I Arrived At Wizard World While Cultivating Immortality Chapter 669: The Final Task and Farewell

Jie Ming’s spiritual power engulfed the entire city in a swift sweep.

Hidden within obscure alleys, confinement rooms of hospitals, and the headquarters of the Association, the spirit mediums each grappled with their own distress. Some were doubled over on the ground, their heads in their hands, veins throbbing at their temples. Others lay prostrate in their beds, eyes rolled back and frothing at the mouth. A few let out muffled cries, their fingers tearing at their own scalps as if trying to dislodge something from within their minds.

The greater an individual's inspiration, the more severe their reaction.

An emergency broadcast from the Association had already blared across the city, and the mournful wail of ambulance sirens converged from every direction, much like innumerable streams flowing into a singular ocean.

Jie Ming retracted his spiritual power, his gaze shifting towards his internal world, his cave-heaven.

The magic network terminal had illuminated.

The instant his spiritual power brushed against the communication, he identified the distinct signature of an eighth-ring archwizard.

Archwizard Austin had initiated a full-plane broadcast of the highest priority.

The dispatch was concise:

“I am Austin. The anomaly in the sky originates from me.”

No extraneous pleasantries preceded the statement.

He proceeded to elucidate the genesis of the anomaly in meticulous detail.

Upon discovering this plane, Archwizard Austin had evidently found it insufficient to merely designate it as a hunting ground for the Strange.

That eighth-ring archwizard had also become aware of the Strange fusion rules that Jie Ming had unraveled, and naturally, he harbored his own ambitions.

His intention was to meld the majority of this plane’s Strange, transforming them into components of his own life form and utilizing them as sustenance to propel his own advancement.

Jie Ming’s pupils constricted slightly as he processed the phrase “change my own life form.”

Despite the brevity of the message, Jie Ming immediately conjured a specific term: Dao Integration.

What Austin was undertaking bore a striking resemblance to Dao Integration within the cultivation system.

By assimilating the Strange—entities that were themselves fragments of the world’s fundamental rules—into his being, he sought to alter his life form and achieve a higher stage of evolution.

The message further conveyed that this endeavor was not without its repercussions.

The Strange were beings intrinsically bound to the plane’s governing rules.

A night Strange was one with the very essence of night. An ocean Strange was intimately linked to the sea’s tides, currents, and even the abstract concept of “depth.” To extract a Strange was akin to tearing a bone from the plane’s physical form.

To fill the resulting voids, the plane’s origin would precipitate the creation of new Strange at an accelerated rate.

Among these… there would be an abundance of “Destruction Grade” entities!!

Each of these newly spawned Strange possessed unique governing principles and posed an existential threat to the human civilization inhabiting this world.

This, in essence, was the rationale behind Archwizard Austin’s broadcast.

The concluding declaration of the broadcast resonated within Jie Ming’s consciousness:

“All wizards currently present on this plane, from this moment forward, are tasked with assisting in the elimination and containment of these newly generated Strange. You shall serve as the provisional custodians of this plane. In recompense, all Strange you successfully contain shall become your personal property.”

The magic network terminal’s illumination subsided.

In the surrounding sky, and in other metropolises, Jie Ming detected the simultaneous withdrawal of spiritual energies from individuals who had connected to the magic network terminal.

Those sixth- and seventh-ring archwizards were likely experiencing the same sentiment as he was at this very instant…

Exhilaration.

Destruction Grade Strange, freshly birthed from the plane’s very origin!

Jie Ming remained unaware of the thoughts occupying the minds of the other wizards, but for him, such Strange represented the most valuable specimens for the study of Dao Integration!

Although he had amassed a substantial quantity of research subjects through the Spirit Medium Association over the preceding decade, he had only managed to acquire a solitary Disaster Grade entity—the Shadow Strange from yesteryear—let alone any of Destruction Grade.

Jie Ming inhaled deeply, reining in his surging emotions.

His thoughts raced, weaving together all the preceding information into a coherent tapestry.

It was no wonder Austin had only manifested as a projection upon task completion.

The eighth-ring archwizard’s true form had never resided within his private plane; instead, it lay deep within the origin of this very plane.

He had dedicated countless years there, meticulously orchestrating the entire scenario, bringing the plane’s entire Strange network under his dominion. Subsequently, at this precise juncture, he had simultaneously extracted the overwhelming majority of the Strange power.

Jie Ming directed his gaze upwards towards the sky, tinted a deep, somber purple.

Those slowly undulating dark patterns were not imperfections or contaminants, but rather the residual marks left by the plane’s origin as it tore and replenished itself.

