[Book 1 Completed] Industrial Mage: Modernizing a Magical World [Kingdom Building LitRPG]
B2 | Chapter 15 – Saving Others

"Help us!" the man screamed.

Mana was swirling at Theodore's fingers, coiling, twisting, and snapping into sharp lines of energy as he raised his palm. Pure mana converted into bolts. With each one he summoned, the air became heavier and more pointed, until six of them shone bright blue in the surrounding area, hovering like arrows waiting to be fired.

The first one took off. It ripped a slime clone from a screaming woman's back. In a flash, the second and third came, blazing through two more enemies attempting to corner a worn-out White Fang [Mage]. When they struck, the woman startled, then glanced at him, blinking, frowning, then letting out a grateful sigh.

"You…" she whispered. "You hit them… without touching me?"

His gaze had already shifted to the next group of fighters.

"Everyone, stop flailing," he said. "You're just feeding them opportunities. Shields up, weapons ready. Breathe."

"What are you, our leader now?" Blood trickling down his face, a grizzled [Rogue] yelled back.

"No, but I'm the only one killing these things efficiently."

Theodore called forth a flaming spear and hurled it passed the man's ear. The [Rogue] was about to be impaled from behind by a clone when the spear slammed into it and exploded. When the [Rogue] looked back, he saw his clone collapsing in a pool of slime. He stared in wonder, gawking. Then, in shock, nodded.

"Okay… okay, yeah. You got it."

Theodore walked by him silently, looking around as his mana flowed freely. A group of warriors to his left were being pushed back by their clones, but Theodore's attention was drawn to the towering, gray-bearded man in the middle of a defense, swinging a huge glaive. His armor was old and worn, with wounds carved on the metal.

But his movements were those of someone who had fought through more wars than most people had in their lifetimes.

The man was having a terrible time with his clone. The old warrior was forced to backpedal, sweat streaming down his cheek, as it moved faster and more wildly than the original, employing aggressive feints and precisely timed lunges.

Theodore drew a spear of compressed air into his palm and stepped forward toward him.

"I've got it."

The elderly gentleman didn't even glance. "Get out of here, boy."

"You're clearly struggling—"

"Back. Off."

At last, the guy brandishing the glaive looked over his shoulder and sneered. "You're what? Seventeen? Eighteen? You'll just get yourself killed trying to play hero. I've dealt with worse."

Rushing forward, the clone pivoted and rammed an elbow into the elderly man's side after ducking low beneath his guard. Ribs cracked. It followed through with a sweep of its own glaive that knocked the guy tumbling.

Theodore did not hold off any longer. He charged ahead. Between them, a lance of ice sped across the room. The clone used the flat of its blade to bat it away.

Tch. So it's not just fast… it's skilled.

He came to stop next to the fallen man, who rolled onto his back with blood in his beard and coughed.

"I told you…" the man said, "not to waste your life."

"I don't waste anything," Theodore said.

Once more, the clone rushed straight at him but he attacked it. The clone was already slipping to the side, wheeling, then darting in again with a barrage of glaive attacks that blurred the air as Theodore retaliated with a javelin of ice. Theodore deflected the first with a quickly conjured mana shield, ducked the second, and rolled away from the third.

It didn't waste motions and was quicker and sharper than the others. It replicated the combat technique of the original flawlessly and enhanced it with unnatural accuracy. The glaive descended in an arc at Theodore's chest as twin spears of earth sprang up from the ground at the clone's flanks, but it soared up and over them in the middle of its spin.

He used a horizontal spear of strengthened mana to stop it, but his bones shook from the impact. With unexpected vigor, the clone pushed down, pushing Theodore backward with only brute force.

Pushing forward, Theodore kicked off the ground, causing a burst of wind mana behind him to flip backward and land cleanly a few meters away.

"Not bad," he said under his breath. "But you're still just slime."

He held up both hands this time. A trinity of elemental javelins—fire, water, and ice—formed as mana flowed freely. He didn't throw them yet. As he moved, he allowed them to hover.

Once more, the clone rushed in. Too predictable. It was Theodore who launched the ice javelin first. The clone ducked. Then came compressed water. The clone just scraped its edge as it turned away in midair. Last to hit, the fire javelin crashed into its back. For a moment, the clone was consumed by the explosion, yet it came out burning but still moving with the glaive up.

Slowly, Theodore let out a breath. He gathered mana into a compacted explosion that erupted from his hands as he slapped them together. It wounded the clone after slamming into it and tearing through its shields. The mana's sheer density prevented it from dissolving, and it punched right through the middle of the slime. The clone stumbled and its shape faltered.

Theodore split it clean down the center and then exploded the compressed wind, finishing it with a clean spear of wind to the core. Theodore made sure the explosion was directed away from him since he had learnt from his error and didn't want to get covered in slime.

After standing over it for a moment, he turned to face the elderly man who was propped on one arm and watching with bloodshot, wide eyes.

"…Hells," the man muttered. "What are you?"

"I'm efficient," Theodore said, extending a hand. "And the name's Theodore."

The man reluctantly accepted it, allowing himself to be hauled up.

