I Arrived At Wizard World While Cultivating Immortality Chapter 645: Shadow Thief

As twilight descended, the desolate industrial grounds by the Mist Capital’s coastline were draped in a muted, purplish-gray hue.

The sun had already dipped below the horizon, yet the sky hadn’t fully succumbed to darkness.

This transitional period in Mist Capital was commonly referred to as the “Gray Dusk.”

It was a time of ambiguous light and shadow, blurring the lines between day and night, when most city dwellers hurried home before true darkness enveloped them.

However, for the members of the Spirit Medium Association, Gray Dusk signified the commencement of their duties.

Harding stood near the entrance of a derelict factory building, his hands resting in the pockets of his dark blue uniform.

His gaze swept over an open expanse littered with rusted steel, eventually settling on the distant, somber sea.

No vessels dotted the water; only a dense fog crept in, resembling the slow exhalations of some colossal entity.

Now forty-seven years old, Harding had dedicated over two decades to the Association. After concluding his frontline fieldwork, he had anticipated a reprieve from leading missions of this nature.

Yet, the circumstances this time were exceptional. The preceding team dispatched had been entirely annihilated, failing to transmit even a single piece of information.

The Association required seasoned personnel, necessitating his return to active duty.

“Old Harding,” Dirk’s voice emerged from behind him. “The perimeter is secure. The three factory structures to the north are completely vacant. No civilians or unauthorized individuals present.”

Dirk approached and halted beside Harding. His youthful face radiated eagerness, though a subtle undercurrent of tension flickered in his eyes.

Having been employed for merely two years, his previous encounters were limited to ordinary Hazard Grade Stranges. This marked his inaugural participation in an operation targeting a Threat Grade Strange.

“Where are the others?” Harding inquired.

“The remaining three elite squads have arrived and are conducting final equipment checks. The capture team is currently establishing the sealing formation and illumination arrays. It should take approximately another thirty minutes,” Dirk stated, gesturing towards the interior of the factory. “I did a preliminary sweep. The space is sufficiently vast, and the ceiling height is adequate for deployment.”

Harding offered a curt nod, his expression unreadable.

He turned, surveying the deserted industrial zone behind them.

This abandoned area was once Mist Capital’s most prominent shipyard, ceasing operations thirty years prior following a Strange-related incident.

Ever since, the location had remained forsaken. The factories stood empty, their machinery succumbed to rust, frequented only by occasional vagrants and illicit traders.

For the present operation, it presented an ideal setting. Its lack of civilian presence and ample space allowed for unhurried preparations without endangering the public. Furthermore, its isolation precluded unwanted attention.

A convoy of black box vans sequentially entered the industrial zone.

As the vehicles halted, their doors sprang open, disgorging members of the Association clad in dark blue uniforms, who promptly began unloading an array of equipment.

Metal frameworks, inscribed rune stones, powerful lighting units, spools of cabling—all were brought forth.

Harding and Dirk advanced further into the factory building.

Inside, the other three elite squads awaited. Six individuals—three male, three female—their ages ranging from thirty to fifty.

Each member’s uniform bore subtle distinctions from those of regular Association personnel. The collars and cuffs were accented with silver trim, and beneath the emblem on the left breast, a star-shaped insignia signifying “elite” was meticulously embroidered.

Some members rested against the walls, others were positioned beside equipment crates, and a few engaged in hushed conversations. Nevertheless, all eyes turned towards Harding the moment he entered.

“Everyone is accounted for,” Harding announced, his gaze sweeping over the assembled individuals. “I’ll dispense with pleasantries and proceed directly to the intelligence briefing.”

He retrieved a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and unfolded it.

Displayed on the paper was a crudely drawn depiction of the Strange: a semi-transparent, flattened human silhouette devoid of discernible facial features or limb details, resembling a thin, crumpled sheet of black paper.

“Provisional codename: Shadow Thief. Classification: Threat Grade, with preliminary analysis suggesting peak Threat Grade. Its manifested form, as you can observe, is that of a semi-transparent shadow, gliding across surfaces. Its movement patterns consistently circumvent light sources, favoring paths along wall bases, beneath furniture, or any other objects capable of casting a shadow during the Gray Dusk period.”

Harding affixed the paper to the wall and turned to face the group.

“According to calculations by the ‘Prophet,’ this entity’s lethal mechanism is… it exclusively targets ‘individuals lacking shadows.’”

Dirk’s brow furrowed. “People without shadows?”

“Precisely,” Harding affirmed. “However, its very presence is what causes people to lose their shadows. This creature subsists on shadows themselves. When the Shadow Thief passes over your shadow, it effectively ‘bites’ a fragment from its edge, diminishing its size incrementally.”

“This procedure is incredibly stealthy. Regular individuals will detect nothing, and even noticing the shadow's alteration with the naked eye is difficult. However, with each repetition, your shadow will progressively shrink until it vanishes entirely.”

Harding paused briefly, allowing those present to absorb the information.

