I Arrived At Wizard World While Cultivating Immortality Chapter 667: Ten Years

Ten years later.

The old district's cobblestone streets in Mist Capital had been newly paved. Potholes were filled with fresh stones, their lighter hue a stark contrast to the aged surroundings, much like new patches on worn-out clothing.

Gas street lamps at the corners were now replaced by electric lights, with wires from nearby factories forming a complex web above the old district. The bakery owner's wife was still present, though her son had taken over the family business. She now sat behind the counter, spectacles perched on her nose as she knitted, her gaze occasionally lifting towards patrons entering and exiting.

The old bookstore persevered.

Its wooden door bore a fresh coat of paint, and the hinges were replaced, silencing the long, drawn-out creak of before. The wooden sign affixed to the doorframe had also been updated; the lettering was more precise, accompanied by a simple decorative carving along its edges.

However, the words "Old Bookstore" remained steadfast, identical to how they were a decade prior.

Adjacent to the bookstore, a small clinic had been established through an expansion. Though termed an expansion, it involved renting the adjacent, long-vacant building, demolishing the shared wall, and undertaking interior renovations. The clinic's facade was understated, featuring a glass door and a white-and-blue sign proclaiming "Noren Clinic." Beneath this, in smaller script: "Specializing in Strange Trauma and Soul Injury."

At this moment, the clinic's door swung open from within.

Eric emerged.

He stood taller than ten years ago, his shoulders broader, his posture erect. The youthful bloom had entirely receded from his features, supplanted by a composed steadiness cultivated through exposure to countless injuries and ailments.

He donned a white lab coat, a pen secured in the pocket over his left breast, and carried a medical record folder in his right hand. Eric's hair was cut shorter, revealing a full forehead. His jawline was sharply defined, projecting a resilience uncharacteristic of youth. Behind him, a middle-aged man followed, clad in a dark blue uniform.

The man's left arm was cradled in a sling, the bandage wound snugly from shoulder to wrist, showing no outward signs of blood. A recent scar traced a path across his face, extending from his eyebrow's edge to his cheekbone.

“Mr. Collins, kindly return next Wednesday for stitch removal,” Eric stated. He paused on the entrance steps, turned to the final page of the medical record, detached a slip of paper, and presented it.

“For dressing changes, you may perform them yourself following the method I demonstrated. However, should any black patterns manifest around the wound, refrain from self-treatment. Proceed immediately to the Association headquarters and seek out Physician Valentin. Have him contact me.”

The middle-aged man accepted the slip, folded it, and placed it in his pocket. He shifted his ensheathed arm, opening and closing his fingers with evident satisfaction, then nodded.

“Doctor Eric, your skills are truly extraordinary,” the middle-aged man declared, his voice gravelly and rough. “The physicians at headquarters examined it for three days and estimated my soul injury would require at least half a year to heal, with potential for permanent damage. You've treated me only twice, and I can scarcely feel any discomfort now.”

“That is due to your robust constitution,” Eric replied with a slight smile. “The 'Strange' within you has resided for nearly two decades. Your soul's resilience surpasses that of an ordinary individual. I merely assisted in mending the severed connections; the rest occurred naturally.”

The middle-aged man’s expression became subtly complex.

“It is still your skill that is paramount,” he affirmed with unwavering conviction. “No other physician possesses such an ability.”

Eric did not prolong the discussion. He offered a gentle shake of his head, tucked the medical record folder beneath his arm, and held the glass door open for the man.

The middle-aged man stepped out of the clinic and paused at the foot of the stairs. His gaze swept across the drab gray sky of the old district before settling on the dark green wooden door adjoining the clinic.

“Is that person… unavailable today?” he inquired in a hushed tone, indicating the bookstore with a subtle jerk of his chin.

Eric followed his gaze and shook his head. “My Teacher's consultation slots are not publicly accessible. Should a need arise, the Association arranges appointments through official channels.”

The middle-aged man uttered an “ah” and ceased his questioning. He had been undergoing treatment here for almost a month yet had never encountered the famed “Doctor Noren” in person. Numerous speculations circulated about this doctor within the Association; some suggested extreme age, others posited he was not a physician but a retired high-ranking spirit medium, and a few even linked him to the peculiar incident at the psychiatric hospital years ago. None of these claims could be substantiated.

