Chapter 61: At the Dead End of the Old District

Over the next three days, I spent my quiet hours analyzing the coordinates I had copied from Count Cecilion’s ledger.

Sitting at my small wooden workbench with a magnifying loupe pressed against my right eye, I traced the faint lines and ciphered codes recorded in the stolen pages.

The Black Circle wasn’t just a local gang. They were an organized underground syndicate with roots spreading across multiple places in the kingdom.

The deeper I dug into the encrypted trade logs, the clearer it became that their influence reached high-ranking nobles, black market traders, and illegal mana smugglers.

Their main operation in the capital was centered around a location listed as Sector 4 - Old District.

"Ignatius," I said as he sat in my shop eating a meat pie I bought for him.

Ignatius paused, chewing his food slowly. He wiped a drop of dark gravy from his chin with the back of his thumb and stared down at me with a raised eyebrow.

"The Old District?" he asked, swallowing the large mouthful with a heavy gulp. "That’s the old abandoned sewer system built two centuries ago. Nobody goes down there. It’s filled with toxic gas, stray slime monsters, and flooded tunnels."

"Is there an entrance near the old district?" I asked, keeping my tone casual while tapping a small brass file against my wooden workbench.

"Yeah, behind the old grain warehouse," Ignatius replied, leaning forward in his chair until the wooden legs creaked under his weight. "Why? You’re not thinking of playing down there, are you?"

Ignatius frowned, looking at me sternly.

"Silvester, that place is dangerous. Even Level 4 adventurers avoid it because the tunnels are a maze."

"Why would Level 4 adventurers avoid a sewer?" I asked, leaning back against my stool and crossing my arms. "Aren’t they supposed to handle high risk contracts?"

"Handling high risk contracts is different from being stupid," Ignatius grunted, pointing a greasy fork at me. "The old sewer wasn’t made for people to walk through easily. It was built during the old war as an emergency evacuation route and underground storage network. The stone they used absorbs light and sound. If you get lost down there, your torch light won’t travel more than ten feet, and your voice won’t carry down the hall."

"Sounds poorly lit," I commented smoothly.

"It is worse than poorly lit," Ignatius insisted, taking another bite of the meat pie and chewing thoughtfully. "The air itself is thick enough to make your eyes water after ten minutes. The upper levels are bad enough, but the deeper sectors are flooded with stagnant water from the river. God knows what kind of mutated beasts have been breeding down there since the war ended."

"Have you ever gone down there yourself?" I asked, adjusting a pair of copper tweezers on my table.

"Once," Ignatius grunted, leaning back and resting his thick arms on his knees. "A party of Level 3 guys hired me to help them track an escaped hound beast before I became a servant of Lerwick. We barely stepped past the second junction before we had to turn back. The air made our throat burn, and the mapping tools stopped working. The stone walls have some kind of natural anti-magic alloy mixed into the mortar."

"Anti-magic alloy?" I repeated, my interest spiking slightly.

"Yeah. It interferes with spatial mapping and basic tracking spells," Ignatius explained, shaking his head. "So unless you have a physical map drawn by the original builders, you are just walking blindly in circles. The guild officially marked it as an unmapped danger zone two years ago."

"Then why do people keep talking about the docks near the warehouse?" I asked gently, guiding the conversation back to the ledger coordinates.

"Well, keep your curiosity to yourself," Ignatius grunted, pointing his finger at me again. "Lately, the local thieves’ guild has been warning people to stay away from the docks. They say people who hang around there at night disappear without a trace."

"What kind of people?" I pressed.

"Smugglers, night watchmen, even experienced rogues from the lower district," Ignatius said, dropping his voice to a low rumble. "Two nights ago, a senior member of the docks guild went missing during his late shift. He was a Level 3 rogue who knew every alleyway by heart. His friends found his lantern sitting on a crate near the old warehouse wall. The flame was still burning, but the guy was completely gone. No sign of a fight, no blood on the cobblestones, nothing."