“Once stripped of their shadow, the shadow thief employs it as sustenance for its own form. This degradation is gradual, potentially spanning several days. The afflicted will experience an unexplainable weariness and debility, ultimately succumbing during what appears to be ordinary slumber. Externally, the deceased exhibit no wounds or traces of toxins; it resembles a natural end.”

“So, the individuals who vanished in the old district…” an elite team member inquired.

“Some disappeared, while others were taken by their kin as having ‘died from illness’,” Harding’s tone grew somber. “We only discerned this pattern after cross-referencing death records over the past four months. Over a dozen individuals were reported by witnesses prior to their demise as ‘shadowless’… yet this crucial detail went unnoticed at the time.”

A moment of silence descended upon the factory floor.

“We have delineated the Shadow Thief’s approximate operational zone using the victims' geographical data,” Harding indicated a different hand-drawn map on the table. “Its current sphere of activity is confined between Seventh and Twelfth Streets in the old district, and it has not ventured beyond these limits. Nevertheless, we cannot discount the potential for its territorial expansion.”

“The prior task force dispatched was annihilated without relaying any intelligence,” Dirk interjected, his voice notably subdued. “Consequently, we surmise this anomaly might possess a ‘secondary phase’ or other perilous attributes. We selected this locale as our engagement arena today to preemptively address any unforeseen developments.”

Harding proceeded to the factory’s central area, his gaze directed upward towards the decaying steel framework of the ceiling.

“We have undertaken thorough site preparations. A containment formation envelops the entirety of the industrial zone. Illumination arrays are systematically deployed in a grid, ensuring the complete absence of unlit areas. The apprehension unit is tasked with perimeter security and sustaining the formation. The eight of us…” He gestured towards the assembled elite team members. “Will be poised for immediate action, leveraging our distinct competencies.”

“Understood,” the six individuals responded in unison.

“Proceed to your designated positions, then.”

Darkness had fully enveloped the sky.

The illumination arrays within the industrial zone were now fully operational.

Each lamp was custom-crafted, featuring rune-etched shades designed to disperse light in a specific manner, thereby eliminating any residual shadows within the illuminated perimeter.

Beyond providing light, these arrays served to delineate and restrict the Shadow Thief’s movement.

The night deepened.

Harding stood at the factory’s core, lowering his head to observe his uniform.

Its collar, cuffs, and chest emblem emanated a subtle luminescence in the prevailing gloom.

This was standard-issue equipment from the Association.

Each uniform was interwoven with minute quantities of fluorescent runes, ensuring the wearer remained perpetually in a “lit” state without casting extraneous shadows.

The uniforms of everyone present began to glow, their scattered points of light merging in the darkness to form a comforting aura.

Dirk positioned himself beside Harding, idly flexing his fingers.

“Old Harding,” Dirk murmured. “Do you genuinely believe this Shadow Thief necessitates such an extensive deployment?”

Harding cast a look in his direction. “That was the sentiment of the previous team as well.”

Dirk fell silent.

Harding turned and made his way towards a transport van situated behind the factory structure.

The van’s rear portals were ajar, revealing an interior bathed in intense light—quite literally.

The internal surfaces of the cargo hold were adorned with an array of light sources.

Fluorescent tubes, conventional bulbs, and enchanted rune lamps converged, transforming the compartment into a shadowless expanse, akin to a desert bathed in midday sun.

Resting in the compartment's center, a stretcher was secured atop a makeshift frame.

A man lay upon it, his features gaunt, his eye sockets deep-set, and his skin possessing an unhealthy, pallid hue.

His eyes were open, fixed on the compartment's ceiling with a vacant stare. His lips moved imperceptibly, as if attempting to articulate words that failed to materialize.

Harding ascended into the van, crouching beside the stretcher.

“Can you comprehend me?” he inquired.

The man's gaze slowly shifted towards him, followed by a single, deliberate blink.

It was the sole exertion he could currently muster.

“You are the most recent individual we located who has fallen victim,” Harding’s voice, though soft, was distinct. “Your shadow has completely vanished. Following the Shadow Thief’s established pattern, it will target you within the coming days. Therefore, your assistance in locating it is paramount. Post-operation, the Association will dedicate its utmost efforts to your recuperation.”

The man blinked once more.

This time, with extreme slowness, it seemed to convey assent.

Harding rose to his feet, exited the van with a leap, and gave a nod to Dirk, who stood nearby.

“Prepare for commencement.”

From the factory building’s high ceiling, eight powerful lamps flickered on all at once.

Brilliant white illumination cascaded down, turning the entire industrial area as bright as the day.

The scene revealed rusted equipment, shattered windowpanes, and fractured concrete floors… every detail was laid bare under the glare, leaving no place for concealment.

Yet, the light also birthed shadows.

Each person standing within the illuminated space cast a shadow—be it long or short, deep or faint—at their base.

Harding observed the shadow stretching from his own feet and felt a slight unease.

Even though the Prophet had assured him that a partial shadow loss posed no real issue, he couldn't quite shake a sense of apprehension.

Still, this was an unavoidable price.

Although they possessed a “shadowless person” to act as a lure, the Shadow Thief would not manifest if no shadows were present in the vicinity.

Consequently, they too had to serve as part of the trap.