His sole knowledge was that the young Doctor Eric was the apprentice of this mysterious doctor.

Doctor Eric’s proficiency had already far surpassed the top medical practitioners at the Association's central headquarters by an immeasurable degree.

“See you next Wednesday.” With those words, the middle-aged gentleman departed, heading towards the alley's opening.

A sleek, black Association vehicle awaited him, the driver already settled in his seat.

Eric remained at the clinic's doorstep, observing the man enter the car. He let out a soft sigh before turning back into the clinic.

Though the clinic was modest in size, its various functional sections were distinctly demarcated.

Passing through the doorway beyond the consultation area revealed a narrow corridor.

To the left lay the treatment room. Eric proceeded to its door, opened it, placed the patient's file onto the rack just inside, and commenced the cleanup, meticulously separating used gauze, cotton balls, and gloves into their respective disposal bins.

The surgical instruments were then submerged into the ultrasonic cleaning unit, and its activation button was pressed.

A small rune sticker, personally inscribed by Jie Ming and still adhered to the treatment surface, was delicately detached using tweezers. It was carefully affixed to a specialized preservation board, meticulously labeled with the date and patient identification number, before being stored within a drawer.

This particular piece was a testament to Jie Ming’s meticulous work.

After a decade of dedicated study, Eric felt his own capabilities in 'treatment' significantly outshone any other Association physician.

Yet, in comparison to Jie Ming, he perceived himself as merely crawling while his teacher was already soaring.

He struggled to pinpoint the exact reason for Jie Ming's superior skill.

In truth, Jie Ming's excellence was a comprehensive mastery, extending beyond any single field.

His grasp of the Uncanny, his profound insight into the spirit, his foresight regarding spiritual energy flows…

When faced with a challenging spiritual affliction, Eric would require repeated examinations, painstaking investigation, and a gradual approach to resolution.

Jie Ming, however, needed but a single glance to diagnose the core issue, formulate the remedy, and estimate the recovery timeline.

Ten long years.

He believed he had made substantial progress, but each instance he witnessed Jie Ming in action served only to reinforce a stark reality: the chasm between himself and his mentor had not diminished by a single iota over time.

While Eric was lost in these reflections, the chime of a doorbell echoed.

It emanated from the adjacent bookstore's wooden entrance.

Eric peered out from the treatment room, observing through the clinic's window as the bookstore's door swung open.

An elder with a shock of white hair stood framed in the doorway, a metallic case in hand.

It was Harding.

Inside the venerable bookstore, Jie Ming reclined as usual in his rocking chair.

He appeared virtually unchanged from ten years prior, often leaving Harding momentarily disoriented, as if time itself had stood still.

“You've arrived.” Jie Ming reached for a teacup on the small table beside his chair, poured a measure of water, and slid the cup across the table's surface.

Harding placed the metallic case upon the table, drew a chair closer, and took a seat.

His movements were noticeably less swift than a decade ago; after all, age had begun to assert its claim.

His hair was now entirely silver, yet his demeanor remained robust. Wrinkles were few, and his eyes retained their keenness.

Harding was attired in casual clothing.

He hadn't donned his official uniform since his retirement, though it remained preserved in his closet, its insignia and epaulets impeccably polished.

“These are this quarter's research materials.” Harding indicated the metallic case with a tap. Its surface bore the distinct emblem of the Spirit Medium Association, along with its classification insignia. “Data concerning uncanny phenomena from three distinct cities, accompanied by analytical reports on seventeen newly cataloged strange entities. The President specifically requested I deliver this in person, stating a lack of trust in standard delivery protocols.”

Jie Ming acknowledged this with a nod, nudging the case towards his chair without inspecting its contents.

Throughout the past decade, every consignment of materials and artifacts delivered by Harding had been consistently accurate and complete.

“I heard Dirk headed north?” Jie Ming lifted his own teacup, gently blowing on the rising steam.

Harding mirrored the action, raising his cup for a sip before leaning back with an expression tinged with nostalgia.

It was the characteristic sentiment of an elder observing a promising protégé—a blend of pride and underlying concern.

“He departed last month. There have been persistent outbreaks of Disaster Grade uncanny entities across three northern cities. The Association's headquarters dispatched five President-level spirit mediums to offer support. Dirk was among them.”

