Chapter 65: Useless Key

Before I could react, the man in the black suit raised his left hand and snapped his white gloved fingers.

SNAP.

The dark air behind him tore open in a clean, perfectly straight vertical line.

Unlike the violent, jagged spatial cracks that I had seen before, this spatial opening was unnaturally smooth. There was no howling wind, no sudden drop in temperature, and no wild explosion of mana energy.

It opened like a well-oiled sliding door, revealing a pitch-black corridor of compressed spatial mana on the other side.

"No incantations and just a mental command," I breathed, taking a cautious step back. "How are you maintaining a spatial rift without a verbal chant?"

"A true professional does not waste breath on theatrical incantations, Silvester," the man replied casually, glancing back at the pitch-black corridor. "Verbal casting is far too slow for high-level operations. If you must shout to open a door, you are simply wrestling with the mana instead of commanding it."

"You are not just commanding it," I said, my voice tense. "You are folding it."

My eyes widened.

Locksmith’s Eye!

I brought my vision to its absolute limit, analyzing the spatial mechanics of the portal opening.

My breath caught in my throat.

The spatial frequency of this portal was entirely different from anything I had encountered in this kingdom. The spatial gates used by Duke Voulstridge or the royal mages relied on natural atmospheric resonance, using high-grade crystals to push open a gap in the air.

This portal did not push the air open. It used a compressed, high-grade spatial frequency to fold the air over itself, creating a perfectly stable bridge between two far-away points.

It was smooth, silent, and terrifyingly advanced.

"Fascinating, isn’t it?" the man remarked, noticing the golden glow radiating from my eyes. "Most mages in your small kingdom would mistake this for simple dark arts. But you actually recognize the structural geometry at play."

"The Duke’s mages use heavy crystals to force the air apart like iron crowbars," I noted, analyzing the flowing lines of spatial energy. "You aren’t using crowbars. You are using a hidden hinge."

"An excellent analogy," the man said, nodding approvingly behind his dark cloth mask. "Your kingdom relies on blunt force because your magical foundation is centuries behind the rest of the world."

"A hidden hinge still belongs to a door," I said, reaching down to my belt. "And every door can be locked."

"Wait!" I yelled, pulling out my spatial key and aiming it straight at the open spatial rift.

I channeled every bit of golden mana I could squeeze from my core.

Close!

A sharp beam of golden light shot from the teeth of my key, flying straight toward the edges of the portal to lock its tumblers shut.

The golden beam hit the border of the rift.

Sizzle!

Instead of locking the portal shut, my golden mana slid right off the edges of the spatial tear like water off a greasy plate. The spatial mana frequency was so dense and foreign that my current key mechanics could not even find a tumbler node to grip onto.

"What the fuck?!" I gasped, my arms trembling from the sudden mana recoil.

The pushback sent a sharp shudder down my forearms, forcing me to lower my key as golden sparks scattered across the stone floor.

"It didn’t even catch," I muttered in disbelief. "There was nothing for my energy to latch onto."

The man in the black suit watched my failed attempt with mild curiosity. He did not look surprised or alarmed.

"An admirable effort," he said, taking another step backward into the dark spatial corridor. "You attempted to apply local spatial mechanics to my door. A common mistake for a self-taught locksmith."

"Where did you get that spatial frequency?" I asked, forcing my breathing to steady. "That is not standard spatial magic."

"It is simply superior," the man corrected smoothly, adjusting his dark tie one last time. "Your key is calibrated for the loose mana of this region. When confronted with a standardized spatial frame from foreign lands, your local tools simply slip off."

"If you wish to lock a door from the outside, Silvester, you must first understand who forged the frame," he said calmly.

"Are you going to tell me who forged it?" I demanded, taking a heavy step forward.

"Tracking me would be a very dangerous hobby for an eight-year-old boy," the man answered. "Focus on your local problems for now."

He turned his back to me and walked into the dark rift.

"Until we meet again, little locksmith."

SNAP.

