[Book 1 Completed] Industrial Mage: Modernizing a Magical World [Kingdom Building LitRPG]
B2 | Chapter 43 – Freya’s Reaction

Freya POV

Cute.

That's what she'd thought when Theodore said he'd make her stop holding back.

She'd laughed at the notion back then. After all, why wouldn't she?

She was a Rank 4. She just needed a push, and she'd be Rank 5 in a year or two.

Cocky little thing, wasn't he? She couldn't help but grin.

It was adorable to see him stand there with that focused expression on his face, as if he truly thought he could drive her to the edge. As if he even knew what her boundaries were.

She'd seen that look before, on the faces of dozens of challengers who thought they understood what they were up against.

They never did.

So she'd been pleasantly surprised when he not only was able to withstand her and fight her on equal footing—even if she was limited to Rank 2—he was pushing her toward Rank 3.

That hadn't been part of the plan.

Hell, that hadn't even been a possibility in her mind.

But there she was, feeling that familiar itch.

That urge to reach deeper, to pull from reserves she'd promised herself she wouldn't touch. At least not against him, especially not when she'd given her word.

The interesting thing, though, was that he had somehow made her fire go away. Granted, her hair fire was just for show, a side effect of having her Body Familiar. Whatever he had done had made her stop breathing as well.

The fire on her hair was "normal" fire, so it wasn't surprising that he'd easily snuffed it out.

She was confident, though, that she could brute force her way through this obstacle and easily use fire anyway if she wanted to.

For now, however, that was unnecessary.

Regardless, this bastard… He'd sucked out the air, so she was on a time limit now.

She still needed to breathe, after all, so she needed to finish this quickly.

She had to admit, this was smart. Sneaky, even. Force her into a corner where patience wasn't an option. Where her natural instinct to outlast and overwhelm would work against her.

For that, she had to give him credit.

The majority of warriors attempted to match her flame for flame and strength for strength. This one was playing a decidedly different game.

Interestingly enough, his attacks weren't exactly fire, were they?

At first, she had assumed they were because of the way the heat flowed, the recognizable orange-red radiance that made her think of her own fires.

There was something different about them, though, as she looked closer and felt them hit her defenses.

So concentrated. So... dense. Like he'd taken the essence of fire and compressed it into something else entirely. Something that burned hotter, moved faster, and hit harder than regular flames had any right to.

It was fire, but fire perfected. Fire distilled down to its most dangerous elements.

Or was it the purest elements?

Her Body Familiar was loving the hell out of it regardless.

She sensed it stirring within her, that recognizable presence that was usually dormant unless she was in grave danger.

It was practically purring now, though, taking in all the flaming blows Theodore shot at her and clamoring for more like an animal that had been starved and was now being presented with a feast.

More, it seemed to whisper. More of that. Give us more of that.

This, to put it mildly, was unexpected. It was surprising, to say the least. Body Familiars, as far as she knew, weren't really "sentient" or "sapient" or anything of the sort.

They were essentially brain-dead.

They were merely a combination of impulses and instincts that took over to protect the host when in actual danger or perceived danger. Body Familiars had weird requirements. Survival mechanisms given form, nothing more complex than a reflex.

So it was surprising to see it hungering after something. Actually wanting, rather than just reacting. There was an awareness there that shouldn't exist, a consciousness that went beyond simple instinct.

What the hell was in those flames of his that could wake up something that was supposed to be little more than magical muscle memory?

It was definitely fiery in nature, but it was somehow far more as well.

She found herself almost disappointed when his fire attacks stopped coming; it seemed he'd realized she was just absorbing them.

Her Body Familiar seemed to deflate slightly, and that eager hunger faded back to its usual dormant state. Like a cat that had been playing with the most interesting toy only to have it taken away.

Why did her Body Familiar recognize it as something worth craving?

Interesting.

That's when she thought she'd attack him, pressing the advantage while she still had breath in her lungs. But as ice javelins struck her and lightning thundered behind, he surprised her once again.

Unlike the more throw-and-forget caster attacks, they actively tracked her movements and followed her as if they had their own minds.

She used all the agility her Rank 2 constraint allowed her as she dodged and twisted away. But they followed, persistent little things that they were, and hit her center mass.

It didn't wound her, at least not visibly. Her skin could take far worse than that. But it did send a jolt of pain through her stomach.

It was sharp and unexpected. As if someone knew exactly where to hit to make a punch count.

It would take a lot more than that to break through her defenses, though. To her, though, the message was clear: he could hurt her if he wanted to.

Before she could formulate a plan, he was on her again with more similar attacks. He was relentless, he was methodical, and it was almost as if he was trying to study her, learn her patterns, and anticipate her responses.

So that's it, is it? That's your strategy? To put me on a timer and not let me be on the offensive?

She could attack him, of course. If she wanted to, she could get past his barriers and put a stop to this in a matter of seconds. But she humored him, thinking: just how long will you last? You'll run out of mana, you're just a Rank 2 after all.

