Ray rushed to the door. He tried the handle. Locked.

“Stand clear.”

Svane said, raising his boot to kick it in.

“No, no need to make a commotion.”

Ray hissed.

He knelt beside the unconscious Gilded Wolf Svane had just neutralized. He quickly patted down the guard’s belt pouch.

Detective: “Standard operating procedure, jailers always keep the keys on their dominant side.”

The Gritty Detective noted.

Ray’s fingers found a heavy brass ring. He pulled it free, finding a single iron key.

He stood up, jammed the key into the lock, and twisted. Click.

Ray pushed the door open.

“Kaelen!”

He called to her as he pulled down his mask.

“It’s me, I am glad you are safe.”

Kaelen Thorne was standing by the window. She held a heavy brass candlestick raised high, ready to bludgeon whoever walked through the door. Her face was pale, her hair a mess of tangles, and her dress was torn at the hem.

When she saw Ray, the candlestick clattered to the floor.

“Ray?”

she choked out, her voice cracking.

“You… you came.”

She took a step toward them, but stumbled. She grabbed the windowsill for support, gasping as if the simple movement had drained her.

Ray’s eyes narrowed. He saw them now.

Clamped around both of her wrists were thick, dull grey metal cuffs. They were unadorned, crude, and welded shut.

“Null Alloy,”

Ray hissed.

He moved to her side, grabbing her hands. The metal felt cold and dead against his skin.

“They disrupt the mana flow, I can’t… I can’t feel the mana. It feels like I’m suffocating.”

Kaelen whispered, leaning against him, her legs shaking.

“Captain.”

Ray said sharply.

Svane stepped forward. He looked at the cuffs.

“No keyhole. They welded them on.”

“Break them! Carefully.”

Ray ordered.

Kaelen flinched as the massive soldier drew his longsword.

“Hold still, Lady Thorne. Trust the steel.”

Svane said gently.

Svane raised the blade. He didn’t swing it like an axe; he held it close, aligning the edge with the center of the chain linking the cuffs.

His blade blurred. There was a high-pitched ping, and the Null Alloy shattered. It didn’t bend; it broke like brittle glass.

Kaelen gasped, falling to her knees as her mana rushed back into her system. Color returned to her cheeks instantly.

“Thank the Founders, I can breathe again.”

She breathed, rubbing her wrists.

Ray didn’t offer comfort immediately. He crouched down and began sweeping the shards of grey metal into a leather pouch on his belt.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Null Alloy becomes brittle when subjected to precise kinetic force. Valuable sample, I can reverse-engineer this. Maybe make anti-mage bullets.”

Ray noted cataloging the data.

“We need to move, The basement is on fire. The smoke will be here in minutes. We go out the window, up to the roof, and down the cliff.”

Ray said, standing up and offering Kaelen a hand.

Kaelen took his hand, but she didn’t move toward the door. She planted her feet.

“No.”

She said.

Ray stopped, he turned and looked at Kaelen.

“Kaelen, this isn’t a debate. I don’t know how long the distraction we caused can keep the Gilded Wolves occupied.”

“I am not leaving without my father.”

She said, her voice shaking but her eyes hard.

Ray let out a frustrated breath.

“Kaelen, I scouted the manor before. Your father isn’t in the cells. He isn’t in the master bedroom. He is not in the vicinity. If the Hand is liquidating the house, they likely already moved him. Or…”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

“He’s here,”

Kaelen insisted.

“He’s in the Sanctum.”

“The Sanctum?”

Ray asked with interest.

“My father calls it ‘The Sanctum.’ I have never been inside but I think it is a panic room, hidden behind his study on the second floor. I tried to get in there when the Wolves arrived, but the Rune Formation was active. He locked himself in.”

Ray looked at Svane, then at Rina the back to Kaelen. He saw the desperation in her posture. She was terrified, but she was immovable.

Time seemed to freeze as Ray retreated into his Mind Palace. The Council of Archetypes convened instantly.

Veteran: “She is emotionally compromised, she’s acting like a civilian in a combat zone refusing extraction orders. We don’t have time to argue ethics with a burning building. You can subdue her in two seconds. A precise strike to the carotid. We carry her out unconscious. Mission accomplished.”

The Grizzled Veteran growled, drawing his phantom sword.

