, magical techniques, armors, and enchanted tools.
The light inside was dim but sufficient, casting long shadows that danced across the rows of meticulously organized artifacts. The air smelled of old metal, aged parchment, and a faint spark of residual magic.
Grievous quietly looked around as he moved between tables where things were arranged in perfect order, divided by type and purpose. He examined the weapons carefully, searching for something suitable for his current situation.
Nothing caught his eye.
He then turned to the section dedicated to magical techniques. Here, ancient scrolls and tomes lay stacked, some glowing faintly with enchantments.
There, he found three techniques and quickly increased his comprehension, absorbing their contents in a rush of understanding. He found that only one of them was clear enough to use, while the others seemed incomplete, their instructions fragmented or encoded.
He paused, running a finger along the edge of the scroll, feeling the faint hum of power beneath his touch.
'This is the one,' he thought, 'but I will need to practice it carefully.'
Grievous closed his eyes for a moment, allowing the magic to seep into his being. The room seemed to pulse softly around him.
After this, he quietly moved to the spells section and did not let any spell escape his sight. The shelves stretched endlessly before him, laden with ancient tomes and scrolls, each radiating faint magical auras. The dim light flickered over the worn bindings, the smell of old parchment and ink filling the air.
He memorized the formulas for 58 Shadow Magic spells that were the speciality of the Hyde family. Each incantation, each gesture, burned into his mind with sharp clarity. The shadows seemed to whisper their secrets only to him, as if recognizing a true heir. His fingers twitched in anticipation, imagining the power he could wield once these spells were at his command.
The quiet hum of magic in the room was both comforting and irritating. He could almost see the spells weaving themselves into invisible threads around him, ready to be summoned at will. His heart beat faster. Mastery of these spells was the key to the Hyde family's survival and glory.
Then he finally decided to go to the armoury. The room was smaller, but no less important. The scent of leather and metal mingled in the air. Rows of armours and cloaks hung neatly, each piece crafted with care and purpose. He moved slowly, his eyes scanning every detail.
He found something simple but very convenient there. It was like a black cape of fuzzy black feathers and a simple black scaly armour underneath.
The feathers moved softly as he touched them, cool and light. The scales gleamed faintly, each one perfectly shaped and overlapping like the skin of some shadowy creature.
He decided that this would be the most suitable thing for him as it was light and would not affect his movement with one foot currently.
The thought of heavy armour slowing him down made him shudder. This was different. It promised agility and silence, a perfect complement to his shadow magic.
'No doubt it is very appropriate,' he thought as he held the simple armour in his hand. The weight was almost negligible, yet it felt protective, like a second skin. He imagined slipping into it and vanishing into the darkness.
He quietly moved across the tables until suddenly he noticed a magical tool that caught his attention. It sat alone on a velvet cushion, almost glowing with an eerie light. It was a mask, a mask in the shape of a large crow skull. The empty eye sockets seemed to stare deep into his soul.
Under the eyes, there were two symbols of the moon and the sun, with the moon on the left and the sun on the right. The symbols were carved with exquisite detail, glowing faintly with bluish-black shading around the eyes. The craftsmanship was unlike anything he had seen before.
He read the definition attached to it, which said: The Mask of Grozo, a fifth-rank magical tool that specializes in enhancing the recovery of shen and concealing the aura in front of magicians of the fifth rank and below, can be upgraded further through consuming Grozo souls.
The words seemed almost alive, pulsing with hidden power.
Grievous was surprised by what he found. This item was simply incredibly powerful, but he was surprised how a family as weak as his own could have such an item, of which there were only a few in the kingdom according to the boy's original memory. It was like finding a hidden treasure in a forgotten attic.
The first thing that came to mind was that it was something that had remained since the time of that ancestor who founded the family a long time ago. Perhaps a relic passed down through generations, a secret weapon to protect the family name. The thought made his heart pound with pride and curiosity.
He decided to take it and calmly put everything he had taken inside the space ring that his father had given him. The ring was cool against his skin, a small miracle of magic that held far more than its size suggested. He felt a strange comfort knowing his treasures were safely stored.
He thought as he looked at it, 'It is undoubtedly very useful. Especially in hiding things while transporting. It's also fairly easy to make and the resources for making it are abundant in the Braza Kingdom so even lower nobles like my family have something like this, it's really interesting.'
The practicality of it made his excitement true.
Before he went out, he decided to give one last look at the magic tools that he had not seen, and there he found it!
It was a strange-looking magical tool. It looked like a gear but its edges were like short knives. A curious artifact, mysterious and menacing all at once.
He read its properties, which said: An unnamed item from the Syracuse era. Properties: Full recovery for seven living sacrifices. No side effects.
The simplicity of the description belied the horrifying power it hinted at.
Grievous felt a smile spread across his face as he let out a small, dry laugh and said, "Just as if it was made for my condition!"
He imagined the possibilities. Seven living sacrifices.
His mind raced with questions. Who had created this tool? What price had been paid to unlock such power?
He carefully slipped the gear-like tool into his space ring, the cold metal pressing reassuringly against his palm. The room seemed to grow darker around him, shadows lengthening as if in recognition.
As he turned to leave, his eyes caught the faint glimmer of a single candle. Its flame flickered weakly, fighting against the encroaching gloom.
He breathed deeply, the cool air filling his lungs. Tonight was just the beginning. The spells, the armour, the magical tools, all pieces of a puzzle he was only starting to understand.
Outside, the world awaited with its dangers and betrayals. But inside him, something stirred, a spark of hope, of power.
'This family may be weak in name,' he thought, 'but we carry secrets that can change a small region.'
To him, the journey ahead was too uncertain. Many would seek to stop him.