I Arrived At Wizard World While Cultivating Immortality Chapter 661: Assembly and Assault

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Previously on I Arrived At Wizard World While Cultivating Immortality...
Jie Ming delivered enhanced agents to Harding, receiving rare materials in return. As Harding and Dirk departed, a massive Ghost Ship Strange attacked the harbor, causing widespread destruction. Harding and Dirk engaged the ship, while Jie Ming observed a mysterious man coordinating the attack before escaping.
The Ghost Ship vanished even quicker than it had materialized. The dense sea fog churned as if an unseen colossal hand was agitating it, surging from all sides to envelop the dark cruise ship’s outline in layers. Harding’s final lightning strike pierced the fog, creating merely a fleeting disturbance without any indication of a successful hit. The Storm Eye circled a few times at a low altitude. Only when it was certain the target had completely vanished from its sensory range did it slowly retract, depositing him and Dirk back onto the dock. The harbor was now in a state of disarray. The ground at Pier 3 was marred by extensive drag marks, and containers were strewn about like discarded toys. Several cranes were precariously tilted against nearby structures, their broken steel frames still adorned with dangling snapped cables that swayed gently in the breeze. While there were numerous bloodstains on the ground, the number of corpses was surprisingly low. Those unfortunate individuals who were abducted onto the ship left no remains behind. Harding stood at the dock's edge, his chest heaving, with a fine sheen of sweat dotting his forehead. Unleashing the Storm Eye at its maximum capacity exerted a significant toll on his physique, yet it remained within manageable limits. Dirk knelt beside him, placing a hand on the ground. Threads of shadow snakes rapidly traversed the gravel, diligently searching for any lingering traces of Strange entities or surviving individuals. "That thing really made a run for it," Dirk remarked, rising to his feet and dusting off his hands. "The energy fluctuations have completely dissipated, and no life signs have been detected." Harding remained silent for a brief spell before giving a curt nod, uttering no further words. He retrieved his communicator and activated the call function. "Pier 3 at the harbor. The Ghost Ship has retreated. Casualties are pending final assessment. We require immediate follow-up support for scene cleanup." A two-second pause ensued on the other end before a voice, not one he was entirely familiar with, responded. It certainly wasn't the regular operator. This voice was more resolute and deeper in tone. "Harding, return to headquarters at once. All elite personnel are to return to headquarters immediately. Now." Harding's finger hesitated on the device. He exchanged a glance with Dirk, who had also overheard the directive and mirrored his slight frown. Both recognized the speaker instantly: the President of the Mist Capital Spirit Medium Association! "Everyone?" Harding inquired. "Everyone," the voice on the other end confirmed, before abruptly terminating the connection. Within the imposing structure of the Mist Capital Spirit Medium Association building, the conference room door stood ajar. As Harding and Dirk entered, over a dozen individuals were already seated inside. All familiar faces. The elite teams that had been involved in the abandoned factory encirclement operation were present, alongside several senior members typically overseeing other sectors. Even those who had been away on official business had been summoned to the conference room. The large screen dominating the conference room was illuminated, displaying a profile photograph. It was a middle-aged to elderly man, possessing a refined demeanor, clad in a dark gray suit and sporting silver-framed glasses, offering a smile to the camera. Harding recognized that face instantly — indeed, it was quite familiar. He had encountered it in lecture halls, during internal association briefings, and in various group photographs from formal gatherings. Victor Raine. Dirk's steps faltered momentarily at the entrance. His pupils constricted slightly. His lips moved, but no sound emerged. Harding’s expression remained outwardly composed, yet his right hand instinctively clenched into a fist. It was understood by virtually everyone present that, given the circumstances, the news about to be disseminated would be of a grave nature. Truthfully, suspicions had already been harbored regarding this particular professor. Continuous investigations had been underway ever since the incident at the abandoned factory. However, the chasm between mere suspicion and definitive confirmation could, at times, be vaster than the distance separating Mist Capital from the continent's far opposite edge. At the front of the conference room stood the Association President. He was an elderly gentleman with hair streaked with gray, yet he maintained an upright posture. His face was lean, his eyes incisive. He wore a dark gray uniform, distinguished by a badge on his left breast that was larger than those worn by everyone else. Flanking him were two individuals, a man and a woman, both appearing to be in their forties. They were dressed in dark blue coats, subtly distinct from the standard association attire, with gold trim on their collars instead of the usual silver. These were Disaster Grade Spirit Mediums, apparently dispatched directly from headquarters. The President's gaze swept across the assembled individuals, ensuring all elite members were present, before beginning to speak: "The Prophet from headquarters actually arrived three days ago." A profound silence descended upon the conference room for an instant. Then, a suppressed yet palpable ripple of controlled agitation spread through the room. Some exchanged furtive glances, others clenched their fists, and a few unconsciously touched the areas where their Stranges were contained. The intelligence they had received indicated the Prophet's arrival was scheduled for two days hence. All preparations, internal inquiries, and temporary deployments had been orchestrated according to that timeline. Yet, the Prophet had already set foot in their midst three days prior.

The President’s proclamation of “two days later” was evidently a deception, revealing his distrust of everyone present. However, no one voiced any complaints.

All individuals gathered were seasoned operatives; they comprehended the rationale behind such a measure.

A traitor, holding a significant position, was lurking within the association.

Had the Prophet’s genuine arrival time been disclosed, their entire meticulously crafted plan would have been irrevocably compromised.

