I Can Copy And Evolve Talents

Chapter 1266: The Obsession of Seeking Knowledge

Time passed strangely in the Archives. The essence lighting never changed—a constant amber glow that offered no hint of morning or evening. No windows showed the movement of the sun. Northern and his clones read, absorbed, cross-referenced, built mental maps of information that spread and connected and formed patterns across centuries of recorded history.

He didn’t notice when hours became half a day.

Didn’t notice when he would subconsciously create more clones to reach more books because all available copies were already occupied. The pursuit of knowledge, as it seemed, was something Northern had failed to consider would be so... consuming. He’d expected useful information. Strategic advantages. Instead, he found himself genuinely fascinated—drawn deeper and deeper into texts he had no practical reason to read, simply because they existed and he could.

Enough to have him so lost.

So much that he noticed nothing aside from the steady accumulation of knowledge.

Until Roma’s voice cut through his concentration.

"Northern?"

He looked up from a military logistics manual. But he wasn’t the only one who turned at the call of his name. All the clones, regardless of their position, took a pause.

Some were reading on ladders. Some were floating in the open air because no ladder reached that high. Others walked among the colossal shelves, muttering to themselves as they studied, their voices overlapping into a strange harmony of his own thoughts spoken aloud.

’I look like a madman,’ he realized. ’A very productive madman, but still.’

Northern himself was perched on a particular ladder closer to the reading section. He blinked and realized his eyes were burning slightly from reading in the essence-light for... however long it had been. The discomfort registered only now, when the focus broke.

Roma stood at the base of his ladder, looking up at him with concern.

"Your friends came looking for you," she said. "They’re worried. They’ve been expecting you back at the ship... and they also said... your father is awake." Her expression shifted to displeasure. "Why didn’t you mention your father was here?"

Northern processed that information with the same analytical distance he’d applied to everything else today.

’Father’s awake. Good. That’s... good.’ The thought felt distant, like it belonged to someone else. ’Hours ago, she said. So it’s been... six hours? Eight? More?’

He furrowed his brows and squinted, then looked at Roma.

"Because it wasn’t important. Tell them I’m fine," he said. "I’ll be there eventually."

Roma frowned. "Northern, you need to—"

"Actually," Northern interrupted, already making the decision, "I’ll send someone."

He activated [True Clone] again. Another perfect copy materialized beside him on the ladder, causing Roma to jump slightly despite having witnessed this multiple times now.

The clone simply flew down with a gentle smile on his face, landing softly before Roma, whose expression had frozen yet again.

"Shall we?"

Roma stuttered subtly. "I—I guess?"

But she glanced back at Northern on the ladder—the one who had spoken to her.

"You’re going to keep reading," she said flatly.

"Yes."

"For how long?"

"Until I find what I need." Northern was already turning back to his book. "Or until I’ve read everything. Whichever comes first."

"That could take days."

"Then it takes days." He didn’t look at her. "The Empire won’t wait, Roma. But they also won’t attack immediately. Pyrrhus needs to return, deliver his report, receive orders. That gives me time. And I’m going to use every second of it."

Roma was silent for a long moment. "You’re... very focused."

"I’m very motivated," Northern corrected. "There’s a difference."

She narrowed her eyes. "Why? I don’t understand—don’t you have other... priorities?"

Northern spoke without averting his gaze from the book.

"Which would include returning to South Drywall, retiring to a place of my own, sleeping for a long time—really long—on an actually soft and comfortable bed, waking to fresh morning sun and bathing in a clean lake a few times..." He glanced at Roma briefly. "If you have any recommendations, please share. I’m willing to travel just to take a proper bath."

He breathed for a moment, and his brows drew tighter.

"But all of that won’t be possible if the Empire’s forces begin raiding the continent, right?"

She nodded.

"Yes... you’re right."

Northern smiled simply and added, "Aside from the fact that I’m enjoying this... everything I need right now is currently here with me. Have you explored the inside of Thunderhead? It’s like a mansion. And I have an even better model. I can practically live in the sky." He paused. "Not that I want to... Stars, I’m babbling. Roma, leave before you distract me more than this."

She looked at him with a mix of a smile and worried concern.

"I guess you really are enjoying yourself. Well then, I’ll check up on you later to inform you how many hours have passed."

He waved her off like she was some insect disturbing his work.

He heard her sigh. Then her footsteps as she walked away. Then the sound of the doors closing behind her.

Northern dismissed her from his thoughts and dove back into the text.

He read through the military manual, and another, and another. Every text recorded in terrifying detail every encounter with the Empire’s armies. And truly, Northern had to admit how terrifying it was.

The ancient Ryugan had worked desperately to build traps into the mountains, using the terrain itself as a defensive force to turn the battle tide. There was one particular engagement where they had even depended on the rift forecast system—not to win exactly, but simply to avoid losing.

When the rift broke open, the terrain changed so drastically that the Empire forces backed off. It later took seventeen Masters and a Sage to clear that rift. Seven died. Three were injured so gravely they retired from active service entirely.

This also reflected the struggles of the past—how genuinely they had fought against the rifts appearing throughout their era. A Tier VIII rift, of course. But still.

’The history from Milhguard Academy made their era sound heroic. Legendary. As though everyone born then was somehow special.’ Northern turned another page, his thoughts growing heavier. ’But when I contrast that era with the present one... the only thing I see are weaklings. And this must have been exactly how Rughsbourgh saw the world. How Milhwa himself saw it.’

But through this lens—the actual records, not the sanitized academy versions—he saw something else entirely. The struggles. The determination. People whose Talent Class never stopped them from becoming something more. Many died. Many died as heroes in rifts and battles with the Empire, names recorded only in logistics reports and casualty lists.

But because they weren’t Paragons or Luminaries or Transcendents, history seemed not to remember them.

At that moment, Northern couldn’t help but think how strength really equaled significance. How it always had.

’Strength can be anything,’ he thought, staring at a list of the dead. ’That’s what they tell us. But in a world like Tra-el, where Strength has been canonized into tiers and classes and rankings... "anything" becomes very limited indeed.’

If one wasn’t careful, all that potential—all that effort—could truly turn out to be effortless.

Meaningless.

He turned another page and kept reading.