That was the thing about lower ranks, they burned bright and fast, like kindling thrown on a fire. They could be quite spectacular for a moment, then nothing but ash and exhaustion would remain behind after burning bright.

She'd seen it a thousand times.

The eager young challenger who came out swinging with everything they had, only to find themselves empty and gasping within minutes.

Time passed, they fought, and she waited. Air returned, she breathed again, but she didn't press on aggressively. She wanted to see.

But she was surprised again when he, in fact, didn't run out of mana. In fact, his mana seemed to be practically endless. So much so she was astonished.

That was not the amount of mana a Rank 2 should have!

Something wasn't adding up here.

Any normal Rank 2 would be gasping for breath, their reserves depleted, their spells growing weaker and more erratic as they scraped the bottom of their mana pool.

But Theodore looked like he could keep this up for hours.

What the hell was he? Some kind of freak of nature? A prodigy hiding his true capabilities? Or was there something else going on here, something she wasn't seeing?

She'd fought Rank 2s before.

Hell, she'd been a Rank 2 once, what felt like a lifetime ago.

She was aware of their limits, their restrictions, and how, with repeated usage, their strength would wane and flicker. This wasn't that. This was something else entirely.

She activated [Mana Sight], letting that familiar tingle spread across her vision as the world shifted into patterns of energy and flow.

Usually, she would see the obvious symptoms of exhaustion when she stared at someone during a fight. Mana reserves shrinking, the natural glow around their core growing dimmer, the desperate way their body tried to regenerate what had been spent.

What she saw instead made her breath catch.

He was like a force of his own, sucking mana from his surroundings. Constantly. Not just the passive absorption that everyone did—the slow, natural process of drawing ambient energy back into one's core.

This was far more aggressive.

It was like he was a walking vortex, pulling mana from the very air around him and converting it into usable energy faster than he could spend it. It was like he tore control of the mana from the environment and made it submit.

The streams of mana flowing into him were visible even through her enhanced sight, threads of blue and silver light spiraling inward from every direction.

From the ground beneath his feet, from the sky above his head, from the walls of whatever space they were fighting in. All of it was drawn toward him like he was some kind of magical sponge.

How was that even possible?

That level of environmental absorption required incredible control, not to mention the kind of mana channels that could handle that much output without burning out.

She'd seen masters struggle with techniques far less demanding than what he was apparently doing without conscious effort.

And he was doing it while fighting.

While casting spells, while dodging her attacks, while maintaining the kind of focus that should have made such delicate energy work impossible. Like breathing and blinking and walking all at once—so natural he didn't even have to think about it.

No wonder his reserves seemed endless.

It was elegant, terrifying, and absolutely not something a Rank 2 should be capable of.

All of this, however, only increased her excitement. Her blood was singing that familiar thrill of a real challenge coursing through her veins.

No, she mustn't use full power!

The competitive spirit inside her had ignited; she would not go back on her words!

She would defeat him while holding back! She owed him that much respect!

After all, how long had it been since someone had genuinely surprised her?

How long had it been since she'd felt that flutter of uncertainty, that delicious moment of not knowing what would happen next?

Sure, she could end it in seconds, but this was exciting; why would she end it?

Back home, the barbarian tribes each had a champion.

Large, vicious warriors who depended on instinct and brute force. She faced each of them, one by one, accepting their challenges and putting them down with varying degrees of effort. No one had bested her yet.

They'd all been a disappointment in the end.

They were all predictable and boring, and they all used the same tactics, the same weaknesses, and the same inevitable defeat when they realized brute force wasn't enough.

But Theodore… he was a surprise after surprise.

And if she had to describe it, he moved like water, flowing around her attacks, rerouting her force rather than confronting it directly.

His spells came not in overwhelming waves but in precise, calculated strikes designed to exploit weaknesses she didn't know she had, because he was the one creating them by pushing her around.

And that mana—that impossible, inexhaustible mana!

What kind of monster was she dealing with here?

How could someone who was supposedly two full Ranks below her produce this level of consistent output? What kind of training, natural talents, skills, or techniques could it be?

It was beautiful, in a way. It was like watching a master craftsman at work. There was an artistry to it that she had to admire, even as it frustrated the hell out of her.

There was an impulse to reach deep, pull from her true reserves, and show him what a late Rank 4 could really do.

The temptation persisted, becoming more powerful with every second that went by, with every successful sidestep, and every spell that managed to find its target in spite of her best efforts.

But no. She'd given her word. She'd challenged herself as much as she'd challenged him. Could she win while holding back?

The answer was becoming less certain by the minute.

His latest barrage came at her from three different angles: ice, lightning, and something else she couldn't quite identify, something that was actively absorbing her physical attacks and "sucking out" the force behind her every move, making her sluggish as hell.

She deflected what she could, absorbed what she couldn't deflect, and felt that same jolt of pain as his attacks found their targets.

This fight was far from over.

So... fascinating.

***

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