“That young man has truly come into his own. His Shadow Serpent has achieved seventh-layer fusion with his soul. Indeed, people now refer to him as Shadow Serpent Dirk.”

A subtle curve graced Jie Ming’s lips, hinting at a smile.

He recalled the pale, trembling youth who had faced the shark-like monster in the derelict factory a decade prior. Now, he had ascended to a prominent position within the Spirit Medium Association.

“And how fares your own well-being?” Jie Ming inquired.

Harding set down his teacup and slowly extended his right hand, fingers splayed before closing into a fist.

The motion, though deliberate, was executed with a steady control, entirely free from any discernible tremor.

“I underwent a complete physical last year. The medical staff at headquarters remarked that my soul stability had improved by three percentage points compared to my pre-retirement levels,” he stated with evident pride. “I informed them it was thanks to the regular treatments from Doctor Noren here, which left them utterly speechless.”

Jie Ming remained silent, merely refilling Harding’s cup with water.

The current state of relative tranquility was, to a significant extent, a result of that notebook from years ago…

Wait! To be precise, the professor’s legacy extended far beyond that single black notebook.

Ten years prior, following the clearance of the abandoned psychiatric hospital grounds, the Spirit Medium Association conducted an extensive excavation for several months.

Within the collapsed fragments of an alternate space, they unearthed a vast quantity of intact research materials: numerous boxes filled with experimental logs, detailed data analyses, and files pertaining to peculiar entities.

These materials were subsequently secured by the Association and then gradually transferred to Jie Ming through an established collaborative agreement between the two organizations.

It represented the culmination of the professor’s life’s work.

Decades dedicated to research, meticulous dissection records of over a hundred Strange entities, and data derived from thousands of fusion experiments.

It could be argued that the technological assistance provided by that wizard was merely a stepping stone. Prior to that intervention, the professor had already charted the majority of the path independently.

Jie Ming invested considerable time in organizing and cataloging all the recovered materials. He then spent several additional years constructing a comprehensive, reproducible, and verifiable theoretical framework for the study of Strange entities, building upon that foundation.

Bolstered by this theoretical structure, he successfully developed several distinct techniques.

Two of the most pivotal advancements were an enhanced sealing method and a method for separating Strange entities.

The conventional sealing technique led to a continuous degradation of the host’s soul by the embraced Strange’s power, akin to water pressure gradually infiltrating a compromised dam. The longer the seal remained active, the more profound the erosion, until inevitably, the dam would fail.

For spirit mediums, the moment they formed a bond marked the beginning of their finite countdown to mortality.

Jie Ming’s novel technique offered a substantial reduction in the rate of soul erosion.

Spirit mediums who could previously endure for a mere ten years could now potentially live for thirty, fifty, or even longer.

The second critical innovation was the technique for Strange separation.

Traditional fusion was a process from which there was no return. Once a Strange was sealed within a host, its removal was impossible without the spirit medium’s death triggering a catastrophic outburst. Furthermore, any interference with the sealing array would invariably enrage the Strange, leading to the immediate annihilation of the host’s soul.

Jie Ming’s separation technique enabled the complete detachment of the Strange from the host’s soul, should the spirit medium no longer require its power, without inflicting damage upon the host’s spiritual core.

The detached Strange could then be re-sealed, subjected to further study, or neutralized entirely.

As a direct consequence of these two groundbreaking techniques, spirit mediums who had dedicated their lives to the Association could finally find solace and peace in their twilight years.

It was precisely this monumental contribution that facilitated Jie Ming’s subsequent research initiatives, garnering increasing support from the Spirit Medium Association.

Harding himself was a direct recipient of the benefits derived from both techniques.

The Storm Eye entity residing within him experienced a reduction in its corrosive effect on his soul to one-fifth of the original rate, thanks to Jie Ming’s improved sealing method.

Last year, shortly before Dirk’s departure to the north, Jie Ming successfully executed the inaugural Strange separation surgery on Harding, meticulously extracting the Storm Eye from his body.

The surgical procedure concluded with complete success, and Harding’s soul remained virtually unscathed.

He was now an ordinary individual—devoid of Strange power, but also freed from the relentless race against his own demise.

