Chapter 157: Fragmented Self

Andras sat in silence as the carriage continued toward Ambrose Academy.

The road stretched ahead beneath a darkening sky. Outside, the last traces of rural land gradually gave way to better-maintained paths lined with tall trees. The steady rhythm of the wheels against the stone was the only sound inside the carriage.

None of it held his attention.

His focus was entirely inward.

"System. Show me the details of Clone."

The translucent interface appeared at once.

---

[Talent: Clone]

[Rank — A]

[Core Effects]

• The host may create up to three independent clones.

• Each clone possesses approximately 70% of the host’s current physical ability and mana capacity.

• Clones can use the host’s techniques and spells at reduced efficiency.

• Sensory information is shared with the host in real time.

• Memories and experiences gained by a clone are automatically transferred upon dismissal or destruction.

• Duration is unlimited as long as the mana connection remains stable.

[Limitations]

• Creating and maintaining clones consumes a significant amount of mana.

• Maintaining multiple clones increases mental burden.

• Destruction of a clone causes temporary backlash proportional to its remaining strength.

• Clones cannot create additional clones.

• Unique soul-bound abilities, items, and the Devouring System cannot be duplicated.

---

Andras read the information slowly, then once more.

Three clones.

Seventy percent of his current strength.

Real-time sensory sharing.

Automatic memory transfer.

The limitations were clear. At his present level, maintaining multiple clones for a prolonged period would likely drain his mana reserves faster than he preferred. The backlash from losing a clone was another factor that could not be ignored.

Still, none of those drawbacks made the talent useless. They simply defined the boundaries within which he would have to operate.

Andras leaned back against the seat.

Three independent clones.

That was the most interesting part. If they were merely puppets, the talent would still be useful. But independent clones were different. They could observe, think, and act without requiring him to control every movement.

Andras closed his eyes. There was no reason to speculate further before testing it. He needed facts.

He directed a controlled stream of mana into the talent.

The air beside him distorted. Mana gathered, condensed—

A figure appeared on the opposite seat.

Andras opened his eyes.

An identical version of himself sat across from him.

The same snow-white hair.

The same violet eyes.

The same refined features.

The same black clothing.

For several seconds, the two Andras stared at each other in silence.

The clone slowly looked down at its hands, then toward the carriage window. Andras observed every movement. There was no distortion. No transparency. No obvious sign that the figure was artificial. It was physically real—and identical to him.

Andras raised one hand.

The clone looked at him, then raised its own hand.

Andras lowered his hand. The clone did the same.

But it was not simply mirroring him. A moment later the clone turned toward the window without being instructed, its gaze moving across the passing scenery.

Andras could see what it saw.

The sensation was strange. Two perspectives existed simultaneously within his mind, yet there was no confusion or splitting headache. The information layered cleanly. One clone caused no noticeable mental strain. Whether two or three would remain equally manageable was another question entirely.

Interesting.

Andras stood. The clone remained seated.

That was another indication that the clone was not simply controlled like a puppet.

"Stand."

The clone stood.

"Look outside."

The clone turned toward the window.

"What do you see?"

"The road," it answered. Its voice was identical to Andras’s. "The forest on the eastern side. Three horses. A farmer working in the field."

Andras remained silent. It could observe, speak, understand, and follow instructions.

But that was not enough. He wanted to know how independent it truly was.

"What are you thinking?"

The clone turned toward him.

"I was wondering how long you intended to test me."

Andras’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Now he had confirmation. It possessed an independent stream of thought, but not an independent identity.

"Do you know what I’m thinking?"

"No."

"Do you remember creating yourself?"

"No."

"Do you remember anything before you appeared?"

The clone paused.

"I remember everything you remember."

Andras’s gaze sharpened. The clone possessed his memories, but it did not share his current thoughts. That distinction could prove extremely useful.

He raised a hand.

"Use Echo Resonance."

The clone’s eyes changed immediately. Mana began flowing through its body. A faint vibration spread through the carriage.

It worked.

The talent had reproduced more than his appearance. It had reproduced his abilities as well.

"Use Sovereign Predator Physique."

The clone complied. Its physical presence increased subtly. Its muscles tightened. Its senses sharpened. Andras watched carefully. No rejection. No instability. No visible backlash.

Andras dismissed it.

The body dissolved into faint particles of mana. The sensation of its memories entering his mind followed immediately—several minutes of observation, the activation of Echo Resonance, and the brief strain of using Sovereign Predator Physique. Everything returned cleanly.

Andras opened his eyes.

Useful.

Very useful.

He immediately began calculating.

Three years. That was approximately how long he would remain at Ambrose Academy. Previously, those years had represented a limitation. He had to remain at the Academy while the world continued moving around him.

Now that limitation had changed.

One body could attend classes, maintain his identity, interact with nobles, and gather information.

Another could leave the Academy, investigate suspicious locations, search for opportunities, and handle matters that could not wait.

The third could remain in reserve—or be used for something more dangerous.

He could even send a clone somewhere while remaining at the Academy himself. If the clone encountered something important, the information would eventually return to him. Distance no longer represented the same restriction.

Of course, limits still existed. Mana consumption. Mental burden. Backlash. The reduced strength of the clones. He would need to understand each one thoroughly before relying on the talent in an important situation.

The carriage continued toward Ambrose. Andras spent the remaining hours of the journey organizing possible applications. He considered how Clone would interact with Echo Resonance, how the mana cost might change as his cultivation increased, and which tasks were better suited for a clone versus his main body.

By the time the lights of Ambrose Academy appeared in the distance, he already had a rough framework.

---

Evening had fully settled over the campus when the carriage passed through the outer gates.

Floating mana lamps illuminated the wide stone pathways in pale blue-white light. Students moved through the grounds in small groups. Laughter and casual conversation drifted through the air. Everything appeared ordinary.

The carriage stopped before the eastern residential building. Andras stepped down. Several nearby students glanced toward his white hair and the Darkmoor crest. A few recognized him. None approached.

That suited him.

He entered the building and climbed the stairs to his private room. Everything was exactly as he had left it. The bed was neatly made. The desk was clear. The window overlooked the eastern courtyard.

Andras placed his belongings down, removed his outer coat, and sat beside the window. For several moments he simply observed the Academy grounds.

Andras raised one hand. Mana gathered.

A figure appeared beside the desk.

Another Andras.

Two pairs of violet eyes met.

The clone turned toward the window, silently observing the courtyard below.

Andras watched it for a moment before dismissing it.

The clone dissolved into particles of mana and disappeared.

Andras leaned back in his chair.

Three years at Ambrose had once meant three years of waiting.

Now, they meant three years of opportunity.