Chapter 13: Primgard City

The merchants, the travelers, the clerk, and the armored guards all looked down toward the source of the voice.

Standing in the dirt road was an eight-year-old boy in a canvas coat, dark striped trousers, and small boots. He had dark eyes and an unimpressed expression on his face.

The customs captain blinked twice, then looked around to see if the child’s parents were nearby.

"Little boy," the captain said, waving his hand impatiently. "Go back to your mother. This is not a child’s business."

"If you hit that front plate with a sledgehammer," Silvester said calmly, taking three steps forward, "the shockwave will trip the secondary internal anti-tamper latch on the left side, and you will have to cut the entire box open with a blacksmith’s saw. That will take six hours, and you will ruin the precious tax ledgers behind the lock plate."

The guard with the sledgehammer froze and looked confusedly at his captain.

The captain frowned, stepping toward Silvester. "How could an eight-year-old child possibly know what’s inside a customized royal chest?"

"Because it’s a standard Gideon-Pattern Three-Bolt Box with a magic seal," Silvester replied dryly.

The fat merchant stared at Silvester with wide eyes. "He... he actually knows the model name of the chest."

"It doesn’t matter what he knows!" the captain snapped, rubbing his temples. "The keyway is completely blocked by snapped iron! We can’t insert a key even if we wanted to!"

Silvester looked up at the tall captain. His small face was unreadable.

"You don’t need a key," Silvester said. "Keys are for people who don’t understand mechanics."

He didn’t wait for permission. He stepped up to the front of the jammed iron chest and placed his small left palm against the lock plate.

Locksmith’s Eye.

Before the captain could stop him, Silvester snapped his fingers.

SNAP.

Golden mana threads from his hidden key started to crawl over the chest. They were invisible to everyone’s eyes.

The threads started to fix the lock and remove the snapped key. Before everyone’s eyes, the broken key fell onto the dusty road.

He unlocked the magic seal by turning it clockwise using mana threads.

Click.

"Step back, child!" the captain ordered, reaching out a leather-gloved hand to grab Silvester’s collar. "Don’t touch royal property—"

"Shhh... Keep your mouth shut," Silvester said softly.

His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried an absolute authority that made the captain’s hand freeze in mid-air.

The guards gasped.

Silvester didn’t even pause. His golden mana threads moved with effortless, practiced speed.

Click.

First seal set.

Click-click.

Two seals lifted.

Click.

The fourth seal rotated counterclockwise.

CLACK-CHUNK!

Deep inside the heavy chest, the four massive steel deadbolts retracted with a heavy thud. The iron lid popped open half an inch, revealing thousands of glittering gold coins and paper-rolled, cream-colored ledgers inside.

The total time it took was only six seconds.

The entire gatehouse square went dead silent.

The merchants in line stopped talking. The clerk dropped his quill pens. The guards stared at the opened tax chest with open mouths.

"Next time your lock jams," Silvester said in his flat, conversational tone, "don’t use a fucking sledgehammer. Stop lubricating your chest locks with lard. Use light mineral oil or graphite powder. Animal fats make you look so incompetent."

The fat merchant, Lord Stanley, was the first to recover. He burst into loud laughter, clapping his heavy hands together.

"Brilliant! Unbelievable!" Stanley cheered, stepping forward and pulling a heavy leather purse from his belt. "An eight-year-old master locksmith! Captain Vander, hurry! Give this boy whatever he wants! He just saved us four hours of waiting!"

Captain Vander swallowed hard, looking from the opened chest to Silvester’s small hands.

"Who... who are you, boy?" Vander asked, his voice full of genuine awe. "Which guild master taught you how to pick a lock without even touching the keyway?"

"I’m Silvester Keldan," he replied simply, tucking his handkerchief back into his coat. He didn’t want to use his real surname. Saying it would make him puke. "And I don’t belong to any guild. Now, if you don’t mind, I would like to enter the city. The line is very long, and my boots are getting dusty."

Captain Vander didn’t argue. He immediately pulled a gold Novarian Travel Pass from his belt pouch and handed it to Silvester with both hands, bowing his head slightly.

"A gold Travel Pass," Vander said respectfully. "It is acceptable for all city gates, noble districts, and even commercial zones. Welcome to Primgrad, Lord Silvester."

Silvester took the gold pass, inspected the stamp to make sure the ink wasn’t smudged, and slipped it into his pocket. He didn’t want to trust anyone. He didn’t want to be someone’s dog again.

"Thank you," Silvester said. "Now, fix your front gate while you’re at it. The upper hinge is missing two retaining rivets."

Leaving the stunned guards and cheering merchants behind, Silvester stepped through the open archway of the North Gate and entered Primgrad City.

The city was massive, loud, and bursting with life. It is divided into four district; Normal District, Commercial District; Noble District and the Royal District.

Paved stone streets wound between three-story log and stone buildings. Decorated banners of blue, red, and gold hung from high balconies. The air smelled of roasting meats from restaurants, fresh-baked bread from shops, horses on the side streets, and coal smoke from house chimneys.

Silvester walked down the main avenue, his small eyes scanning the shops.

He saw fine jewelry shops with silver-reinforced shutters, huge banks with iron-grated windows, and noble carriages with gold-plated door latches.

To anyone else, it was a city of riches and luxury.

To Silvester, it was an absolute goldmine of terrible security design.

"Exposed hinges everywhere," Silvester observed as he walked, shaking his head. "Golden keyholes that scream ’pick me first.’ Humans here care far too much about how pretty a lock looks and not nearly enough about how it actually functions."

He didn’t mind, though. In fact, it made him feel quite optimistic.

"A city full of rich people with terribly designed locks," Silvester said softly to himself, a small, satisfied smile on his face. "This is going to be very productive."

He followed the main street toward the main district, looking for a dry inn.

He had a golden VIP pass, a pouch full of copper and silver coins, a legendary dwarf key in his bag, and a new life waiting for him in the city.

He adjusted his coat and pulled his magic bag tighter on his hip. The star-iron lockpicks, customized drafting tools, copper, silver, and gold coins, and the Key Master he had accumulated from the dungeon were inside his magic bag.

A rumbling growl came from his stomach.

"Alright," Silvester said while feeling his stomach compress. "I haven’t eaten warm food for months. Salted meat and cavern mushrooms are good, but a proper roast is non-negotiable."

He turned off the main avenue and headed toward the border zone between the Commercial District and the Noble District. The buildings here were clean, built of fine white ashlar stone with dark oak trim. Hanging above the entrance of a two-story establishment was a heavy metal sign shaped like an oak tree and a large carving of a beer mug with writing in the middle.

Oak’s Tavern & Rest.

Silvester pushed open the heavy front door.