Chapter 70: The Final Preparations

Three weeks before my planned departure date, a heavy, unmarked carriage arrived at the guild during the late evening, long after the guild had closed its doors for the night.

The driver wore simple dark clothes, but the way he carried himself betrayed his military background. He walked up to our private back door, gave a specific three knocks, and handed me a small folded note sealed with dark purple wax.

It was from Duke Voulstridge.

An hour later, I was sitting in the grand, quiet study of the Duke’s private manor in the upper district.

The room smelled of old paper, expensive tobacco, and polished mahogany wood. Tall bookshelves lined the walls, and a large fireplace crackled softly, casting warm orange light across the room.

Duke Voulstridge sat behind his massive wooden desk, wearing a simple dark blue tunic. He looked slightly older than he had two years ago, a few gray hairs showing at his temples, but his blue eyes were as sharp and terrifying as ever.

Standing quietly in the dark shadow near the bookshelf was his elite assassin, completely silent and motionless as a stone statue.

"You have grown taller, Silvester," the Duke said, taking a slow sip from a crystal glass. "And considerably richer, from what my financial informants tell me."

"It turns out people really like safes that don’t break when hit with hammers, my Lord," I replied smoothly, sitting comfortably in the leather armchair across from his desk.

The Duke let out a quiet, dry chuckle. "Indeed. Your Earthen Vaults have caused quite a stir among the merchant guilds. Even several of my own estate managers have replaced their iron chests with your designs."

He set his crystal glass down on the mahogany desk, his expression turning serious.

"Which brings us to the real reason I summoned you tonight," the Duke continued, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the desk. "My intelligence network informs me that you have been liquidating your local assets, securing high-grade travel documents, and purchasing foreign currency."

I did not bother lying. Trying to lie to a man who ran the kingdom’s secret intelligence network was a complete waste of breath.

"My preparations are nearly finished,my Lord," I admitted calmly.

"You are actually going through with it," the Duke said, narrowing his eyes slightly. "You are heading into the Vhaltrar Empire."

"I am," I confirmed. "The evidence we recovered two years ago proved that the corrupted cores and the Black Circle were just frontline assets funded by Vhaltrar’s Royal Foundry. If I want to understand how their mechanics work, I have to go to the source."

The Duke stayed silent for a long moment, staring at me with a heavy, calculating gaze.

"The border situation is extremely volatile, Silvester," the Duke warned, his voice dropping low. "The cold war between our kingdom and Vhaltrar is close to boiling over. Their border patrols are ruthlessly strict. If they discover you are a Novarian citizen, especially one with extraordinary talent, they will either execute you as a spy or lock you in an underground research facility for the rest of your life."

"I am aware of the risks," I said, my tone remaining steady. "That is why I am entering as a locksmith merchant. I am going to build a small, quiet workshop inside their territory and establish myself as a local artisan."

The Duke let out a heavy sigh, leaning back in his leather chair.

"You are ten years old, Silvester," he said quietly. "Though I admit you talk and act like an old man, you are still a child."

He reached into his desk drawer, pulling out a thick, official document sealed with the royal crest of Novaria, alongside a small wooden chest that clinked heavily with the sound of high-grade platinum coins.

"I cannot stop you," the Duke stated firmly. "So I am offering you my full support."

He pushed the wooden chest and the document across the desk toward me.

"Inside this chest is ten thousand platinum coins, funded directly from my private treasury," the Duke explained. "And this document is a royal intelligence pass. It will grant you access to our kingdom’s secret underground trade networks, secure military escorts across the border, and immediate financial backing to build a massive guild branch anywhere inside the empire."

I looked down at the wooden chest and the royal document sitting on the mahogany desk. Ten thousand platinum coins was an absolute fortune, enough to buy an entire town. A royal military escort would guarantee my safe passage across the heavily guarded border without any risk.

It was an incredible offer.

I looked back up at the Duke, met his sharp blue eyes, and slowly shook my head.

"I cannot accept this, My Lord," I said gently.

The room fell completely silent. Even the assassin standing in the shadows shifted slightly, surprised by my refusal.

The Duke raised an eyebrow. "You are refusing ten thousand platinum coins and royal military protection?"

"I am," I replied, holding his gaze without flinching. "If I take your money and use your military escorts, I become an asset of the Novarian royal crown. Vhaltrar’s counter-intelligence network is not stupid. The moment a massive, heavily funded workshop appears near their border backed by foreign gold, their spies will investigate every single coin."

I leaned forward slightly, explaining my reasoning clearly.

"The only way my cover story works is if it is entirely real," I continued. "I need to enter Vhaltrar using my own earned capital, carrying my own merchant permits, and building my shop step by step with my own hands. If there are zero connections between me and the Novarian crown, their spies will see nothing but an ambitious young artisan trying to make a living."

The Duke stared at me, his face completely unreadable for several seconds. Then, slowly, the corners of his mouth twitched upward into a broad, genuine smile.

"Your pride," the Duke murmured, shaking his head. "Or perhaps absolute practicality. You truly are a terrifying child, Silvester."

He pulled the chest and the document back toward his side of the desk.

"Very well," the Duke said, his voice carrying deep respect. "I will not force my gold upon you. But hear this, little locksmith. If you ever find yourself trapped behind enemy lines with no way out, find a merchant ship bearing the crest of my family. They report directly to me, and they will bring you home."

"Thank you, my Lord," I said, standing up and bowing politely. "I will remember that."

The final weeks before my departure were spent in total isolation inside my small workshop under the guild hall.

While the street above was noisy with merchants shouting and heavy carriages rolling past, down here in the dark basement it was just me, the glow of red coals, and the bitter smell of burnt metal.

Over the past two years, while making revolutionary safes and managing my growing wealth, I had never stopped working on the most important project of my life. My new Vhaltrar Key.

The project was a complete secret from everyone, including Victoria. I had harvested a small portion of the dark-silver alloy from the Vhaltrar core mold we recovered from the floor safe long ago.

Using a high-temperature magical forge that I built under the shop floor, I spent months melting, refining, and blending the foreign metal with my own star-iron reserves.

It was an agonizingly difficult process. The foreign alloy completely resisted normal fire magic, requiring precise temperature adjustments and continuous mana inputs just to make it soften.

My hands were covered in fresh calluses and minor burns from the intense heat radiating off the crucible. I ruined two sets of heavy tongs and burned through three barrels of high-grade elemental coal before

I finally got the liquid mixture to fuse properly. If my mana control dropped for even a single second, the foreign metal would instantly harden into an unusable lump of brittle slag.

Now, sitting at my wooden workbench late at night with only a single flickering oil lamp burning beside me, the final product rested in the palm of my hand.

It was a beautiful, terrifying piece of craftsmanship.

Unlike my bright golden Master Key or my silver Spatial Key, this new key was forged from a sleek, pitch-black metal that seemed to absorb the surrounding light.

When I held it up to the lamp, the surface didn’t reflect any light at all. It looked like a solid shadow cut straight out of reality. The shaft was double-threaded, lined with tiny star-iron mana channels that compressed energy into ultra-high density streams.

The handle was carved in the shape of a subtle, gear-driven lock cylinder, completely free of any kingdom crests or recognizable markings.

Anyone who looked at it would just think it was a strange piece of custom hardware, but in my hands, it was a dangerous tool capable of cracking open spatial defenses.

I picked up the key, closing my eyes and channeling a tiny thread of golden mana into the handle.

Sizzle!

Instead of glowing brightly like it usually did when passing through standard iron, my golden mana threads entered the key’s internal channels, went through a series of high-pressure mechanical compressions, and emerged at the tip as a thin, razor-sharp needle of silent, ultra-dense frequency.

My heart raced as I felt the deep vibration in my fingertips. In the past, my golden mana slipped right off spatial barriers because it wasn’t condensed enough to pierce foreign magic.

But this tip felt completely different. It did not slide off. It did not scatter. It matched the exact, heavy frequency of the spatial door used by the man in the black suit.

I opened my eyes, a cold, satisfied smile spreading across my face.

"Now your doors won’t slide off my key, suit guy," I whispered into the quiet room.

I carefully placed the new key into a custom velvet-lined leather pouch, strapping it securely inside my inner coat pocket right beside my Master Key and my standard tools.

Having that black metal key resting against my chest gave me a massive surge of confidence.

Next came my official cover documentation. Going into foreign lands without proper papers was a stupid risk, especially for someone my age.

Through legitimate merchant channels and heavily paid administrative fees, I had secured an official Novarian Independent Merchant License, stamped with royal blue wax by the Novarian Trade and Commercial Council.

It cost me a small fortune in bribe money to speed up the official review process, but it was worth every single gold coin. Attached to it was a specialized Artisan Travel Waiver, proving that I was a certified locksmith master traveling for commercial trade expansion.

My age was listed clearly as ten years old. In the commercial district, it was not uncommon for young prodigies or merchant orphans to take over family trade businesses early, so the paperwork was completely legal and verified by trade officials.

Nobody would question a ten year old traveling with high grade permits as long as the blue wax seal was authentic and the tax stamps were paid in full.

I pulled out my magic storage pouch, double-checking the contents inside for the third time tonight.

I had packed fifty thousand gold coins in neatly stacked leather chests. Seeing that much gold stacked inside a spatial dimension felt incredible, but in an enemy empire, money was power and influence.

Along with the money, I packed my complete set of artisan picking tools given to me by Lady Silvia, ten sets of blank key molds, three sets of spare work clothes, a portable forge kit, and the original trade manifest from the Black Circle laboratory.

I patted the leather pouch tied securely to my waist. Everything was packed. Every single preparation was complete.

I sat at my desk, looking around the small, comfortable workshop that had been my home for the past three years.

The wooden workbench was covered in light scratches, metal filings, and oil stains from endless nights of grinding steel.

The small stool near the window was where I used to sit while Victoria nagged me about eating my breakfast or yelled at me for leaving hot tools on the wooden counter. I could almost hear her voice scolding me right now.

I was leaving all of it behind to step into an enemy empire where nobody knew my name, where the laws were strict, and where a single mistake could cost me my life.

The Black Circle had deep roots in Novaria, and the man in the black suit was probably still searching for clues about who ruined his secret facility.

I felt no fear. Only a quiet, burning excitement in my chest.

I picked up my pencil, wrote a short, simple note on a clean piece of parchment, and laid it neatly in the center of my workbench right where Victoria would see it tomorrow morning.

"Perfect! Tools are packed and keys are ready. It’s time to go open some new doors."

I blew out the flickering mana lamp, pulled my travel cloak tight around my shoulders, and stepped out into the guild.