The Villain Professor's Second Chance

Chapter 193: The Imperfect Clone

I chuckled softly, taking a step closer. "You're putting on quite the strong front," I said, my voice cold and calculated. "But it's not like you could do much in that condition, could you?"

Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn't respond immediately. I could feel it, the way her mana flickered around her like a candle in a storm. Elandris was still powerful—there was no denying that—but her energy was waning. It wasn't that she was weak, no, she was far from it. Her mana wasn't reduced because of exhaustion. It was something more… deliberate.

There was something else at play here.

I focused, letting my own senses stretch out, feeling the flow of mana in the tower. And then I found it. A faint connection, like a string barely holding on, leading from her to another part of the tower. It was weak, but it was there.

Her clone.

"Ah," I said, my tone almost amused. "That's it, isn't it? Your little puppet's locked away somewhere else in this tower. The same one you've been using to control everything from behind the scenes. But now, it's trapped, isn't it?"

Her eyes flickered, the slightest hint of surprise crossing her face before she masked it again. She sighed heavily, the sound more annoyed than anything else.

"You really are insufferable," she muttered, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "Of course you figured it out. How irritating."

I raised an eyebrow, watching as she shifted her weight, her composure slipping just a little more. Elandris was a master at hiding her emotions, but right now, I could tell she was more frustrated than she was letting on.

She began pacing, her movements sharp and deliberate as if she needed to release the tension building up inside her. "You have no idea how much of a pain this has been," she started, her voice rising slightly as she continued. "Do you have any idea how difficult it is to maintain control over a clone in a tower that's been turned into a dungeon? It's infuriating!

I can barely pull my mana back from the clone, and it's not because I'm weak, mind you. No, it's because there's some kind of damn barrier in place, keeping my clone locked down."

I watched her, letting her words wash over me as I analyzed her rant. There was truth in her frustration. She wasn't just putting on a show—something, or someone, was actively blocking her from retracting her mana.

"I've been trying to retract my mana for hours," she continued, her voice growing louder as her pacing quickened. "Every time I think I've got a handle on it, that barrier snaps it right back. It's like trying to pull a thread through a needle while someone keeps yanking it out of your hands!"

She threw her hands up in exasperation, her once-composed demeanor unraveling in front of me. "And do you know what the worst part is? I can't even fully control the clone anymore. It's stuck there, just sitting, completely useless. I can feel it, but I can't move it, can't make it do anything.

It's like I'm tethered to it by the weakest possible connection, and every time I try to move, it's like being yanked back by a chain!"

Her words spilled out in a flurry of frustration, her usual calm and collected self nowhere to be found. I stood there, arms crossed, watching as she vented, her hands gesturing wildly as she paced the small room.

"And the barrier itself," she continued, "I don't even know where it came from! I've dealt with dungeonifications before, but this? This is something entirely different. It's as if someone specifically designed it to target my magic, to lock down my mana flow. It's like whoever set this up knew exactly what I was doing and put this in place just to spite me!"

She stopped suddenly, turning to face me with a scowl. "It's annoying," she grumbled, "and it's making my life very difficult."

I couldn't help but smile at her outburst, though I kept my amusement tempered. Elandris, for all her power and control, was unraveling before me. But even in her frustration, there was something I had to respect. She had managed to create a clone that was powerful enough to warrant this kind of barrier, after all.

"I take it your clone spell isn't perfect, then?" I asked, my tone as calm as ever.

She shot me a glare, her golden eyes flashing with irritation. "Obviously not," she snapped. "If it were perfect, I wouldn't be in this mess."

I nodded slowly, the pieces of the puzzle clicking into place in my mind. Elandris wasn't using just any ordinary clone spell—this was something much more complex. Something original, something crafted by her own hand.

"You're trying to mimic the original attribute, aren't you?" I said, watching her closely.

Her eyes widened for a split second, and I knew I had struck a nerve. She quickly regained her composure, but the damage was done.

"You know about the [Perfect Clone]," she muttered, more to herself than to me.

"Of course," I replied. "I've dealt with it before."

The [Perfect Clone] was a skill, an original attribute that allowed the user to create four perfect clones of themselves. Each clone was an exact copy, down to the last detail, with the same amount of mana as the original. In the game world, there had been a notorious player who wielded this attribute—an absolute nightmare to deal with.

Each clone could act independently, fight, cast spells, and use their mana just like the original. Defeating one clone meant nothing, as the others would simply continue the battle without losing any strength.

There is an NPC in the game that use this skill, and is very difficult to deal with.

It was a skill that required perfect mastery over mana distribution and control. Only a handful of players in the game could ever managed to unlock it, and those who did would be nearly unbeatable.

Elandris, however, was trying to mimic that skill, but not as an attribute. She had crafted a spell—a spell that allowed her to create clones, but with limitations. Unlike the [Perfect Clone] skill, her clones couldn't act independently. They shared her mana, yes, but only one body could be active at a time. The others were essentially frozen in place, waiting for her to switch control to them.

"It's not the same," she admitted, her voice lower now, as if confessing a secret. "I've been trying to replicate the [Perfect Clone] for years, but it's… difficult. The spell I created works, but it's flawed. I can create the clones, but I can only control one at a time. The others just… sit there, useless, unless I switch to them."

I nodded, understanding the limitations she faced. "[The Perfect Clone] allows each clone to act independently, but your spell requires you to focus on one at a time. That's why you're having trouble now. Your clone is locked in place, and because you can't retract your mana, you're stuck."

She sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. "Exactly," she muttered. "And now, with this damn barrier, I can't even move the clone, let alone retract the mana. I'm trapped, Draven. And it's driving me insane."

Her frustration was palpable, and for the first time, I saw just how much pressure she was under. Elandris, the Chancellor of the Magic Tower University, the powerful half-elf who had hidden in plain sight for centuries, was now at the mercy of a spell she had created herself.

"You're trying to imitate something that wasn't meant to be imitated," I said, my voice soft but firm. "The [Perfect Clone] is an original attribute for a reason. It's not something that can be copied with a simple spell."

She met my gaze, her golden eyes burning with a mix of defiance and exhaustion. "I know that," she whispered. "But I had to try. Do you have any idea how long I've been searching for a way to replicate it? How many years I've spent perfecting this spell? It's the closest I've ever come to mastering the [Perfect Clone], and now, it's falling apart in my hands."

I studied her for a moment, watching as the weight of her own ambition pressed down on her. Elandris had always been a perfectionist, someone who strove for mastery in everything she did. But this time, she had reached too far, tried to grasp something that was beyond her control.

"Perfection is a curse," I said quietly, my voice cutting through the silence. "And you, Chancellor, are trapped in its grip."

She didn't respond, just stared at me with those burning golden eyes, the weight of her own creation pressing down on her shoulder.