“Before Dirk departed for the north, he entrusted this to me for you,” Harding retrieved an envelope from his inner pocket and placed it on the table. “He asked that upon his return, you conduct a comprehensive examination. He mentioned that his fusion with the Shadow Serpent seems to have reached an impasse and he might require your expertise to recalibrate the sealing matrix.”

Jie Ming accepted the envelope without immediate inspection, merely assessing its density by touch.

It contained something—not standard letter paper, likely some form of sample or energetic imprint.

“Instruct him to report to me directly upon his return,” Jie Ming replied, pocketing the envelope.

The pair continued their conversation for a while longer, discussing recent shifts in the Association’s staffing, the ongoing situation with the Disaster Grade Strange in the northern territories, and debating the merits of newly opened eateries in the old quarter.

Their discussions meandered across diverse subjects, evoking the image of two old friends sharing idle chatter by a winter hearth.

Approximately half an hour later, Harding glanced at his watch and rose to depart.

“It’s getting late. I should be going now.” He drained the remaining tea in his cup and moved towards the exit.

Jie Ming offered a simple nod from his rocking chair, not rising to escort him.

As Harding reached for the wooden door, he paused at the threshold.

His gaze drifted towards the clinic, where through the glass, he observed Eric meticulously arranging instruments within the sterilization unit.

The young man kept his gaze fixed downwards, meticulously arranging each surgical instrument onto the tray with movements as precise as those of a surgeon.

“That kid Eric has shown remarkable improvement,” Harding’s voice dropped. “The physicians’ guild at headquarters forwarded me a report last month. After dispatching personnel to study here, their success rate in treating soul injuries saw an increase of nearly forty percent. Forty percent, and this is within a mere half-year.”

Jie Ming offered no response.

“Yet, he still believes he falls far short of you.” Harding turned, casting a glance towards Jie Ming. “Every time I inquire about his self-assessment, he simply states, ‘It’s alright, but Teacher performs better.’ I can discern that the lad isn't merely being humble—he genuinely holds this belief.”

“He speaks the truth,” Jie Ming replied, lifting his teacup for a sip. His tone was as nonchalant as if he were discussing the day’s weather.

Harding regarded him for a moment before shaking his head, a smile playing on his lips that hinted at a multitude of unspoken emotions.

“Very well, you are the teacher, and your word is final.” He opened the door and exited.

At the mouth of the alley, the black Association vehicle had already executed a U-turn, its rear door standing ajar.

The injured middle-aged man was seated within, engrossed in a book held in his uninjured hand.

Harding approached, opened the door, and settled into the passenger seat.

The car lurched into motion, its exhaust pipe expelling a faint plume of white vapor that drifted languidly in the hazy atmosphere.

The vehicle gracefully navigated the street corner, melting into the labyrinthine alleys of the old district.

Eric stood at the clinic’s entrance, observing the car’s taillights transform into two indistinct crimson blurs in the mist before disappearing entirely.

He then pivoted, his gaze drawn towards the bookstore.

Jie Ming had risen from his rocking chair and now stood at the bookstore’s entrance, hands tucked into his pockets, also watching the departing vehicle.

The muted daylight cascaded upon him, casting a cool-toned aura around his dark coat.

Teacher and disciple exchanged a brief glance.

Jie Ming turned and re-entered the bookstore without a word.

Eric followed him inside.

The familiar oil lamp was no longer present.

An electric light fixture hung from the ceiling, its warm, yellow luminescence gently suffusing every nook and cranny.

The shelves now harbored a far greater collection of books than a decade prior—not solely ancient tomes, but also contemporary, published works dedicated to the study of the Strange and soul medicine.

Several book spines bore the insignia of the Association library; these had been “borrowed” from the restricted archives by Harding and presented to Jie Ming.

Jie Ming resumed his seat in the rocking chair.

Eric remained standing silently beside a bookshelf, aware that his teacher intended to impart something significant.

“Hang the ‘Closed’ sign,” Jie Ming’s voice, though not loud, carried an unhurried clarity that resonated with purpose. “You may proceed with the fifth stage of sealing.”

Upon hearing this directive, Eric’s composure remained unwavering.

“Understood, Teacher,” he affirmed.

He refrained from asking if he was prepared. He understood his teacher's temperament intimately; such a question would constitute an offense.

Turning, he walked towards the entrance and inverted the “Open” sign affixed to the door.