[Book 1 Completed] Industrial Mage: Modernizing a Magical World [Kingdom Building LitRPG]
B2 | Chapter 16 – You’re Still Alive, Aren’t You?

Theodore POV

In the center of the chaos, Theodore paused. The reason for that pause was rather simple. All around him... Theodore was astonished when the other clones paused since they had been assaulting him without thinking since the Slime King supposedly changed the focus from the others to Theodore. It most likely viewed him as a greater danger than the others. But it stayed away from Roland like a plague.

They were never meant to fight someone who learned faster than they could mimic.

Mana rushed as he extended both hands. With a hum, the first volley formed: javelins, but not just made of flame or ice. These were sophisticated structures made of multi-layered elemental cores, or composites. Wind and fire intertwined to accelerate. Earth intertwined with ice spikes. Air was compressed into ice-threaded, needle-sharp spears.

The projectiles went off. In a straight line, they surged ahead. A fire-wind javelin struck a clone's chest in the initial contact and burst, igniting the surrounding air. The clone staggered, torso sheared in half, liquefying into gelatinous sludge.

A wall of flames erupted from the ground as he confronted the three clones that surged forward. It arched like a claw rather than being a straight wall of flames. It was nourished by wind, which transformed the fire into a living creature. The clones attempted to flee. They didn't make it. Behind them, the wall crashed like a jaw. The wall was now a dome of fire, and inside it wasn't fire anymore, it was an incinerator. He didn't look away. He had no interest in mercy because he would be ruthless to his enemies.

From his left, a White Fang lady ran toward him partially covered in blood and filth. As another ice-earth spike sliced through a clone only inches from her flank, she abruptly halted. She flinched when the spike whipped past her and her face went through a multitude of emotions before she stared at him. She looked astonished and was out of breath.

"What—What are you doing?" She scowled. "Sorry that was a dumb question. Thanks for saving me, I am just feeling weird right now."

Theodore blinked and stepped through the smoke and as another wave came at him he frowned. He didn't bother to count because he had noticed that the Slime King was making more clones. The Slime King seemed to have the ability to create many clones rather than just one per individual. Though, based on his observations, the Slime King had not created a clone of Roland, Rufus, or Theodore.

Hmm… is it perhaps not able to make a lot of stronger clones? After all, most of these are Rank 1s…

Theodore twisted the mana in his palms and this time, he shaped blades. Like haloed scythes, circular arcs of water squeezed to razor-thin edges whirled about him. Earth hardened into jagged spheres with spikes, tumbling in slow, deliberate orbits. Like moons obeying their planet, they would attack when ordered to do so.

He advanced and the clones quickly came at him. The orbitals lashed out like fangs. Water scythes bisected torsos, twirling back into orbit with sprays of viscous fluid. Rock and bone splintered as earthen spheres exploded ahead, drilling into targets. He continued to walk.

The clones were collaborating and their formations had improved. It didn't matter, though. He stopped in the center and sent out a pulse of air that roared outward in a shockwave of pure force, blowing bodies away like leaves in a storm. When the air smacked against the slime-things, he twisted the mana and the shockwave folded in on itself and bounced back toward him like a collapsing star

The field emptied as the remaining slimes burst.

***

Grigor POV

The fucking slime things were learning.

The trembling, sucking tendrils clung to his ribs, and Grigor shoved the haft of his battleaxe against them. The clone was burrowing like an overfed leech within his armor. The problem was that it had no teeth and was just absorbing him in some way. The clone had changed into a blue, semi-transparent glob of slime that smelled like boiled eggs and piss when he defeated it, but perhaps it was just him. After that, it clung to him and soaked into his armor. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Not for him. Not for a man who'd not only survived but also broken a stone giant's jaw with a wild swing and pure spite.

"Hold the line!" he barked, though it came out strangled. The inside of his mouth was coated in blood, which tasted like copper soup. In a frantic attempt to make a circle, his three remaining squadmates crowded close together, back-to-back, blades out. Idiotic fools, all of them. They were too clean and too youthful. They hadn't all learnt to ignore the terror. The fear in their eyes disrupted the battle's rhythm and provided monsters with a beat to read.

I'm going to kill Rufus. Attempting to push up on one knee, Grigor groaned. Hissing and bubbling as though amused, the slime went a little further. His axe dragged uselessly in the dirt. Fucking clone. Where the hell is our backup, Rufus? Is there a backup, even? You did have the goddamn shaft lined with explosives which you detonated going out, so I wonder if that was the plan all along.