By disseminating a fabricated timeline, they aimed to mislead the traitor into aligning their actions with a schedule that did not exist.

“The Prophet has been engaged in analysis over these past few days,” the President announced, his voice maintaining a steady cadence, as if delivering a routine update. “Today, through the connection established between the Ghost Ship Strange and the clandestine organization clad in black robes, his investigations have pinpointed the enemy’s primary stronghold.”

The colossal display screen shifted, presenting a new image.

It was a somewhat indistinct photograph, appearing to have been captured beneath the water’s surface.

The image depicted a vast subterranean chamber. Intricate, luminescent runes adorned the walls, while a circular formation, encircled by diverse experimental apparatus, occupied the central area.

This visual record was not obtained through conventional photography but was perceived directly by the Prophet via his Strange.

Abilities categorized as Fate-type Strange possessed the capacity to directly ascertain a target’s physical coordinates and spatial configuration by exploiting the inherent entanglement of causal threads, thereby transcending limitations of distance and circumventing physical barriers.

“The location deviates slightly from our initial conjectures. The enemy’s principal base is not situated in some desolate wilderness or an outlying urban center,” the President elaborated, pausing for emphasis. “Instead, it resides within a quasi-independent subspace. The gateway to this realm is concealed beneath the grounds of the Mist Capital Psychiatric Hospital.”

An immediate hush fell over the conference chamber.

The Mist Capital Psychiatric Hospital.

The official medical facility entrusted with the care of numerous individuals afflicted by Strange-related psychological conditions, and a long-standing partner of the association. Most alarmingly, the hospital housed the families of many association members and countless ordinary civilians!

If the enemy’s primary operational hub was indeed located there, it implied that every patient within the psychiatric institution had been transformed into a hostage!

Worse still!

The implication of mere hostage-taking seemed a distant, almost optimistic scenario. Given the involvement of cultist elements, it was highly probable that far more disturbing events had already transpired within those walls!

Flashbacks surged through Harding’s consciousness—vivid recollections of cultist sanctuaries he had previously assisted in dismantling.

Those deranged individuals, long stripped of their humanity, were capable of any atrocity; nothing could be deemed beyond the realm of possibility.

It was no exaggeration to state that following the eradication of each cultist encampment, a significant number of field operatives required extensive psychological debriefing and subsequent counseling.

“The Prophet has definitively ascertained that the principal figures of the black-robed organization, including their leader, Victor Raine, are presently within this subspace. They remain unaware of the Prophet’s arrival and are oblivious to the fact that we have located their position.”

The President’s voice gained a noticeable intensity, infused with the unwavering resolve characteristic of impending decisive confrontation. “Our forthcoming operation is straightforward: infiltrate with maximum velocity, neutralize them with overwhelming force, and exhibit absolute ruthlessness!”

His gaze swept across every individual assembled.

Although the assembled elites exhibited surprise, they were not taken aback by the President’s resolute declaration.

The President cast a glance towards the two reinforcement officers from headquarters standing at his side. Both responded with simultaneous nods of affirmation.

“Excellent! Commence deployment immediately!”

More than a dozen figures exited the main entrance of the headquarters building in rapid succession. Some sprinted on foot, others boarded the specialized vehicles belonging to the association, and a few unleashed the Stranges residing within their forms, soaring through the lower atmosphere at speeds exceeding those of the vehicles.

Such a significant mobilization by the Spirit Medium Association inevitably drew startled reactions from personnel in the vicinity.

However, these elites failed to notice a minute, almost undetectable tendril of spiritual force, as they departed the headquarters, gently brushing against their shoulders.

Like an unseen insect, it adhered itself to the collars of their uniforms.

Harding, Dirk, the President, the two headquarters reinforcements, and several other key figures… Jie Ming affixed an exceedingly subtle marker to each of them.

It was not that he was unwilling to employ the All-Purpose Eye; rather, in the presence of a Prophet, Jie Ming felt compelled to exercise a heightened degree of caution.

After days of careful observation, he had largely concluded that while this Prophet commanded a Fate-type Strange, whether due to inherent limitations of the Strange itself or deficiencies in the Prophet’s own capabilities, his influence over the threads of fate was indirect, achievable only through tangible objects.

Consequently, Jie Ming resolved to minimize the placement of physical artifacts upon these individuals whenever feasible.

This particular marker was composed purely of spiritual force, devoid of any physical substance; it would only register when Jie Ming consciously activated his spiritual perception.

Standing at the threshold of the old bookstore, Jie Ming leaned against the doorframe, hands casually tucked into his pockets, his gaze directed towards the distant headquarters building.

A subtle gleam danced within his irises, the position and flight paths of every squad meticulously monitored in real time via those spiritual markers. "The time to spring the trap is finally upon us. I should go and participate in the excitement, perhaps I can locate that wizard's trail," Jie Ming mused internally. He then turned and re-entered the confines of the bookstore. He placed the "Closed" sign upon the door. The wooden entrance swung shut behind him, its hinges emitting a drawn-out, mournful creak. His form dissolved the moment the door sealed. Employing the Great Void Step technique, he became one with his surroundings. His spiritual senses, trailing the swift automobiles and the figures darting through the lower altitudes, traversed the towering structures of the central urban area, ultimately reaching the entryway of a structure of grayish-white hue. Mist Capital Psychiatric Hospital.