Chapter 27: Not an Average Lock

Victoria opened the pouch, counted the gold coins, and quickly stamped the poster to register the job as fulfilled.

"This is incredible, Silvester," Victoria muttered, shaking her head. "You brought massive fame to our guild, Silvester. If the Duke recognized your service, your guild rank instantly jumps from Level 1 to Level 5, a senior locksmith position. Isn’t it amazing and surprising, little lamb?~" Her voice suddenly changed to a seductive tone.

A murmur went through the novice locksmiths sitting at the nearby workbenches.

"This is ridiculous! Reaching a Level 5 senior ranking for a merely eight-year-old kid?!"

"There must be some trick he did."

"That’s cheating! He can’t even lift a set of tools."

"I saw him this morning. He just disgraced one of our seniors."

I looked at them with a blank expression to shut them up. They became silent and continued their jobs.

I can’t blame them, though. Most of the locksmiths spent five years just learning how to file brass keys before they were allowed to touch mana locks.

"Thanks, Victoria," I said, taking back my updated locksmith license and my gold coins with less guild commission. "Anyway, congratulations on opening the safe I gave you. Though you look like a haggard panda."

"It’s so hard, Silvester! I’ve been awake for days. Look at my face. It’s not attractive. I need beauty rest before you continue teaching me, huhuhu." She said in a suffering voice.

"We’ll start your training tomorrow, Victoria. Take a rest."

She just nodded with heavy shoulders and walked on her way to her private office.

I turned around and pushed through the iron door leading to the guild’s private workshop wing.

I gave a short nod without turning around and pushed through the heavy iron door leading to the Guild’s private workshop wing.

The workshop wing was quiet, with a dimly lit corridor lined with individual private booths for licensed locksmiths. Each booth was equipped with a wooden workbench, a vice grip, an oil lamp, and fine lock tools.

I walked to Stall 11, unlocked the iron padlock on the door, and stepped inside. I closed the door behind me and threw the heavy lock shut.

Finally, I was alone.

I let out a long sigh and felt the deep physical fatigue of the day catching up with my body. Closing my wounds, channeling mana, and standing in front of an oppressive Duke for hours had drained my stamina more than I cared to admit.

I lit the oil lamp on my workbench, and the warm yellow glow cast across the table. Setting my leather magic pouch from my waist down, I pulled out a small personal notebook that Ignatius gave me. It was thick, bound in dark calfskin. I opened it to a blank page.

I picked up a charcoal pencil and immediately began to draw.

My hand moved with practiced speed. I was quite skilled with it from my previous life, having analyzed and studied every safe and lock that I encountered. Using the vivid memory provided by my Locksmith’s Eye, I sketched the intricate secondary lock I had spotted at the bottom of the late Duchess Silvia’s chest.

I drew the outer wooden boundary of the chest floor, followed by the overlapping silver lines of the mana circle. I noted the precise angles where the mana lines intersected and the central node where the spatial fold collapsed into itself.

As the drawing took shape, the true complexity of the lock became clear.

"It isn’t just an average spatial lock," I muttered and leaned over the desk. "It’s a spatial mana pocket sitting inside a small space. Interesting."

Unlike my magic pouch spatial lock, which was simple, this was more complicated and somewhat different.

A standard mana lock needed simple mana threads to pick the hooks and lift the pins.

But to pick a high-grade spatial lock?

Physical metal tools would simply pass right through the space without touching the internal pins. Also, standard mana threads would vanish instantly if they made contact with the space.

It would be useless if I used my Master Key since it’s a tool to enhance my locksmith skills and mana threads to open and close things, not applicable to a void seal.

To crack that lock, I needed to find a special tool. A material that could channel my mana directly inside that seal to pull up the pins.

"Space Crystal," I murmured, tapping the pencil against my chin. "I need at least three pieces of high-grade Space Crystals to craft a wire to forge the pick tip. It will serve as a bridge between my mana threads and the pins of the seal."

Space Crystal was rare. It was a highly regulated magical metal in every kingdom, capable of existing in two overlapping physical dimensions simultaneously. It was primarily used by high-level mages to construct space storage rings and pouches and was even highly used in teleportation gates that only the royal family used.

A single Space Crystal cost around sixteen gold coins on the open market, assuming you had the noble permits required to purchase it legally.

I quickly pulled the pouch from my coat and set it on the wooden workbench.

I only had fifty gold coins.

Buying a Space Crystal was an impossible fantasy. Having fifty gold coins was already considered true wealth, and sourcing a Space Crystal was not for a commoner. Illegal purchasing meant death.

"Gold coins aren’t the problem anymore," I said, staring at the pile of gold as I untied the pouch. "The problem is sourcing the restricted crystals without alerting the Novarian Trading Bureau, the nobles, especially Duke Sebastian, and the Royal Family."

If Duke Sebastian realized that his daughter’s eight-year-old advisor was suddenly buying Space Crystals on the black market of the Normal District, he would suspect me immediately that I found something inside his estate. That would cause my death.

I needed a supplier who didn’t ask questions, kept no ledgers, and didn’t care about age or noble permits.

I was about to close my notebook when three small knocks jolted the wooden door of the personal workshop stall.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

Two slow hits, followed by one swift tap.

I froze for a second. My hand instinctively dropped onto a small iron wrench inside my sleeve.