[Book 1 Completed] Industrial Mage: Modernizing a Magical World [Kingdom Building LitRPG]
B2 | Chapter 27 – The Wall Known as Theodore Lockheart

AN: Hey, I think I forgot to put in a note, but since Book 2, I have patched up a name:

Patch note:

Theodore’s Constellation name has been changed: Sunder → Varyndros

I apologize I didn't put this note up in chapter 1 of book 2. I had scheduled that way too long ago and I forgot to put it in there.

On to the chapter:

Liam POV

From the first moment James threw those first plasma spheres at Theodore, everything went wrong.

His gut told him to stop, that this was a storm in a bottle, and that he was the bug under the jar, but his heart, pride, and foolish optimism continued to whisper that James had never missed. And that was true. James was power; he was really golden. If there was a face to power, it was James's smile as he launched a volley.

Why, then, did Liam's instincts cry out like a trapped animal?

Because instincts had eyes, and those eyes watched Theodore.

Even though Liam had sensed something was wrong with the man from the start—in fact, he had felt it in his stomach like a stone sinking deeper and deeper in icy water—he had never anticipated anything like this. James was powerful, James was more powerful than Liam would ever be, if he was being honest with himself, but the fact of the matter was that his magic had always been reliable. It was steady. It was the kind of unadulterated, destructive power that scorched stone and deterred adversaries from approaching too closely.

Which was a good thing because you wanted that reaction out of your enemies, always.

He ought to have been pierced by the orbs, which would have vaporized both caution and flesh.

But Theodore had just... absorbed the plasma blasts like they were insignificant. He hadn't dodged them, countered them, or even deflected them. He had absorbed them, which was as big a deal as he could think right now.

Liam had watched in stunned silence as those brilliant orbs of plasma simply vanished into the man's body. It was magic of such caliber that it should have reduced Theodore to ash and bone. Theodore hadn't had a shield up, nor any other defensive spell, there had been nothing but Theodore standing there with an expression that could only be described as mildly interested.

It ought to have been impossible. That was not how magic worked. Without specialized equipment or years of training in absorption techniques—which were typically such a waste of time that most [Mages] never even tried to learn them—you couldn't just take thermal energy from an attack and turn it into your own. Hell, the majority of [Mages] couldn't even imagine how you would even start to tackle such a task.

Theodore, however, had made it appear effortless.

Liam had seen the exact moment when James realized what was happening, that moment where Liam had watched his friend's face shift from confident determination to confusion, then to disbelief, anger, disbelief again, and finally to something approaching horror. James had always been quick to adapt in combat, but this was beyond adaptation. This was facing something that shouldn't exist.

Then Theodore had killed him.

As simple as that. Without hesitation, without mercy. One moment James was alive and breathing and fighting with everything he had, and the next he was crumpled on the ground like a discarded piece of cloth. Liam's brain had found it difficult to comprehend the abrupt and definitive change. In a flash, his friend—his brother in blood and spirit—was gone.

They used to say in training that shock is like a scavenging bird that's following death. After death, it always comes and wraps around you in ways you can't imagine. Liam felt it. He did. He was seven years old again for a split second, looking on, frozen, shocked, as his father's workshop burned to the ground in a matter of minutes. He recalled the amber scent of molten copper and lacquered wood filling his lungs. Then rage flared—older and more primordial than the young fire of anger he'd flung at sparring partners. It was heavy. It was toothy. Kill him, it hissed. He nearly responded.

If he threw himself in a mindless charge, James would come back to haunt him. So Liam had controlled it with everything he had, putting all his mind to it. He simply had to, there was no other way. When Rufus was relying on him and when giving in to emotion would result in their deaths, he couldn't afford to be grieving. Therefore, rather than letting his anger obscure his judgment, he had allowed it to sharpen it. James deserved better than a sloppy, emotional death-charge that would accomplish nothing.

The issue was that when your opponent seemed unbeatable, focus didn't seem to matter all that much.

Liam has been through tough times before, even tougher battles. He had spent years training, pushing himself to limits he was unaware of, and learning how to read opponents like a book and take advantage of flaws that others may overlook. He wasn't James—would never be James—but he was competent. More than competent, if he was being honest. He could hold his own against most fighters, could adapt to different fighting styles, could coordinate with allies in ways that multiplied their effectiveness.

