Lilith sighed, exasperated. “For someone like me, or Cordelia Allston, they’re dangerous if the numbers stack up. But if the two of us work together? I’ll support from the rear, she’ll lead the charge. We won’t lose.”
“I dunno,” I muttered. “Sounds like overkill. You and Cordelia, struggling against that?”
Her response was curt. “This conversation is exhausting. You really should try understanding just how absurd your strength has become.”
I opened my mouth to protest. “Yeah, but—”
Lilith let out a sigh, her shoulders lifting in a small, exaggerated shrug. The kind that said, “I’m so done with this conversation.”
“Fine then,” she muttered. “Let’s wrap it up like this. You handle everything. I’ll head for the fortress. That puts about four kilometers between us, in a straight line. With that range, I can still use basic sage arts. So if you stay here, you can watch over Koharu and the rest while still corralling the ogres.”
Ah. So that’s what she meant.
She wanted me to use that technique.
“All right,” I said, nodding. “I’ll meet you at the fortress.”
“Right. See you soon,” she replied casually. And with that, she took off in a light run, her boots barely making a sound on the forest path as she dashed eastward.
Tap, tap, tap, tap.
Her footsteps faded quickly into the distance.
“Hey! Lilith!” a voice bellowed, one of the instructors.
I heard her click her tongue, and the next moment, she vaulted into the air ten meters up, disappearing into the dense canopy above, swallowed by branches and leaves.
A ripple of murmurs and gasps spread through the other students like wildfire.
“Don’t give me orders.” That was the message, clear as day, even without words. A quiet, emphatic warning from Lilith, delivered through sheer action.
Even the veteran adventurers assigned to guard us—close-combat specialists, no less—stood stunned. That leap wasn’t something just anyone could pull off.
And Lilith wasn’t even a frontliner. She was a Mage.
“That movement. She’s ranked what? C+ as a combat mage? How the hell is she pulling off something like that?” one of the veterans muttered, clearly rattled.
Yeah, I figured they’d be shocked. That jump? Easily B-rank level for a close-range fighter. But Lilith’s growth was weird like that. She was technically magic-leaning, but with her father’s blessing, she was built like an all-rounder. A rare one.
“Anyway…” I muttered under my breath, rolling my shoulders.
“What’s the plan, Ryuto?” came a soft voice beside me.
I turned to see Koharu watching me with wide, uncertain eyes.
I gave a wry smile. “Yeah, well, still trying to decide.”
Man… what am I even supposed to do here?
I let out a long sigh and glanced up through the canopy.
Yeah. In the end, there was only one real option. Exactly what Lilith had probably been thinking from the start.
Resigned, I closed my eyes and focused, channeling my intent inward as I initiated the mental link between us.
“Mm. What is it?” came her voice inside my head, soft but clear.
“I mean, what do you think it is?”
“That’s not an answer. So… what?”
“You already know. I’m going to activate it. I’m borrowing your magical computation field for a bit.”
A low, amused chuckle echoed in my mind.
“No matter how powerful you become, Ryuto, you’re still human, aren’t you? Even with a power bordering on divinity…”
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just this. Without me backing you up, you can’t even access half your strength.”
“Wow. So it’s gonna be that kind of conversation, huh? Was that a dig?”
“No. Not at all.”
“Then what?”
“Even half your power… is enough to rival legends.”
“What’s your point?”
“That I can support someone like you. That makes me proud, Ryuto.”
“Gods, you’re exhausting.”
Even as I grumbled, I started channeling the spell, composing it through Lilith’s mental magical circuits. With her backing, I could build something far beyond the capabilities of a standard human.
That was when Koharu’s eyes went wide. Her expression changed instantly, lips parting in alarm.
“Ryuto-kun, what are you… doing… right now…?”
She’d noticed. Of course she had.
I glanced around. None of the others seemed to have picked up on it. Just her. I was keeping the activation as low-profile as humanly possible.
She took a slow step closer, voice trembling. “That… That spell… It’s not just high-level… You’re drawing on tens of thousands of mana, aren’t you? That’s not normal magic… That’s on the scale of a national-level ritual. Right…?”
Bullseye.
As expected of the Saegusa family, nobility from the east, sharp as ever.
Well, I was drawing on over six digits of mana right now, so her reaction made sense.
“Yeah,” I said with a casual nod. “You’re right.”
Her voice wavered as she stared at me, pale and trembling, cold sweat glistening on her skin. “So then… what exactly are you… doing?”
“Huh? What do you mean?” I tilted my head innocently. “It’s sagecraft.”
Her whole body jolted with a twitch, her mouth falling open as she choked out a stunned, “Huh?”
Sagecraft, a form of lost technology, half-legendary and rarely spoken of in modern times. Those who wielded it were called sages: beings who defied aging, split the heavens with a gesture, cracked the earth with a sigh. Warriors who transcended mortal limits, walking myths with power approaching the divine.
The most famous of them all was Liu Kai, the Immortal Sage. Companion to the Dragon King, master of arts, long vanished from the world. And my teacher. Ah, yeah, kind of my drinking buddy too.
Compared to Koharu, who needed divine aid to cast high-tier spells, I was working with something else on a completely different level.
And with that, I activated the sage technique, projecting it westward, exactly two kilometers from where we stood.
The target: the ogre horde.
I needed to drive them. Like a shepherd commands his dogs to herd sheep, I had to maneuver the monsters, steer them straight toward Cordelia’s fortress.
And for that, I needed hounds.
【Combat Sage Art: Phantom Vanguard activated.】
Originally, this technique was designed as a decoy spell. It created multiple physical clones of the caster, surrounding them in a living shield of false bodies. Useful for confusing enemies, misdirecting attacks, and classic bait-and-switch.
Normally, those clones carried only a fraction of the caster’s true strength, somewhere between one-tenth and one-hundredth, depending on the user.
Though really, most people couldn’t use this technique at all. Not because it was hard, but because it was completely outside modern magical theory.
And when they did try, the result was pitiful. Flimsy puppets that broke if you so much as breathed on them.
But in my case… Well, the original was already kind of absurd, so naturally, the clones turned out a little ridiculous too.
The result?
My sagecraft had conjured a squad of phantoms, each with the combat power equivalent to a B- rank adventurer. To put that into perspective, Ogre Generals were typically rated around C+, with regular ogres around D-. My doppelgängers were a step above either.
Remember that martial arts bodyguard from the Phantom Tower incident? The one that the arrogant noble sent to harass Lilith? My clones were about that strong.
So, in simpler terms—
Fifty clones. Fifty Ryuto Maclaines. A whole army of me, charging straight into the ogres’ rear lines like a pack of elite adventurers from hell.