Thanks to one crucial difference from other Noble Phantasms, Toei Majutsu (Projection Magecraft) has a proficiency stat. The higher the proficiency, the less mana it consumes to project.
Right now, Rowan's proficiency had been at rock bottom—that was why projecting Ea almost cost him his life. If Istaroth hadn't appeared that day, he still wouldn't know how his mana recovered afterward. As for what method she used, that's not for outsiders to know.
There's another point: the more familiar he is with the projection target, the less time and mana it takes. Take Seiyaku Shouri no Ken (Sword of Promised Victory) for example—Rowan only needed about half the time and mana it took to project Ea, simply because he knows that sword like the back of his hand.
At present, after spamming projections just to grind, Rowan had pushed his proficiency to A-rank. Anything at A-rank or below—whether mystic codes or Noble Phantasms—basically costs him almost nothing and can be projected instantly. Truly the most practical form of projection: with this alone, he turned his dorm into a modern living space. If Albedo still wasn't sure how to manufacture certain modern items, Rowan could just project a batch for him to dismantle and study. Non-combat items? Projecting them was nearly free.
As for the so-called King's Signal Cannon… if he remembered right, that was the Grand Caster's trump card, tied to the Absolute Demonic Front at Uruk. But how was he supposed to use it?
Rowan felt it out carefully—and understood. The skill had been converted into something akin to Koyuu Kekkai (Reality Marble). Once activated, it drags the enemy into the bounded field, where they're subjected to a barrage from Uruk itself. A neat rework. As for the assorted mystic codes, he didn't even bother to look before tossing them into O no Zaiho (King's Treasury). With Noble Phantasms at hand, why would he care about man-made trinkets? Now that he could practically "free-pull" Phantasms, mystic codes were just scrap compared to real treasures.
That about summed up his harvest over the past few days—very satisfying.
Back to Mondstadt.
A short while later, Rowan arrived at Good Hunter with little Klee in his arms.
"Sara-neesan, we're here!"
"Klee, Your Majesty—you two again!" Sara smiled. "Welcome. What'll it be today?"
No one in Mondstadt could refuse the Little Sun. Sara was no exception—she adored Klee. As for Rowan, the new "King," she'd been nervous at first. His early measures were undeniably firm—cold-blooded, some said. Those whose interests were cut howled the loudest, spreading that he was a tyrant pushed by the old nobles—that the wolves would return to rule the city.
The reappearance of the Lawrence family, and their acceptance into the Knights of Favonius, only stoked those fears. People braced for the old days.
But under Rowan's iron suppression, the panic didn't last. Mondstadters soon discovered that even with the Lawrences back, they were no longer haughty—they behaved like anyone else. Especially among the recruits: ordinary folk serving alongside Lawrences were surprised to find them reserved, yes, but not aloof; courteous, disciplined, and meticulous about knightly etiquette. Only then did many realize they'd been shackled by prejudice.
The Lawrence family weren't monsters. They were people, same as them—if anything, more polite than most.
A mountain called "preconception" had sat on everyone's heart for a thousand years. Many began to revise their view of Rowan, the one who forced that mountain to move. Sara was no exception; watching him dote on Klee only deepened her conviction: with a knight-king like this, Mondstadt would soar.
"For me, anything's fine. Klee, you order." Rowan handed the menu to Klee without even looking.
Thanks to having an acting Grand Master "mama," Klee's education wasn't shabby; she could read the dishes just fine. She quickly ordered her favorites, thought a moment, then added a few tasty extras.
Soon, the food arrived. The two exchanged a gleeful glance and tucked in. After a full feast, they waddled out of Good Hunter, hands on round bellies, and strolled the city as Rowan mentally noted what still needed changing in Mondstadt.
Electricity—non-negotiable. It's the foundation of any industrialization. No power, no modern city. That's why the generator schematics had gone to Albedo first. Sure, they could also capture Electro Slimes to generate electricity with a converter, but who knew how much stable output a single slime could provide? Not worth building an energy grid on guesswork.
That said, slimes were a treasure from head to core—especially Pyro, Cryo, and Geo types. Pyro Slimes could ignite and serve as burners. Cryo Slimes could chill and preserve. Geo Slimes? Self-spitting mud and stone on demand. If Liyue hadn't already understood what roads do for an economy, Geo Slimes alone could prop up a rough network in a pinch.
Anemo Slimes could provide airflow—or even drive dynamos. Hydro Slimes could help purify water and produce reserve supplies. Dendro Slimes could accelerate growth. Electro Slimes… well, the use case was obvious.
Every slime had a role to play.
Rowan had already given the order: when ranger squads encounter a hilichurl tribe, they are to eliminate it wholesale. All slimes—regardless of type—are to be captured alive. This edict even spurred the Adventurers' Guild: where bounties once asked for slime condensate, commissions now demanded live slimes. Absurd? Maybe. Effective? Absolutely.
Industry begins with power, water, cold chain, materials, and logistics. Slimes could be harnessed at every link—stopgaps in the short term, and, with proper safety and converters, auxiliary systems long term. Meanwhile, Albedo would industrialize stable generators and transmission. Rowan would project prototypes; Albedo would reverse-engineer them; Mondstadt's workshops would reproduce them. Simple, direct, scalable.
As they walked, Klee swung her legs from Rowan's arms and pointed at the windmills turning lazily over the rooftops.
"Rowan-sama, those big fans can make electricity too, right?"
"They can," he said, smiling, "and they will. We'll add proper turbines on the city's edge, then store the power in cells. You'll get brighter street lamps at night—and a safer city for everyone."
"Yay!"
Back at the headquarters, reports were already flooding in. Under Seamus's streamlining, the acting Grand Master's workload had eased, and the Knights moved more efficiently. The Lawrences in the ranks set a strict example; the old name began to recover a new honor.
Rowan reviewed the ledgers: slime capture quotas, waterworks expansion, foundry retrofits, training schedules for the new logistics corps. On another slate were Albedo's notes: material tolerances, generator iterations, and a proposal for a citywide grid in three phases—core, inner wards, then agricultural ring.
He snapped his fingers; O no Zaiho (King's Treasury) shimmered open. Out came a compact turbine, a simple converter, and a set of safety housings.
"For the next tests," he said. "Non-combat items are free for me to project—so break these as much as you need."
Albedo's eyes lit up. "Understood."
Rowan's gaze drifted west, past the walls, to the hills where wind carved its endless paths. The blueprint for Mondstadt's first true industrial wave had taken shape: a humane grid powered by wind and water, bridged by engineered cells; a parallel system of slime-driven auxiliaries for workshops, cold storage, and field kitchens; new roads to tie it all together; and a people freed from the weight of old prejudice, ready to work.
Mondstadt would hum—not with fear, but with power.
(End of Chapter)
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