I Arrived At Wizard World While Cultivating Immortality Chapter 659: Speculation and Research

Within the peculiar confines where figures clad in black previously convened, oil lamps once again illuminated the space.

This time, however, only two lamps were lit.

Flickering faintly within their glass enclosures, the dim yellow flames cast smaller circles of light than typically seen, leaving the majority of the area shrouded in deep shadow. Beneath the limited lamplight, two individuals, one towering and the other diminutive, stood facing each other.

Given their mutual familiarity, hoods were unnecessary, allowing their features to materialize and recede with the dancing firelight.

“Confirmed,” the taller individual stated, his voice lower than usual, tinged with a palpable, suppressed fury. “The presence on the sea’s surface belonged to both the Shadow Thief and the Rift Dweller.”

The shorter figure’s eyelids fluttered.

Although he had steeled himself mentally upon sensing that formidable power earlier, hearing the confirmation still caused his breath to hitch for a fleeting moment.

“The combined power resulting from the fusion of those two Stranges far surpassed our projections,” the tall figure continued, speaking at a deliberate pace, yet each word seemed to be ground out between gritted teeth. “We had anticipated an ordinary Disaster Grade entity, but it manifested as a true Disaster Grade.”

“We had no forces prepared for that level,” the shorter figure replied.

“We possess nothing at that caliber,” the tall figure corrected him. “Those were the two most essential Stranges under our command, and now they are lost. No—they were ‘pilfered’ by an outsider!”

A heavy silence descended upon the pair.

After all, these were Disaster Grade Stranges, entities that had once been under their dominion.

Among conventional military assets, a Disaster Grade Spirit Medium represented an apex level of power. Typically, Disaster Grade Spirit Mediums were never deployed.

This was not solely due to the immense cost associated with each deployment, but more critically, because the sheer destructive force unleashed was too immense when they acted.

It was an understatement to say that a Disaster Grade Spirit Medium was fundamental to a city's survival.

If their organization had truly commanded a Disaster Grade Strange, even the Spirit Medium Association would be compelled to recognize their legitimacy, perhaps even aiding them in establishing their own nation!

Yet, such a monumental opportunity had inexplicably slipped through their grasp!

The flame of the oil lamp wavered once, casting their shadows into a distorted dance upon the wall.

“This event has brought two critical issues to light.”

The taller figure reined in his emotions and raised two fingers, the firelight playing upon his fingertips.

“Firstly, the fusion occurred on the open sea, not on land, nor at any of the locations we had speculated. This indicates foresight on the part of the adversary. Following the theft of the Shadow Thief, they began orchestrating events—potentially even preparing the battlefield and ensuring the Rift Dweller would fall directly into their trap.” The shorter figure's brow furrowed deeper.

“Secondly, after the Disaster Grade power manifested, the fused entity vanished without leaving any trace of destruction. To date, the Spirit Medium Association has not detected any subsequent spread of the Strange… What does this signify?”

“It implies it was sealed,” the short figure stated in a hushed tone, his conviction absolute. “Or subjugated. To accomplish such a feat immediately following a power surge of that magnitude suggests it was a meticulously planned act, not an impromptu one.”

“Therefore, this entire sequence, commencing with the apprehension of the Shadow Thief, was no accident—it was meticulously premeditated!” The tall figure balled his fist.

Their eyes met, a shared realization passing between them.

The same thought was mirrored in both their gazes: an internal betrayal.

Their most guarded secrets had been divulged to an unknown third party.

The Shadow Thief’s location, the Rift Dweller's inherent traits, and even the intrinsic connection between the two Stranges as twins—all had been exposed by this traitor.

Without such critical information, it would have been impossible to execute the complete plan—from capture to fusion to successful sealing—within such a compressed timeframe.

“This is why only the two of us are meeting now,” the short figure remarked, casting a glance into the surrounding, unlit void. “Effective immediately, all external communications are suspended. Beyond our direct contact, no other individual’s information can be deemed reliable.”

The tall figure offered a silent nod.

His expression grew even more somber under the flickering lamplight.

“How much longer can our life force reserves sustain us?” the short figure inquired.

The tall figure’s countenance darkened further.

Without immediate response, he retrieved a stone tablet, roughly the size of his palm, from within his dark robe.

The tablet was intricately inscribed with runes, and at its center, a dark red crystal, about the size of a thumb, was embedded.

Within the crystal, a liquid-like luminescence swirled sluggishly, but the fluid level had diminished to merely one-third of its capacity.

“Less than a month,” he stated grimly. “At our current expenditure rate, it will last three weeks at the absolute maximum.”