Courtier: “Crude, If you knock her out, you break the trust we’ve built. She will wake up hating us. More importantly, look at the board. We have a sample of the ore, yes. But that’s just a rock. Without Titus Thorne, the Argent Hand can claim he was a rogue element.”

The Scheming Courtier sneered, swirling a phantom glass of wine.

Conman: “Titus Thorne is the linchpin. He is the signatory. If we save him, we don’t just have a story. We have a living confession that links the Argent Hand to High Treason against the Crown. That leverage is worth a little smoke.”

The Charismatic Conman leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with ambition.

Veteran: “High Risk, I estimate a 90% chance of failure.”

The Grizzled Veteran countered.

Courtier: “High Reward, total destruction of the Argent Hand’s political capital and immunity in the kingdom.”

The Scheming Courtier parried.

Ray opened his eyes. He looked at Kaelen’s defiant face. He looked at Svane, who was waiting for the order to either grab her or follow her.

Ray let out a frustrated breath. He decided to gamble.

“Lead the way.”

Ray said decidingly.

They moved down the hall, descending the staircase to the second floor.

They burst into Lord Thorne’s private study. It was a mess, papers scattered everywhere, drawers pulled out. The Gilded Wolves had ransacked it looking for valuables, but they had missed the secret.

“Here.”

Kaelen said, rushing to a massive mahogany bookcase.

She pulled a specific book: The Economy of Scarcity.

Click.

The bookcase groaned and slid aside on hidden rails. Behind it was not a wall, but a heavy iron door covered in glowing, complex geometric runes.

The air in front of the door shimmered with a lethal blue light.

Ray stepped forward, his eyes narrowing as he felt the hum of the rune formation. It made the hair on his arms stand up.

“Hold.”

Ray commanded sharply.

He focused his gaze on the glowing patterns.

Scribe: “Fascinating structure, It’s a Tier-4 Warding Formation, specifically the ‘Kinetic Scorch’ variant. See the trilateral nodes? It’s designed to read a specific biometric mana signature. If you touch that handle without the correct genetic key… well, the feedback loop would liquefy your nervous system in approximately 0.4 seconds.”

The Arcane Scribe murmured in Ray’s mind, his voice dry and academic, like a professor grading a dangerous exam.

“It’s a Tier-4 Ward. If you touch it without having the correct genetic key, it will liquidate your nervous system.”

Ray warned, his voice low.

Svane took a step back, eyeing the blue light with a newfound respect. He was a master of steel and battle magic, but high-level warding was a Mage’s game.

“My father is the only one with the key, we can’t get in.”

Kaelen said, despair creeping into her voice.

“We can, but we’re going to be loud.”

Ray said, stepping closer.

He didn’t try to untie the knot. He placed his palm flat against the barrier, hovering just inches from the death trap.

Since his cultivation in the Genesis Crystal chamber, Ray’s Aether capacity had been expanded to the absolute limit of what his body could hold. He was a reservoir of pure, primordial energy.

He didn’t finesse the lock. He flooded it.

He pushed a massive spike of raw, pure Aether directly into the formation’s keystone.

The runes flared blindingly bright. They whined, a high-pitched scream of magical stress. The formation tried to process the influx of energy, but it was too much, too fast. It was like trying to fill a teacup with a firehose.

CRACK.

The sound was like a gunshot. The blue light shattered, dissolving into harmless sparks of mana.

Ray stumbled back, shaking his hand as smoke curled from his glove.

“Subtle, most mages try to decode it. You used a battering ram.”

Svane noted dryly, watching the rune formation fade.

“We don’t have the time for subtlety and It worked,”

Ray panted.

He grabbed the handle of the iron door and pulled.

The door swung open with the screech of rusted hinges.

Kaelen rushed forward, expecting safety.

“Father! I’m here, I…”

She stopped dead.

“This isn’t right. He said it was a Sanctum. A safe room with supplies, a bed… a way to hide until help arrived.”

She whispered, her voice trembling.

But it wasn’t a room.

Ray stared into the darkness. It was the mouth of a natural cavern tunnel, rough-hewn and smelling of damp earth and stale air. There was no furniture, no food, no comfort. Just a black throat sloping steeply downward into the roots of the mountain.

“It’s not a panic room, it’s a service entrance.”

Ray said grimly, casting light on the crystal on his theorist glove, getting ready to enter.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep