Chapter 71: Wreckage (2/2)

By now, Aina was certain that Leonel was hiding something. However, she also didn't dare to speak because she knew why Leonel was going out of his way to not explain anything either. It didn't take a genius to know that they were likely being monitored.

The reason Leonel dared to come here despite this was because he believed his father would account for this as well.

He descended the steps and reached for the door handle, only to find it locked.

Leonel frowned. 'Don't tell me that old man forgot to give me a key? No, there's no keyhole here, there's probably another way to open it…'

After a moment. Leonel suddenly realized that the round door handle was a bit rough. It was a weird feeling because he could have sworn that it looked like smooth brass before. So where was this rough texture coming from?

Leonel pulled his hand back and observed the knob. It really did appear to be smooth… What was the problem?

Reaching forward again, Leonel closed his eyes and touched the knob once more. As expected, it really was rough.

His body jolted as he suddenly thought of a possibility.

Leonel calmed his mind and discarded his useless thoughts. His senses became many times more sensitive in that instant.

The rough texture on his hands became many times more refined. What once was an erratic, seemingly aimless pattern, gained itself a unique organization that projected itself into Leonel's mind.

In those moments, Leonel learned something else about his body. His eyes didn't seem to be as good as his other senses for some reason. He could tell the difference between a loaded and unloaded gun by their weight and now he could feel intricate patterns on his palms that his eyes couldn't see.

For now, Leonel wasn't aware of if this would always be the case or not, but for now, his sense of touch was definitely the highest amongst his original five senses. Or, rather, this was the only conclusion he could come up with based on the information he had.

'It's a Force Art…' Leonel thought. '… A complicated lock, but it shouldn't be a problem.'

Leonel's fundamentals in Force Art could be considered to be solid. It was likely no one else on Earth knew as much as he did. Well, aside from his own father, apparently.

However, this lock wasn't meant to be some great test or an obstacle Leonel needed to cross. Opening it was actually incredibly simple.

Leonel took control of his Force and poured it into the knob, slowly tracing across the fine, invisible lines.

For someone else, this task would have bordered on impossible. But for him, his spirit was simply too high for this little test.

Ten minutes later, a light click was heard and the knob finally turned, revealing a dark corridor.

Leonel stepped in, followed by Aina who hadn't said a word during the entire process. The door clicked closed behind them with hardly a sound.

It wasn't long before the two of them found themselves in a small, dimly lit library.

In truth, it was difficult to give it such a moniker. Calling it a library was a bit inaccurate. There were only four bookcases with five shelves each. The books still totaled a few hundred, but compared to a real library, it was still far too small. It was more accurate to call this place a small office.

Aside from those four bookcases, there were several shorter cases with several cubicles. These cubicles were filled to the brim with countless scrolls. These scrolls seemed to number even more than the few hundred books themselves.

Then, there was a plain workbench at the very center. It had several odd wells dipped into its seemingly dark oak surface and Leonel could see deep etchings drawn all across its body. But other than that, there was nothing else that stood out about it.

Rather than this, there were two things that left Aina and Leonel a bit stunned.

For one… Books? Scrolls? Wasn't the use and creation of paper banned? How could there be so many here?

And secondly… There were three pedestals at the end of the office. Each was covered by a small dome of light that seemed to manifest from thin air.

On each of the pedestals, there was a single object.

The first was a bland black ring that seemed unpolished as though its creator couldn't be bothered with its final look. The second was a black cube that seemed put together like a jigsaw puzzle. And the last was a small silver plate not even four inches across, it was uniform in all areas with the exception of a small indent at its very center.