The short figure’s lips tightened into a thin, grim line.

“The backup plan is our only option now,” the tall figure stated. His voice remained placid, as if discussing trivial matters, yet a profound coldness emanated from his deep-set eyes.

The short figure’s body tensed imperceptibly.

He lifted his gaze, fixing it directly upon the tall figure’s countenance, as if to discern if a jest was being made.

“Are you entirely sure?” his voice dropped to a near whisper. “The technical aspects are not yet concluded, correct? I recall reviewing last month’s report—the stability remains critically insufficient. The chasm between an individual’s will and the Strange entities is simply too vast. Regardless of the protective measures implemented, the ultimate host will inevitably succumb to loss of control. What updates do you have on your end?”

The tall figure met his intense stare without flinching.

From within his robes, he produced a notebook bound in black leather. Its cover bore no markings, only the tell-tale signs of extensive wear along its edges, faded to white.

He turned open a page. The flickering firelight cast a clear illumination upon the densely inscribed handwritten notes.

Complex formulas, raw data, experimental logs, analyses of failures… each page overflowed with pertinent information. Some sections even featured additional notes affixed at the margins.

“The technology is, indeed, not fully developed,” the tall figure conceded. “However, our time is rapidly dwindling. The Spirit Medium Association has commenced its appeals for reinforcement. I’ve intercepted internal communications indicating they are petitioning headquarters for assistance, and their request has been granted.”

The short figure’s pupils constricted subtly. A grave premonition began to dawn in his heart.

“Who are they dispatching?” he inquired.

The tall figure closed the notebook, returning it to the confines of his robe.

He raised his head, his gaze settling on the short figure, and pronounced a single, chilling word.

“A… Prophet.”

Instantly, the short figure’s complexion drained of all color.

A Prophet.

This was not a mere moniker but the official designation bestowed by the Spirit Medium Association’s higher command upon Spirit Mediums possessing fate-manipulating Strange abilities.

Within this realm, fate-aligned Stranges were exceedingly scarce, and individuals capable of subjugating and binding them were even rarer still.

Yet, every being granted the esteemed title of “Prophet” wielded prescient faculties that bordered on the terrifying.

These were not the enigmatic, mumbling sorcerers of folklore, but individuals possessing demonstrable, verifiable “future sight” capabilities.

“Upon the Prophet’s arrival, my own identity will be compromised,” the tall figure revealed, his voice deepening further.

Neither individual harbored any doubt regarding the Prophet’s capacity to achieve this.

As a senior researcher within the association, the tall figure’s destiny was inextricably interwoven with the organization’s fabric. Any scrutiny that ran counter to his interests would inevitably create detectable disturbances at the causal level; it was only a matter of time before a Prophet uncovered the truth.

“Prior to that event,” the tall figure declared, looking up, a flicker of near-maniacal intensity igniting in his eyes, “we must initiate the final plan. Whatever the cost.”

The short figure remained in thoughtful silence for a considerable duration.

Ultimately, he inclined his head in assent and departed.

The instant his form receded beyond the encompassing glow of the oil lamps, he dissolved into the surrounding darkness as seamlessly as a droplet vanishing into an inkwell, leaving no discernible trace.

Only the tall figure remained, positioned between the two sources of lamplight.

He did not immediately depart the spatial locus.

His being remained momentarily stationary before the entire area seemed to warp and fold beneath his feet.

The illumination from the twin oil lamps appeared to be gathered and compressed by an unseen force, their rays twisting into distorted patterns.

When the spatial distortions resolved, the tall figure was no longer within the desolate hall.

The environment had transformed into what resembled a sophisticated research laboratory.

The area was confined, measuring approximately fifty to sixty square meters. Both the walls and the ceiling were clad in metallic panels of a dull gray-white hue, intricately inscribed with powerful sealing runes. Dominating the center of the floor was a circular formation, roughly three meters in diameter. The intricate lines of this formation seemed to be rendered in a unique luminescent fluid. This fluid pulsed with a faint azure glow in the dimness, lending the entire array the appearance of a lunar disc resting upon the ground.

At the heart of this formation stood a monstrous entity.

Its dimensions were comparable to the shark-like creature encountered earlier, yet its physical form was strikingly dissimilar.

It was an amalgam, a composite being assembled from disparate fragments of Strange entities, possessing no consistent shape.

Its “flesh” underwent perpetual alteration. One moment, it resembled a colossal, hairless canine. The next, it morphed into a grotesque, multi-limbed insectoid horror. Subsequently, it devolved into a writhing mass of organic tissue, densely studded with myriad eyes.