"No struggle at all?" I asked.

"None," Ignatius said grimly. "The guild masters think a high level mage or a black market team is operating near the water, snatching anyone who gets too close to their perimeter. That is why everyone with half a brain is staying away from Sector 4 after dusk."

"Sounds like a terrible place to wander around," I agreed, giving him a calm nod.

"I know," Ignatius said, standing up and dusting pie crumbs off his leather trousers. "So promise me you won’t wander off toward the river. Victoria would skin me alive if anything happened to you while I was supposed to be watching the shop."

"I promise I won’t play near the river," I lied without hesitation.

"Good kid," Ignatius laughed, clapping his heavy hand on my shoulder hard enough to rattle my tools. "I will come by tomorrow to check on you."

After Ignatius left the shop, the evening rolled in quietly. The ambient noise of the street faded as shopkeepers rolled down their iron shutters for the night.

Victoria walked into the front room carrying a freshly folded tunic and a cup of warm water.

"Silvester, did you finish your dinner?" she asked, placing the clean clothing neatly on the counter.

"Yes, Victoria," I replied, looking up from my workbench. "I ate everything."

"Good," she said, leaning over to inspect my face closely. "You still look tired. Are you sure you are getting enough sleep at night?"

"I sleep fine," I lied smoothly. "I was just busy organizing the key blanks in the back drawer."

"Organizing can wait until morning," Victoria scolded gently, placing her warm hand on my forehead to check my temperature. "An eight-year-old boy needs proper rest, not spending every late hour staring at metal scrap."

"I know, Victoria."

"Make sure you close the front shutters properly tonight," she said, walking over to the window and checking the latch herself. "The wind coming off the river feels cold tonight, and I do not want you catching a fever."

"I will lock all three bolts before I head to bed," I assured her.

"And don’t stay up late reading those dusty books under your pillow," she added with a smile, tapping my nose lightly. "If I see light coming from under your door past midnight, I am confiscating all your tools for a week."

"I will go to sleep early," I promised.

"Goodnight, little master," she said warmly, turning around and heading up the wooden staircase to her bedroom.

"Goodnight, Victoria."

Disappearing without a trace. That sounded like the work of black-thread spatial traps or security guards.

I waited in the dark room until the sound of Victoria’s steady breathing drifted down from the upper floor. The clock on the wall ticked quietly, marking two hours past midnight.

That night, after Victoria went to sleep, I packed my tools into my leather pouch.

I brought my spatial key, Master Key, my golden-mana-infused lockpicks, a small lantern, and the noble crest Duke Voulstridge had given me.

I checked the lock on my leather pouch, ensuring every pick and key was seated securely in its felt slot so they wouldn’t clink together when I ran.

I pulled my black face mask over my nose and slipped out the window into the cool night air.

The old grain warehouse at the edge of the Normal District docks was pitch black. The smell of salt water mixed with rotting wood hung heavy in the air. It was the kind of stench that clung to your clothes and stayed in your nostrils for three days straight.

"Victoria would absolutely kill me if she knew I was out here," I muttered to myself, pulling my scarf up over my nose. "She spent two hours scrubbing my jacket yesterday, and now I am about to roll around in dock grime."

I paused near the rotting wooden pillars of the main structure. The perimeter wards surrounding the ruins were faint, flickering like dying candles in my vision.

"Who built these security wards?" I whispered out loud, shaking my head as I inspected the magical strands. "They are sloppy. It is like trying to lock a front door with a piece of soggy string."

Using my Locksmith’s Eye, I easily bypassed the perimeter wards set up around the warehouse ruins. A simple twist of my golden mana was enough to slip right through the gap without triggering a single alarm rune.

"Step one complete," I said under my breath. "Now for the fun part."

Behind a collapsed brick wall, I found a heavy iron grate leading downward into the dark abyss of the sewer system. The iron bars were thick, rusted over from years of salty sea air, and held in place by a massive padlocked chain.

