Chapter 55: Rumors

Later that afternoon, Ignatius barged into the guild with a bandage wrapped around his forehead and a wide grin on his face. He had already come by this morning to visit me, but apparently he could not stay away for long.

"Hey, kid, look who survived," he boomed, his massive frame taking up half the space in our small front room.

"You look like you fought a brick wall and lost," I said without looking up from my workbench, carefully filing down the edge of an iron tumbler.

"Hey, that was a Troll," Ignatius argued, pulling up a wooden chair that groaned under his weight before sitting down with a heavy sigh. "Anyway, the Guild is still cleaning up the Normal District Gate. But rumors are flying everywhere."

"What rumors?" I asked, setting down the file and sharpening my chisel against a wet stone.

Ignatius leaned in, lowering his voice to a low rasp. "Word on the street is that some shady buyers were spotted near the slums three nights before the break. They were buying up low-grade monster cores in bulk, specifically cores from subterranean beasts."

My hand paused for a fraction of a second over the sharpening stone. "Subterranean beasts?"

"Yeah. The guys selling them thought it was weird because those cores are usually worthless for crafting," Ignatius scoffed, leaning back in his chair. "Probably some dumb noble trying to save money on budget mana lamps."

"Probably," I lied smoothly.

In reality, subterranean monster cores had a much higher mana density because of the constant earth pressure underground. They were the perfect vessels to hold dark mana threads without shattering immediately.

Shortly after Ignatius left to get a drink at the local tavern, a well-dressed servant wearing green livery entered my shop. He bowed politely, though he looked somewhat embarrassed to be standing in a commoner locksmith shop surrounded by copper dust and grease.

"Are you Master Silvester?" the servant asked, eyeing my small stature.

"Just Silvester. What do you need?"

"My master, Baron Hendrix, requires a skilled locksmith to inspect an old ancestral trunk in the Noble District," the servant explained. "The lock is intricate, and he refuses to let a blacksmith break the iron hinges."

I narrowed my eyes slightly. A noble hiring an eight-year-old child from the Commercial District meant one of two things. Either he was cheap, or he wanted someone discreet who would not ask questions.

"How much does it pay?" I asked.

"Two gold coins."

I hopped down from my stool and grabbed my leather tool bag. "Let’s go."

We took a private carriage straight into the Noble District. The atmosphere here was completely different from the Commercial District. High stone walls, manicured gardens, and guards in polished armor lined the paved avenues, presenting a picture of absolute wealth and security.

Baron Hendrix’s estate was modest compared to Duke Voulstridge’s palace, but it still dripped with obvious luxury. The servant led me through a quiet side entrance and down a dimly lit hallway into a private study.

An old iron-bound trunk sat in the center of the room on a heavy oak table.

Baron Hendrix himself was standing near the fireplace, holding a glass of dark red wine. He was a plump man with thin gray hair and nervous eyes that kept darting toward the curtained windows and heavy door.

"You are the locksmith from the guild?" Hendrix asked, looking down at me with obvious skepticism and irritation. "You look like you barely learned how to walk."

"I can leave if you prefer paying a blacksmith to ruin your antique wood," I said casually, setting my leather bag onto the stone floor.

Hendrix grunted and gestured impatiently toward the table. "Just open it. Don’t ask what is inside, and don’t touch anything else in the room."

I stepped up to the oak table and examined the iron lock. It was a heavy triple pin tumbler from two centuries ago, reinforced with basic brass plating along the edges.

Locksmith’s Eye.

My vision shifted instantly. The golden lines of the internal mechanism unfolded before me, showing the rusted pins, stiff springs, and worn iron teeth. But right around the keyhole, my gaze caught a faint, dark residue creeping along the metal.

It was not an active black thread, but a lingering stain of corrupted mana. Someone who handled dark thread cores had unlocked this trunk very recently.

I pulled out my standard tension wrench and a thin iron pick from my pouch. I did not even need to use my active spatial skills for a purely mechanical lock like this.

A soft click echoed in the quiet room.

The second click followed immediately after.

Then a third.

The heavy iron latch popped open in less than fifteen seconds.

Baron Hendrix gasped, nearly dropping his wine glass on the carpet. "That fast?"

"The pins were misaligned," I said smoothly, stepping back from the table. "That will be two gold coins."

Hendrix hurriedly reached into his coat and tossed two shiny gold coins onto the wooden surface. He quickly pulled the heavy lid of the trunk open just enough to reach inside, revealing stacks of dark leather ledgers and small velvet pouches.

As he shifted the ledgers, I caught a glimpse of a familiar dark mark stamped onto the parchment. It was a serpent eating its own tail around a broken lock.

The Black Circle.

Baron Hendrix was receiving funds or ledger records from the exact same syndicate supplying the corrupted cores to the slums.

I took the gold coins and put them into my pouch without saying a word.

"You didn’t see anything," Hendrix warned, his voice trembling slightly as he clutched a leather ledger tightly against his chest.

"I only see locks and keys, My Lord," I replied, giving him a small, polite bow.

I walked out of the estate and stepped into the cool afternoon air. The pieces were starting to connect. The Black Circle was not just operating in the slums. Their roots were stretching straight into the Noble District.

When I arrived back at the guild, a luxurious white carriage with the Voulstridge family crest was parked right outside the main porch.

The polished silver wheels caught the afternoon light, drawing curious stares from passing commoners and market vendors.

Victor, the Duke’s head butler, was standing beside the carriage door in his pristine black suit, gloves immaculate and posture perfectly erect. He looked entirely out of place in our dusty alley, standing like an unyielding shadow among wood piles and laundry lines.

Victoria was standing on the porch steps, clutching a broom tightly to her chest and looking completely frozen in terror at the presence of a Duke’s butler in our humble alley.

"Young Master Silvester," Victor said, bowing deeply the moment his eyes met mine. "His Grace, Duke Voulstridge, requests your presence."

Victoria gasped loudly, dropping the broom handle against the wooden railing with a loud clatter and placing both hands over her mouth. "S-Silvester... what did you do?!"

"It’s fine, Victoria. It’s nothing serious," I said quickly, holding up a reassuring hand to calm her down before she fainted right on the porch. "Just some follow up work from my previous contract."

Victor reached into his inner breast pocket and handed me a sealed envelope made of heavy, gold embossed parchment. The wax seal bore the raised crest of the Voulstridge house, pressed in deep blue wax.

"His Grace is hosting the Mid-Autumn Noble Banquet at the main estate three days from now," Victor explained politely, his voice carrying the smooth composure of a master servant. "You are formally invited as an honored guest of the family."

I broke the blue wax seal and unfolded the thick parchment. The front bore elegant calligraphy declaring my formal invitation to the banquet. On the back of the parchment, written in the Duke’s sharp, elegant handwriting, was a short note.

There are rats attending the party. Bring your eyes.

I smirked internally, slipping the letter back into its envelope. The Duke was not just inviting me to eat cakes and watch nobles dance. He was giving me an official entry pass into high society so I could hunt down the organization from the inside.

"Tell the Duke I’ll be there," I said, sliding the heavy envelope safely inside my coat.