Each transformation was punctuated by auditory cues akin to the shattering of bone—sharp, incessant, as if ten thousand brittle branches were igniting simultaneously in a raging conflagration.

The tall figure stood at the perimeter of the array, observing the spectacle with an impassive expression.

The cerulean luminescence emanating from the sealing array extended beneath his feet, intertwining with the central formation to establish a complete energy conduit.

He identified the control nexus within this circuit, executed a series of gestures in the air, and summoned the monster’s real-time operational metrics.

Stability: 17%.

Will Synchronization Rate: 8%.

Loss of Control Risk Level: Critical.

Estimated Remaining Survival Time: Within 2 hours.

His brows furrowed. He swiped his fingers through the air once more, bringing up a more detailed analysis report.

The report revealed that the core structure of this merged Strange had commenced an irreversible collapse.

Following an initial period of dominance, the human host’s will had rapidly diminished, being devoured by the collective consciousness of the Strange.

The host itself was completely unaware of its self-identity erosion; it simply began to think more and more like a Strange.

Once its thought process underwent a full transformation, the Strange would achieve complete occupation of its body.

Subsequently, the moment the delicate balance between the two was shattered, the body would disintegrate at an accelerated rate.

This was because the very essence of a Strange necessitated human spiritual intellect as its nurturing ground. Deprived of the host’s will as a restraint, the forcibly merged, disparate Strange fragments would inevitably repel and attack each other, ultimately tearing the entire being apart from the inside.

The tall figure observed the fluctuating data with an impassive expression.

Abruptly, the monster situated at the center of the array emitted a piteous howl.

It was an incoherent sound wave, a blend of over a dozen distinct frequencies, propelled solely by agony.

The sound wave impacted the metal walls, getting absorbed by the encompassing sealing runes.

Even after the majority of its intensity was attenuated, the residual waves still induced visible tremors throughout the laboratory's atmosphere.

In response, the tall figure, maintaining his impassive demeanor, manipulated the array, initiating further experiments upon the creature.

An hour and a half elapsed swiftly. The monstrous corpse before him started to decay.

Its skin fractured and peeled away, exposing pale gray musculature devoid of any blood.

The muscle rapidly lost its suppleness, transforming into a loose, fibrous mass.

Subsequently, the bones began to fracture, snapping one by one like brittle, dead twigs.

The entire disintegration process took half an hour to complete.

A merged Strange, which had consumed vast quantities of resources and involved painstaking effort, completely collapsed amidst unending torment.

The tall figure witnessed the entire spectacle with an unruffled expression.

He proceeded to a corner and pressed a concealed red button situated behind one of the metal plates.

The array’s illumination instantly transitioned from a tranquil blue to a searing white. The temperature surged to several thousand degrees instantaneously, vaporizing the rotting flesh, fragmented bones, and a superficial layer of metal on the array’s surface into gaseous form.

The ventilation system automatically engaged, drawing the noxious gases into the subterranean purification apparatus.

Simultaneously, the sealing array commenced its function, re-encapsulating the dissipating Strange power.

Moments later, the array reverted to its characteristic blue luminescence. The laboratory was immaculate, leaving no trace of the prior events.

The tall figure extended his hand, executed a few gestures in the air, summoned the destruction log to verify the complete processing of all hazardous materials, and then closed the control panel.

He let out a sigh.

Regret washed over him for expending another batch of valuable experimental materials without yielding the anticipated outcomes.

“Experimental subjects are dwindling once more,” he murmured to himself, his voice echoing in the vacant laboratory. “I will need to procure additional ones.”

He divested himself of his black robe, hanging it on a hook positioned in the corner.

His attire beneath the robe was modest: dark gray suit trousers, a white shirt, with meticulously fastened cuff buttons.

He retrieved a pair of silver-rimmed spectacles from his pocket and donned them.

Beneath the lenses, his high-cheekboned visage unexpectedly acquired an air of scholarly refinement.

He closed his eyes. With a mere thought, the space beneath his feet folded once more.

Upon reopening his eyes, he found himself standing in a bright and inviting lounge.

The walls were painted in a warm beige hue. Soft ceiling lights bathed the room in illumination, and a potted green plant graced the tea table in the corner.

A full-length mirror was propped against the wall, its wooden frame immaculately polished.

He stood before the mirror, observing his reflection.

Victor Raine.

A specially appointed lecturer at the Spirit Medium Association and the primary orator for public discourse on essential Strange protection knowledge.

A specially invited consultant for the Mist Capital Spirit Medium Association and a distinguished authority in the domain of Strange research.

To the general populace, he was perceived as a benevolent, erudite, and compassionate individual, deeply concerned for the safety of ordinary citizens.

Tickets for his lectures invariably sold out rapidly. His books occupied prominent positions in bookstores. Within the association, his reputation was equally stellar: pragmatic, effective, and unfailingly responsible.

The face reflected in the mirror bore a smile, appearing exceptionally gentle and trustworthy at first glance—a stark contrast to the frigid demeanor he had displayed in that peculiar space earlier.

Victor adjusted his collar in the mirror, then turned and pushed open the lounge door.

The corridor stretched out, lengthy and unobstructed. Wall-mounted lamps, positioned at regular intervals on either side, cast a soft, uniform glow, effectively banishing any shadows from the hallway. The floor was covered in pale gray, non-slip tiles, so impeccably clean that they gleamed with reflected light.

A subtle aroma, a blend of disinfectant and floral air freshener, permeated the atmosphere.

At the corridor's far end stood a pair of large double glass doors. Etched onto them in metallic lettering were the words: “Mist Capital Psychiatric Hospital Treatment Center.”

From the opposite end of the hallway, a nurse, clad in her uniform, approached with a brisk stride, a sheaf of patient files held securely in her arms.

Upon spotting Victor, she offered a slight inclination of her head, her smile perfectly calibrated and professional.

“Professor, thank you for your diligent work,” the nurse’s voice chimed, clear and courteous. “We received several new admissions today. All their respective files are here—kindly review them.”

“I appreciate your assistance.”

Victor responded with a casual nod, accepted the folder, and proceeded to open it.

His fingers, long and slender, turned the pages with deliberate slowness and care, as if he were handling an irreplaceable antique manuscript.

The first page detailed a middle-aged man grappling with alcoholism and a propensity for violence, admitted by his family.

The second page described a young woman experiencing auditory hallucinations, convinced she could hear voices within the walls. Following confirmation from the Spirit Medium Association that no Strange involvement was detected, she was directed here.

The third page presented an elderly gentleman suffering from dementia, disoriented and having repeatedly lost his way.

The fourth page…

Victor’s progression halted abruptly.

The photograph displayed a face with sharply defined features. His hair, though streaked with gray, was neatly cut, and his eyes, small in size, nonetheless possessed a vibrant alertness.

Even within the unflattering context of a medical record photograph, those eyes still held an unwavering, resolute spark.

“And this individual is…” Victor inquired, his tone casual.

The nurse leaned in to observe and promptly responded, “Ah, he is a recently retired member of the Spirit Medium Association. His name is Collins. He dedicated over two decades to fieldwork within the association before retiring just last year. Prolonged exposure to Stranges has resulted in some psychological distress—primarily manifesting as insomnia and occasional episodes of mental confusion. However, his willpower is exceptionally strong, so the symptoms are not overly pronounced at this time.”

“A retired member from the Spirit Medium Association,” Victor echoed, his voice imbued with a fitting measure of deference. “Devoting more than twenty years to this city—that service has undoubtedly been arduous.”

“Indeed,” the nurse concurred.

Victor closed the folder, cradled it against his chest, and lifted his gaze, his gentle smile returning to his lips.

“Let us commence with a consultation for him, then,” he declared. His voice, though not raised, was distinctly clear and steady, carrying an undeniable aura of reassurance. “A valiant individual such as he warrants our most dedicated therapeutic efforts.”

“Understood. I shall make the necessary arrangements immediately.”

The nurse gave another slight bow before turning and departing to carry out the instructions.

Victor remained stationary, observing the nurse’s receding figure until she vanished at the corridor's far end.

The placid smile lingered on his features, but a distinct shift had occurred in the eyes peering from behind his spectacles.

“Fortunate. To discover such promising material so swiftly.”

A retired member of the Spirit Medium Association.

Over twenty years of practical field experience.

A formidable willpower.

Mild psychological afflictions.

All exceptionally favorable attributes.

Strong willpower signified his capacity to withstand Strange fusion for extended durations, preventing the immediate collapse typical of ordinary individuals upon initial contact. More than two decades of field duty indicated his body and mind had undergone rigorous conditioning, bestowing upon him a significantly enhanced adaptability compared to the average person.

“Mild psychological afflictions” suggested that his core sense of self remained intact, though it had already suffered partial erosion from encounters with Stranges.

This was, in actuality, an encouraging indicator. Based on prior experimental findings...