Chapter 9: The Book of Forge Master Albatriar

Silvester listened, but not with his ears. He used his fingertips and his Locksmith’s Eye.

He felt the tiny spaces between the gear teeth—the faint trace of a shear line.

Click.

The first gear turned slightly, locking into place.

Silvester adjusted the angle of his tool, applying a light upward push to the first star-iron balance lock pin.

Click.

Click-click.

The second and third lock pins lifted, their star-iron ends resting smoothly on the shear line.

Cold sweat beaded on his young forehead. Controlling Aperture Shift, Close, and Open skills all at once was pushing his limited mana pool to its limit. His vision was blurring with exhaustion, but his hand stayed as still as an iron block.

Fourth pin... fifth... sixth...

Click. Click. Click.

The seventh pin caught slightly due to a tiny burr on the star-iron stem. Silvester did not force it. He used a subtle pulse of Open to smooth the rough spot away with sound friction, then pushed it up gently.

Click.

Only the eighth pin remained: the main balance pin.

Silvester took a deep breath, focused his mind, and gave a final lift.

CLACK.

The heavy star-iron main pin snapped up, locking flat against the channel’s wall.

A heavy metal rumble echoed through the stone cliff face as balance weights shifted and water pins retracted into the frame.

The central round disc turned a quarter turn to the left.

With a slow hiss of trapped air escaping the sealed chamber, the ten-foot metal door swung inward, opening into the cool, dark sanctuary of the outpost.

Silvester stepped through the doorway, and the heavy metal door automatically swung shut behind him with a deep, loud THUD.

CLACK-CLACK-CLACK.

The round gears turned back into place, locking the door firmly from the inside.

Silvester stood in complete darkness for a moment before feeding mana to the magic glass of his Ever-Burn Lantern. Warm golden light filled the room, revealing a massive, perfectly preserved dwarven fortress.

The air inside was clean, dry, and completely free of the foul sulfur smell of the seventh floor.

Silvester looked around the main hall.

It was a craft hub. Sturdy stone tables were lined with metalworking tools, stacks of metal ingots, and heavy iron storage chests.

There were no bones and no signs of struggle. The dwarves had simply packed their most valuable belongings and left when the lower floors fell, locking the main door behind them to keep the facility secure.

Silvester walked over to the water basin.

He cupped his hands in the cold stream water and drank, washing away days of dust, oil, and the taste of iron from his throat. He splashed the clear water over his face, letting out a long, relieved sigh.

For the first time since escaping his stone cell at the Lerwick estate, he was completely safe. No guards, no high mages, no blind beasts, no metal monsters.

He untied his magic bag and placed it on a heavy stone worktable.

Mounted on the wall above the worktable was a locked tool rack behind a brass-framed glass case. Inside sat a full set of master dwarven locksmith tools.

Silvester admired them through the glass.

Compared to these tools, the handmade iron pick he had forged in his cell was merely a child’s toy.

"High quality," Silvester whispered, his eyes glowing with warmth.

He placed his hand on the glass case’s small brass lock.

Open.

Click.

The brass lock sprang open instantly. Silvester reached inside, gently lifting the dark metal tool set from its soft cloth lining. The metal felt smooth and perfectly balanced in his small palm, fitting his hand as though it had been crafted specifically for him.

He walked into the sleeping quarters and over to a heavy dwarven bed lined with soft leather padding.

He took off his cloth coat, kicked off his boots, and sat on the edge of the mattress. He pulled two biscuits from his bag, chewed them slowly, and drank another cup of fresh spring water.

Then, Silvester lay back against the firm leather bed.

He did not cast Close. He simply allowed his exhausted muscles to sink into the mattress.

He closed his eyes.

Tomorrow, he would use the forge to repair his gear and study the dwarven maps left on the main desk. He would prepare for the journey down into the deep floors.

But tonight, in the quiet, secure heart of the ancient dwarven fortress, the eight-year-old master locksmith finally slept.

Twelve hours of deep sleep in a warm dwarf room worked well on Silvester’s young body.

When he opened his eyes, the deep tiredness that had stayed in his joints was gone. His small arms and legs felt quick and light. More than that, when he examined the flow of his inner mana threads, he felt a small but clear change in the center of his chest. The threads had been stretched to their limits during his straight climb down and the breaking of the big, hard door. They had healed back thinner and smoother.

Silvester swung his legs off the bed, his bare feet touching the smooth black stone floor.

Silvester took a deep breath, washed his face once more at the mountain water tub, and walked into the post’s main reading room.

The reading room had iron shelves reaching all the way from the floor to the high ceiling. These held hundreds of thick paper rolls bound in soft lead and heavy metal record books bound in brass.

In the middle of the room stood a tall stone table holding a giant book made of thick, dark star-iron plates. Hanging right above the book was an old glass ball that shone with a steady white light.

Silvester walked up to the stone table. Written across the dark iron cover of the book, carved in dwarf letters, was a name: The Book of Forge Master Albatriar.

During his two years of self-study in the Lerwick family stone room, Silvester had spent many late nights learning dead languages, including dwarf languages. To a locksmith, learning old words was not just for reading stories; it was an important work skill. More than half of the locks in the southern lands of Novaria were made by modern dwarf smiths, and knowing their names was necessary for reading their key plans.

Silvester placed his hand against the iron cover.

The pages were made of thick, oiled paper to keep them safe from rot and wet air. Silvester leaned over the stone table, his dark eyes reading the handwriting.

Year 412 of the Dwarf Calendar.

Guard Post 12 works completely. The hot rock paths from Floor 8 bring steady heat to the main melting pots. The production of star-iron metal blocks for the king’s safe continues on time.

Silvester turned through dozens of pages showing normal work facts, iron bar totals, coal distribution, the opening and closing of water gates, and some punishments for young smiths who broke the rules.

He kept turning until he reached the second-to-last page, where the dark ink grew fast and messy, marked with dry oil.

Year 489 of the Dwarf Calendar.

The bad change in the deep floor center can no longer be held back. It is not a beast. It is a space break with an unknown entity in the very bottom foundation of the cave’s holding power. Floor 15 has started to send out ruined magic that changes both living skin and forged steel.

The High King has ordered everyone to leave the lower floor completely. All major forge shops above the seventh floor must be shut down forever.

If the lowest floor breaks, the whole southern kingdom of Novaria will sink into the sea. Therefore, Forge Master Albatriar has built the Great King Lock. A twelve-dimensional space safe built right around the center on Floor 15.

The room is locked with the Great King Keyhole. No key was ever made for it. To stop anyone from opening the safe without care and letting out the bad magic, Albatriar made the lock so it cannot be opened by normal tools. It needs real lock pins, magic mana, and space binding.

If you are reading this, traveler... If you are a locksmith of the Blood Iron Line... Do not look for the Great King Lock unless you have the power to bind space. If the lock is forced in the wrong way, the inner break will start a chain explosion that will break the whole southern kingdom of Novaria into pieces.

May the Great Tool protect our souls.

He thought that he had a mission to completely stop the ticking clock of a nuclear bomb to save the world.