After all, he would have returned sooner if he had intended to save them. One of the damned creatures shambled closer after separating from the field's disarray. They didn't run because they didn't need to. After all, clones wore down your will. They always killed, even if they weren't swift.

Then the sky cracked suddenly. A dozen spears—no, more—materialized above them like ghosts given shape.

"What the—"

Two approaching clones were immediately halted as the first spear to his left hit the ground and exploded into a fan of jagged ice. Up ahead, another crashed down and erupted into a rising wall of stone that intercepted the incoming slimes. A third exploded in midair, sending the gooey bastards flying back ten feet and releasing force and wind.

The dust then began to roll in.

With his brain whirling from blood loss, Grigor squinted. Through the curling, ash-colored fog, all he could see was activity, swift and sharp as whip blows. One of the slime clones gurgled in his ears. Then another. And yet another. He hadn't heard a single explosion and yet the slimes were just dead without any fanfare.

"What in the—"

Through the mist, a person moved. He seemed serene, and he was a young man. Like someone inspecting his own traps, he felt confident and not in a hurry. Grigor briefly believed it may be another enemy—tall, wearing black clothes, expressionless. No weapon in sight.

Then came the spears again but this time they didn't fall from the sky. They appeared, right next to the clones, less than a foot away, and slammed directly into their gelatinous bodies.

Wait, no, they didn't just appear out of nowhere… this man… he launched them so fast I couldn't even see.

The man held up one hand. Then a spear of ice white as an untarnished soul glinted with light. It penetrated the clone from head to tail, descending like a hammer from heaven, leaving behind slime that fell down in in a small puddle of gloop.

Grigor blinked. How long he had been holding his breath he didn't know.

"...He's wiping the whole field," muttered one of the squad with a tone of wonder and perhaps a hint of fear.

"Why wasn't he doing this before?" whispered another one too young to know when to shut up.

When he heard them, the man turned. Grigor's stomach dropped. However, the man smiled.

"Because I was learning," he said, as if that were explanation enough.

Grigor narrowed his eyes.

Learning? He was learning? What kind of [Mage] waits until his own allies are being chewed apart to "learn"? Who the hell is this guy?

"Oi," Grigor snarled and pushed to his feet. The slime had stopped biting. It was either dead or it was afraid if these things could even fear anything. "You gonna pull that storm-wizard act earlier next time, or do we all need to be half-dead first?"

The man—Theodore, someone murmured the name—tilted his head.

"You were bait."

"Excuse me?"

"I needed to observe how the clones adapt. You gave me exactly what I needed."

Grigor felt a cold wrath erupt in his gut. Pointing his axe at the [Mage], he clenched his teeth.

"You used us."

Just like Rufus.

Although he was filled with rage, Theodore didn't appear to be guilty. He just shrugged without even batting an eye.

"And I saved you. Fair exchange."

The gall of this twig-limbed, soft-looking boy. Grigor's knuckles turned white around his axe. The urge to swing and see if that fancy mage spine would snap like a chicken leg was very real. Then he became aware of something. Theodore wasn't even winded; he wasn't out of breath. And his mana…. Grigor could feel it in the air. It appeared as though it was ready to strike any moment.

And suddenly, Grigor felt a bit smaller.

"Right," he muttered, averting his eyes. "Thanks for the save. Next time, don't wait so damn long."

"Next time try not to get flanked by slow-moving slimes."

Grigor's mouth twitched.

He wanted to bite back, but the truth was gnawing at the edges of his thoughts like a rat behind the walls. That man had walked into a killing field and ended it like he was flipping a table.

In any case, they began to regroup. Theodore strolled away as the rest of the field settled, looking about like a bored monarch admiring a garden. When one of the younger [Mages] attempted to address him, Theodore smiled and responded without even requesting anything in return.

Leaning on his axe, Grigor observed him.

He was attempting to understand Theodore. The fact that Grigor was unable to was the worst. Although he had witnessed strength before, this man's was…

Grigor hated being impressed.

"Hey. Mage-boy."

A faint smile tugged at Theodore's lips as he looked over.

Grigor planted his axe like a flag in the dirt. "That was something. Not what I expected. Didn't look like much at first."

"I rarely do," Theodore said.

"Bit of a prick way to answer."

"Bit of a prick way to ask."

For a moment, they gazed at one another.

Then Grigor chuckled.

"Alright. You've got teeth. Thought you were all polish and no bite. My mistake. Next time, don't treat me like disposable bait."

Theodore raised a brow. "You're still alive, aren't you?"

And with that, he went toward a man in the distance. Ever since the fight started, that man had been seated. Grigor watched Theodore leave.

"...Cocky bastard," he muttered. But damn if he didn't earn it.

***

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