"Thanks. I didn't expect a kid to clean that up better than I could."

"I didn't either," Theodore replied. "But here we are."

They both stood above the clone's remains.

Something sparked far back at the throne, deep beneath the mass of twisted tendrils and slime that comprised the bulk of the Slime King. The beast sagged for a few moments. Theodore squinted. So, killing the clones was actual damage. Somehow the King was connected to them, perhaps fragments of its mind, or perhaps extensions of its body. Additionally, a tiny portion of the King perished along with a clone. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. This changed everything.

The elderly man behind him repositioned the glaive. "What is it?"

Theodore kept his gaze fixed on the throne.

"We're winning."

***

Alira POV

She didn't know how long she had been in the fetal position. Her arms would not raise again, and the blood had begun to dry on her cheek. The very act of curling her fingers around her staff made them shiver. She had no idea if her clone was still in the area. She had blacked out for a moment so she had no clue whether time had passed or not. Everything was painful. Her brain ached like a hammer banging on the interior of her skull because every spell she had cast had depleted her.

Unfortunately, with the same face and eyes, the clone was standing over her. She hated it. Hated how familiar it looked. As though passing away from her own frailty wasn't enough, she would now die staring at herself.

With its spear up, her clone towered over her.

"No, no—"

She closed her eyes as the spear descended. A hefty, piercing sound—thunk—was heard. Anticipating agony, Alira winced, but the blow never came. What she saw when she opened her eyes again was a javelin that seemed to be made of ice, with mana radiating off it like heat from a forge. This was what had pinned the clone's arm to the stone.

In an attempt to break loose, the clone jerked wildly. She remained still. She was unable to move. Then she caught sight of him. Someone was approaching her. He appeared composed, with a controlled demeanor and a sharp face.

A boy?

He appeared youthful, far too youthful to be so composed during a massacre. He moved as if it were simply noise, as shattered magic and blood flew in all directions. He was staring at the clone.

"I… I thought I was dead."

He didn't look at her but he did open his mouth. "Stand up," he said.

The clone was then dissolved into a puddle as another spear splintered through its chest. It sounded like slush slamming on stone.

"I-I can't—"

She hated how weak she sounded.

Her mana supplies were in disarray, and her legs refused to comply. Even if she had tried, she couldn't have cast a steady barrier since her hands were trembling so much. In a single motion, as if she were weightless, he grasped her by the shoulder and pulled her to her feet.

"Yes, you can. Shield. Now."

Her body responded before her mind did. Long nights, never-ending drills, and her former instructor's monotonous voice telling her to concentrate or perish were all effects of years of training. Fear was overcome by instinct. A barrier flickered to life around her, ragged and uneven but there, as her mana surged. She let out a gasp. From the shock of being alive, not from suffering or exertion. Moreso, from the feeling of life mana practically going rampant in her body, healing her, pouring mana into her.

She turned and stared at him just in time to spot the golden light dimming away from his hands. He was already looking for the next danger, but she couldn't help but think... he healed her when he'd grabbed her by the shoulders, didn't he?

"You saved me…"

"Keep up or fall behind,"

Then he was gone.

For a long moment, Alira's heart continued to pound in her chest as she gazed after him. She had witnessed others use strong spells. She had witnessed courage, selflessness, and individuals being torn apart in order to buy others time. However, she had never witnessed that.

She grasped her staff more tightly.

***

Roland POV

Without squandering any movement or theatrics, Theodore made his way through the pandemonium below. It was just intentional, clear brutality as he tore through the slime clones.

Finally stopped holding back, huh.

He didn't say it out loud because, to be honest, he didn't have to. The outcomes were self-explanatory. A younger White Fang [Archer] beside him had ceased to shoot. The man simply stood with his bow down and his lips slightly open. "That man," he muttered. "He's tearing through them. It's like watching a—"

"Don't say storm."

The man hesitated. "I was gonna say—"

"Everyone always says storm. He's not a storm."

Roland watched Theodore drop low under the attack of a slime clone, drive a spear through its core in mid-spin, and then call forth a wall of fire behind him to cut off the next three.

"Storms are chaotic, he is not."

The [Archer] didn't reply because he probably didn't know what to say. That was fine. Roland kept watching. Theodore was moving like someone who already knew the outcome. Another set of bolts, clean hits, and three more clones were gone. There wasn't any celebration in it, no expression, it was just work as usual.

He's figured it out. How the clones move. What they're copying. Where they hesitate. Probably even noticed how they adjust too late when he changes up rhythm. If they learn by watching, they're already behind.

Down below, Theodore moved once more, and Roland noted that his foot dragging a little, not accidentally, but to trick the clone into thinking he was hesitating. A trap. It made a lunge. In half a second, it was pierced through the mouth.

"Shit," the [Archer] said, still staring. "He's not even sweating."

Roland didn't respond.

The battle was about to conclude sooner rather than later. Not because they'd all done their part, but because one person was doing what they couldn't. Or, in Roland's case, wouldn't. Now, the true question was what the Slime King would do once it recognized the true danger.

***

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