"Let us see what we have here," I said, crouching beside the lock and pulling my iron pick from my pocket. "A standard four-pin brass tumbler. Honestly, this is almost insulting."

I inserted the pick into the keyhole and applied a tiny bit of pressure.

Clink.

"And open," I chuckled softly. "You would think an evil underground group could afford a better padlock."

I unlocked the grate with my lockpick and descended the rusted iron ladder into the tunnel.

The air below was damp and cold. Water dripped rhythmically from the arched stone ceiling, splashing onto the wet cobblestones beneath my boots. The smell down here was even worse than the warehouse above, a delightful blend of stagnant sewage and moldy stone.

"Ignatius was right about one thing," I talked to myself as I reached the bottom of the ladder. "This place really is a dump. If I catch a cold down here, I am sending him the bill for my medicine."

I pulled my lantern close, dimming the light so it only illuminated a few feet in front of me. I did not want to draw any unnecessary attention from whatever might be lurking in the dark.

I walked quietly through the stone tunnels for nearly twenty minutes, following the mana currents highlighted by my Locksmith’s Eye. The golden pathways in my vision cut through the darkness, guiding me past flooded side passages and rotting wooden support beams.

"Left turn here," I whispered, stepping over a puddle of questionable liquid. "Follow the black threads. Easy enough."

As I moved deeper into the conduit, the ambient temperature dropped significantly. My breath began to form thin white clouds in the dim lantern light.

"Great. Now it feels like Duke Voulstridge’s basement," I complained quietly. "Why do all the secret hideouts have to be freezing cold? Would it hurt these cultists to install a nice furnace?"

Finally, I reached a dead end.

Or at least, it looked like a dead end to a normal person.

Standing at the end of the flooded tunnel was a massive wall made of dark, seamless basalt stone. There was no door handle, no keyhole, and no visible hinges. To anyone else, it was just a solid wall of rock blocking the path.

However, under my vision, the stone wall was covered in hundreds of dense, black mana threads that flowed toward a central node in the middle of the wall.

"Well, well, well," I said, taking a step closer and crossing my arms over my chest. "Now this is much better. Someone actually put some effort into this one."

I examined the intricate network of dark energy pulsing across the surface of the rock.

"An anti-magic vault door," I whispered, inspecting the wall closely.

This wasn’t built by ordinary criminals. The craftsmanship required high-tier spatial mages and ancient engineering.

"Count Cecilion definitely did not build this himself," I remarked to the empty tunnel. "He does not have the brainpower for spatial alignment of this level. This has ancient magic written all over it."

The Black Circle wasn’t just using this place as a hideout. They were guarding something deep underground.

"What are you guys keeping behind a gate like this?" I asked out loud, staring at the swirling dark energy. "Are you hiding a treasure chest, or is there another giant spirit sitting in the dark?"

I reached out my hand and touched the cold stone.

The moment my fingertips grazed the surface, the dark energy flared. The black mana threads inside the door immediately reacted, trying to swarm toward my hand to corrupt my mana pathways. They moved like hungry parasites, eager to dig into my skin.

"Nice try," I muttered.

I did not panic. I simply focused my internal energy and channeled my skill directly into my own skin layer.

Close!

I locked my skin’s mana output, rendering my physical touch completely invisible to the dark threads’ detection.

The black threads writhed around my fingers in frustration, unable to find a single drop of mana to sink their teeth into. They slid off my hand like harmless water drops.

"You are fast, but I am faster," I smiled, shaking my head at the squirming energy. "Did you really think a simple trap like that would work on me? I deal with locks for a living."

I reached into my coat and pulled out my special spatial key, holding the heavy star-iron frame in my grip. The blue crystals embedded along its teeth hummed softly in response to the spatial resonance of the door.

"Time to see what is on the other side," I whispered.

I pulled out my spatial key and held it against the central node of the stone wall.