None of it mattered against Theodore.

Every strike Liam threw was deflected or absorbed by those shields of his. Every move he made was foreseen and rebutted. Every tactic he and Rufus employed together had been countered casually. It wasn't that they weren't a good team; he and Rufus worked together as a team very well and had fought together long enough to anticipate one another's moves—

So how was it that Theodore wasn't just winning, he was making it look easy?

That was what truly shook Liam.

It wasn't the strength, even though Theodore's magical prowess was obviously far superior to anything Liam had ever experienced, but rather how effortlessly he managed two skilled combatants at once. His actions showed no signs of tension or that he was being strained beyond his breaking point. If anything, he appeared to be approaching this as a training exercise—something that was only vaguely intriguing but not really difficult.

Liam believed he had become stronger. He had persuaded himself that all of the training hours and the fought and won battles had been worthwhile. He had begun to think that he had finally moved past his liability status and could now stand next to James as an equal.

Just as he'd begun to think that, he'd encountered another wall, and it was right in front of him. Another reminder that no matter how far you climbed, there was always someone higher up the mountain staring down at you with something approaching pity. Strength was, after all, very much relative.

And this wall... this wall was so tall that Liam couldn't even see the top. Not only was Theodore stronger than him, he was functioning at an entirely different level. There was no amount of effort, willpower, or cunning that could close the distance between them.

None that he could think of, at least.

The realization hit him like a physical blow, stealing the breath from his lungs and the strength from his limbs. Their frantic battle, Rufus's groans of agony and exertion, James's death—all of this was futile. They weren't heroes facing a villain in an epic confrontation. They were insects circling a giant who had the ability to swat them at any time he felt like it.

James's death had been in vain. There was never any hope of victory here, therefore they would die for nothing. No chance had ever existed.

That moment of despair, that instant when hope abandoned him entirely, cost him everything.

Liam observed a change in Theodore's attention, as well as a narrowing of the man's eyes that may have been calculation or something else entirely. Around him, the world had slowed, as it occasionally did during intense crises or periods of crystal-clear insight. He could see Theodore putting mana into another spell, he could see Rufus's axe descending into Theodore's shield, and he could see the [Mana Shield] starting to fracture from the repeated hits.

Ice formed between Theodore's fingers. Something elegant, not the lumpy, unrefined ice that most [Water Mages] summoned. It was a graceful blade with edges sharp enough to cut yet so thin it was nearly transparent. As Liam watched, Theodore continued to reinforce it, adding layers of magical energy to the build until it was as lethal as weaponry could get.

As Liam attempted to move, Theodore struck.

The ice blade came down in a vicious arc, slicing through the air where Liam's neck would have been if he hadn't thrown himself sideways at the last possible second. He could feel the chill radiating from the construct like winter given shape and purpose, and he felt the magic move close enough to his flesh to give him goosebumps.

He wasn't quick enough, though. Wasn't skilled enough. Wasn't strong enough.

The blade caught his right hand as he twisted away, shearing through flesh and bone with the casual efficiency of a butcher's cleaver. There was no resistance, no moment of contact. One instant his hand was there, gripping his sword with white-knuckled determination, and the next it was spinning through the air like a piece of discarded meat.

Liam let out a scream. Couldn't help it. A white-hot lance of agony erupted behind his eyes and rushed up his arm, the pain was sudden and overwhelming. He staggered, almost fell, blood splattering in abstract patterns over the ground from his severed arm.

But Theodore wasn't finished.

The ice blade came free from Theodore's grip, and launched it through the air toward Liam. Liam was already moving, already trying to dodge, but he'd jumped to avoid the first strike and was still airborne when the projectile left Theodore's hand.

Even though Liam knew that the blade would kill him, he could still see it flying toward him, count the number of times it turned end over end, and appreciate the artistry that had gone into its construction.

The hand that had wielded his weapon had vanished. The shock and pain of his injury caused him to lose his balance. He had no protection, no means to stop, avoid, or get away from what was about to happen.

It was in that instant of complete clarity that Liam realized he was regretting everything.

When the sword was near his eye, Liam closed his eyes and waited for the end.

***

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