Elven Domination: Reincarnated with a Cloning System

He cursed under his breath.

Again.

The second circle broke—this time after nine damn lines. Mana lashed back into his fingers like a spark of static and made him flinch.

His control was fraying. His focus too. But more than anything, he was getting annoyed.

"Seriously?" Arthur muttered. "I'm doing everything right."

The lines were precise—well, 'mostly'. The core rune was stable. He'd triple-checked his mana output. Yet every time he thought he was close, the damn thing would just… crack.

Fizzle. Collapse.

Like it was mocking him.

He took a deep breath and glared at the circle's faint remnants still fading from the air.

No. This wasn't just about control. Something else was off.

The more he stared at it, the more he realized it felt less like drawing a diagram and more like trying to play an instrument he'd never heard before.

It had rhythm.

A flow.

It wanted something from him, something more than just structure. More than just brute precision.

It wanted resonance.

Arthur sat back and exhaled. His fingers hurt. His arms ached. He wasn't even sure how long he'd been at this—maybe four hours? Five? He didn't know, didn't care.

He tried again.

But this time, he didn't force his mana like he was pulling rope.

He let it drift.

Gentle, like ink in water.

Each stroke came slower. Not because he was cautious—but because he was listening. Feeling.

The lines started to obey—not just because he pushed them, but because they 'trusted' him to lead them.

And slowly…

Softly…

The second circle was completed.

No sparks. No backlash. No drama.

Just a faint, steady glow as the formation held.

Then—'click'.

That sound again. Not from the air. From 'inside' the book.

The golden ink pulsed once, like a heartbeat. And the page turned by itself, flipping to the next.

Arthur didn't move for a second.

He just stared.

And then let out a long, exhausted breath. "Okay," he said quietly. "That was cool."

But he didn't stop to celebrate.

Because the third circle was already staring him in the face.

---

It looked similar to the last one.

At first.

Same outer frame. Same core rune.

But the moment he looked closer, his stomach sank.

It was 'layered'. Runes inside runes, loops that twisted over themselves, smaller patterns that rotated even on paper. The complexity wasn't just higher—it was 'insane'.

He blinked. "You've gotta be kidding me."

But of course, the book wasn't kidding.

He sighed, wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, and straightened his back.

"No big deal," he muttered. "Just... try not to blow my fingers off this time."

---

His first attempt collapsed before the third line even connected. Mana flickered and puffed out with a hiss.

Second attempt? Five lines.

Third? Seven—and then backlash zapped up his arm so fast he almost bit his tongue.

"Okay," he muttered through clenched teeth. "So you're the temperamental one."

Still, he didn't quit.

Because quitting wasn't an option anymore.

This book was his only teacher. His only path to getting a class that could match—'no,' surpass—Fira's.

And if that meant burning through every last drop of mana in his veins?

So be it.

---

The hours dragged on.

The room grew darker as the candles burned low. His hand cramped. His eyes stung.

But with every failure, he adjusted. Tightened his flow. Smoothed his strokes. Learned what the circle liked and what it rejected.

By the eighteenth try, the third circle finally held.

Unstable at the edges. Flickering a bit. But it stayed.

Long enough.

The book shimmered again, almost pleased.

'Fwoosh.'

The page flipped.

---

"Fourth one already?" Arthur croaked, voice hoarse. "Can I at least get a nap first?"

But he didn't stop.

He couldn't stop.

The fourth circle was just as cruel—except now it had 'moving parts'. The outer ring was designed to rotate slowly in one direction, while the inner patterns pulsed in sequence.

"Great," Arthur muttered. "Now they want choreography."

His mana control was already stretched thin. Now it needed 'timing' too?

Still, he tried.

Failed.

Tried again.

Failed harder.

One mistake, and the whole thing fell apart. Sometimes with backlash. Sometimes just with that same quiet flicker of disappointment.

But he didn't complain anymore.

He got used to the failures. Expected them, even.

Each one brought him a little closer to something 'clicking' in his mind.

---

By the time he reached the sixth circle, it demanded he form two circles at once, one in each hand, synced perfectly.

He failed every single time for the first dozen tries.

Then started to improve.

He didn't even realize he'd been at it for nearly an entire day. Hunger came and went. His legs were numb from sitting. But he didn't care.

The book was opening itself to him—'page by page, step by step'. Each new layer wasn't just a spell. It was a conversation. A test.

Not to prove strength.

To prove 'growth'.

---

Eventually, as the seventh circle appeared, Arthur sat there, blinking at it.

He looked like a mess. Hair sticking to his face. Eyes bloodshot. Mana flickering around him like tired embers.

And still—

He smiled.

"Let's see what you've got for me next."

He rubbed his eyes, trying to blink away the blur.

The seventh circle shimmered faintly on the page in front of him—more complex than anything before, but he was too drained to even curse at it properly.

Out of the corner of his eye, something flickered.

He glanced toward the small wall-mounted crystal clock across the room.

And froze.

"…Shit."

It was almost midnight.

The hands were ticking dangerously close to the edge, and if he didn't leave now—

His stomach rumbled right on cue, and Arthur winced. Not from hunger—but from the memory.

'"Dinner with Fira."'

He shot up, almost stumbled when standing up, he knew Fira must be waiting for the dinner, he can't let her wait for so long, it made him feel bad, so he quickly decided to leave.

The book snapped shut on the desk, the mana within it quieting like it had been waiting for this moment to end.

Arthur took a breath, wiped the sweat from his face with his sleeve, and straightened his shirt.

He glanced at the book once more before he left.

Seven pages cleared.

One glowing on the horizon.

His lips twitched into a tired grin.

"I'll be back," he said quietly.

Then he turned and slipped out of the study—half-limping, half-floating from mana exhaustion—toward the dining hall.

Because even if the world was falling apart…

He wasn't about to miss dinner he was too hungry after so much learning.