The spatial tear snapped shut instantly. The air collapsed back into place with a quiet pop, leaving behind only the soft scent of ozone and cold stone.

I stood alone in the center of the grand, empty sanctuary.

My hands were shaking, not from fear, but from the sheer frustration of watching a door close in front of my face without being able to stop it.

"He slid right off..." I muttered, looking down at my spatial key. "My key couldn’t even find the keyhole."

The man was right. My tools were designed for the locks of this kingdom. But whatever magic he used to open that portal came from somewhere far beyond our borders.

"His spatial mana was structured in dense layers," I reasoned out loud, pacing across the empty floor. "My golden mana relies on finding a single primary node to act as a tumbler. If a foreign spell hides its nodes behind compressed spatial layers, my energy just skitters across the outer shell."

I took a deep breath, forcing my heart rate to slow down. I closed my eyes for three seconds, letting the cold air clear my head.

"Panicking won’t fix a loose pin," I told myself, slipping the key back into my pouch. "If the lock is foreign, I just need to learn how they forge their keys."

I opened my eyes and looked down at the smooth stone floor where the man in the black suit had been standing.

"You talked too much, suit guy," I murmured with a faint smirk. "You told me an entire continent is building a fortress. You told me my locking skills are too local. And most importantly, you showed me what a real spatial door looks like."

I knelt down on one knee, pressing my palm flat against the cold ground where the spatial tear had closed.

"Every door leaves a mark when it shuts," I whispered, focusing a tiny thread of golden mana into the stone. "And now I know what frequency I need to learn."

I turned my attention back to the empty room, determined to find whatever clue the man in the black suit had left behind.

The silence in the abandoned laboratory felt much heavier now.

With the man in the black suit gone and the spatial portal closed, the room was completely dead.

The lingering smell of burnt paper and stale chemicals hung in the air, reminding me that I was standing in an abandoned crime scene.

"Well, that was certainly an informative exit," I said into the quiet room, my voice echoing off the damp stone walls. "No drama, no screeching threats, just a clean, professional retreat."

I did not let my frustration distract me. A good locksmith knows that even the cleanest escape leaves behind structural clues.

"If you want to leave a room completely clean, you have to burn the whole building down," I muttered to myself, shaking my head. "And even then, the ash tells a story to anyone who knows how to read it."

People can wipe their tables and burn their documents, but they cannot erase the physical impacts left on the stone and metal around them.

"You can hide your magic, suit guy," I murmured, taking a slow breath. "But you can’t hide my expertise."

I pulled out my magnifying loupe, attaching it over my right eye.

"I guess I owe the Duke a proper thank you card for this," I whispered, adjusting the metallic rim against my brow. "Duke Voulstridge really knows how to pick useful tools for field work. This thing has paid for itself three times over today."

My eyes once glowed golden, activating my Locksmith’s Eye at a low output to save my remaining mana.

"Keep it low, Silvester," I told myself gently, feeling the familiar warmth spreading behind my eyelids. "No need to drain the tank when you are just sifting through trash."

I began scanning the room systematically, moving from the outer perimeter toward the center, just like I was inspecting a house after a robbery.

"Start from the outside and work your way in," I reminded myself, recalling my old habits. "Never miss the edges."

First, I checked the three empty iron tanks embedded in the floor.

"Let us see what kind of soup you were brewing in here before you liquidated your assets," I murmured, approaching the rusted metal rims.

I knelt by the rim of the largest vat, using my iron tweezers to scrape a tiny bit of white powder from the inner wall. I brought it up to my nose and took a careful sniff.

"Lime powder mixed with saltpeter," I noted softly, waving my hand slightly to clear the sharp tang from my nostrils. "They used it to neutralize the dark mana residue before draining the liquid into the underground water lines. Quick, clean, and cheap."

"Not bad at all," I added, glancing toward the drain grate set into the floor. "Whoever managed this clean-up knew basic chemical reactions. They made sure the royal guards wouldn’t track a trail of corrupted sludge back to their main office."

Next, I walked over to the overturned wooden worktables.

"You were certainly in a rush when you cleared these out," I said, eyeing the scorched wood and scattered ash around the floor legs.

Most of the drawers had been pulled out and dumped into the braziers, leaving behind only useless splinters and empty inkwells.

"You burnt the ledgers, but did you check the wooden frames?" I asked out loud, crouching down beside the main desk near the center platform.

I ran my fingers along the wooden frames, checking for secret compartments or double bottoms.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

I tapped my knuckles against the underside of the main desk near the center platform. The wood made a solid, dull sound.

"Solid oak," I whispered, listening closely to the resonance of the wood. "No hollow spaces here. You were thorough with the furniture at least."

"Standard commercial craftsmanship," I remarked, running my thumb along the joinery. "Just cheap office tables bought off the local market."

I walked toward the back wall where the man in the black suit had stood before opening his foreign portal.

This was the most important area.

"Now let us take a look at where suit guy made his fancy exit," I murmured, staring down at the cold stone floor. "Let us see how much weight your foreign hinge actually carried."

I knelt on the cold stone floor where the spatial portal had opened. The stone surface looked completely normal to the naked eye, but under my magnifying loupe, I could see microscopic hairline fractures spreading across the rock in a circular pattern.

"The pressure from that portal was insane," I whispered, tracing the hairline cracks with my finger. "It didn’t just bend the air, it compressed the granite floor beneath it."

"A standard royal portal gate leaves heat marks and scorch lines," I noted out loud, leaning closer to examine the pattern in detail. "This didn’t leave any heat at all. It just squeezed the physical matter until the rock cracked under the weight of the spatial fold."

"That means the energy wasn’t explosive," I reasoned quietly. "It was purely gravitational and spatial. That is why my key couldn’t grab a tumbler. It wasn’t trying to hold a fire, it was trying to grip a shadow."

I brought my loupe closer to the center of the circular cracks.

"Wait a second," I said, pausing as my golden vision caught a tiny reflection beneath the stone dust. "What is that?"

Deep inside one of the narrow stone fissures, something tiny caught the light of the glowing purple crystals on the wall. It gave off a faint metallic reflection.

"Hmm. What do we have here," I said, pulling out a thin pair of needle-nose tweezers from my magic pouch.

"Don’t snap on me now," I cautioned myself, maneuvering the fine tips into the narrow gap. "Hold steady."

I carefully slid the tweezers into the stone crack, gripping the tiny metallic object and pulling it out with a gentle tug.

"Got you," I whispered, bringing the piece up to my eye level.

It was a small, broken piece of a metallic latch, no larger than a copper coin. But what made my eyes widen was the material it was made of.

It was not iron, brass, or steel. It was forged from a strange, dark silver alloy that felt unnaturally heavy for its size and completely cold to the touch.

"Dark-silver alloy," I muttered, turning the piece over in my palm. "The kingdom doesn’t mine this kind of metal. It’s too dense to forge with standard fire magic."

"This came off his clothing," I analyzed out loud, tapping the metal with my fingernail. "It snapped when the portal collapsed back into place. Even foreign technology leaves behind a scrap if you push it hard enough."

"Cold, dense, and non-magnetic," I noted, watching how my golden mana barely reacted to its surface. "This isn’t just foreign metal. This is customized gear."

I looked down at the stone floor directly beneath the forge table near the wall.

"Let us see if you left anything else behind," I said, sweeping my Locksmith’s Eye across the baseboards.

My Locksmith’s Eye picked up a faint, almost invisible golden line running beneath the floorboards. It was not a mana pathway, but a mechanical wire connected to an underground latch.

"Well, well, well," I chuckled softly, crouching near the wooden table leg. "Look at that."

"You spent all that time boasting about your foreign portals and advanced machinery," I said to the empty room, feeling a surge of satisfaction. "You talked about regional differences and local tools."

"But when it came to securing your back room," I continued, tracing the mechanical line with my eye, "you relied on a simple physical wire."

"They missed something," I smiled faintly, stepping toward the forge table.

"Now let us see what you were trying so hard to hide under the floor."