Beneath each pattern, a new Strange was in the process of being born.

A sudden question emerged in his mind.

The very reason he had found himself transported to this plane was due to the infiltration of Austin’s private plane by the rule phenomena of the Strange.

It seemed that while the preceding incident wasn't deliberate, the ensuing events were likely the eighth-ring wizard seizing the opportunity that arose.

The peculiar nature of the Strange's existence rendered it too unique.

They acted as a form of the world’s inherent defense mechanism, naturally antagonistic towards any forces originating from outside this realm.

Should Austin have deployed his own expendable units to neutralize a rampaging Destruction Grade Strange, the unsubtle exertion of power would have provoked a severe backlash from the plane itself, exacerbating the crisis.

Consequently, wizards indeed represented the most suitable candidates for handling the Strange… Or more accurately, with the intelligence and expertise possessed by wizards, they were the most adept at managing any situation.

From the outset, these wizards had been specifically enlisted by Archwizard Austin to function as stabilizing agents.

Having reached this conclusion, Jie Ming let out a slow breath.

He harbored no grievances regarding this mutually beneficial arrangement.

His form gracefully descended from the heavens, his feet making a gentle sound as they touched the bookstore's rooftop tiles.

Eric remained positioned on the roof's apex, his head craned upwards, eyes fixed intently on the dark violet expanse above.

His lips quivered slightly, his creative flow subjected to immense pressure that far surpassed his capacity to endure.

Fortunately, the Strange residing within Eric had been meticulously integrated by Jie Ming into a preliminary stable cycle.

His tolerance for such internal dynamics had significantly amplified, preventing him from succumbing instantly.

Despite this, a sheen of cold sweat had beaded on Eric’s brow.

“Teacher,” his voice carried a tremor. “What precisely has transpired?”

Jie Ming offered no immediate reply.

He leaped from the rooftop, landing on the cobblestone path before the bookstore, pushed open the wooden door, and proceeded inside.

Eric followed closely, one hand bracing against the doorframe, his gait somewhat unsteady.

The telephone within the bookstore began to ring.

Jie Ming lifted the receiver. Harding’s voice emanated from the other end.

The old man's speech was notably quicker than his usual cadence, a clear indication of his mounting anxiety, yet his enunciation remained precise.

“Jie Ming, did you witness it? The peculiar hue of the sky…”

“I observed it,” Jie Ming responded with a level tone.

“The Association has already dispatched personnel to escort you. The vehicle should arrive within approximately twenty minutes. The president conveyed a message stating that external conditions are expected to become tumultuous for a period. Both of you are crucial researchers for the Association and must remain unharmed. Proceed to headquarters initially, and return once the situation stabilizes.”

Jie Ming held the receiver, a moment of silence passing.

“The Strange will exhibit heightened activity in the coming days,” his voice, though not loud, conveyed absolute certainty. “Ensure your teams are prepared for the response. Initiate preemptive evacuations for residents in high-risk zones, deploy additional spiritual mediums at vital infrastructure, and guarantee that locations such as hospitals, power plants, and water treatment facilities are never left unattended.”

“The president is already implementing all necessary measures,” Harding’s voice assured through the receiver. “The transport…”

“There is no need for concern regarding our situation here,” Jie Ming interjected. “Do not send for us.”

Harding’s voice faltered.

Then, the old man spoke again, his tone tinged with a cautious bewilderment.

“Jie Ming, what… what is your intention by that statement?”

Jie Ming offered no elaboration.

He withdrew the receiver from his ear and gently placed it back onto its hook.

The distinct click of the call's termination echoed in the tranquil confines of the bookstore.

Eric stood near the bookshelves, his hand still gripping the frame for support. Observing Jie Ming's actions, his pupils constricted slightly. Having known his teacher for a decade, he could accurately gauge his mentor's emotional state.

“Teacher,” Eric’s voice tightened. “What course of action do you intend to take?”

Jie Ming turned to face him.

His expression remained composed, yet Eric perceived a subtle alteration in his teacher's gaze.

“I am departing,” Jie Ming stated.

Eric froze, rooted to the spot.

His mouth opened, his lips moved as if to articulate something, but a constriction in his throat prevented him.

He gazed upon Jie Ming’s countenance—a face he had known for ten years, a visage he had presumed would remain a constant—and suddenly felt an profound sense of distance.

“Departing to where?” he finally managed to vocalize.

The sound that emerged was softer than he anticipated, akin to a child's inquiry.

Jie Ming did not specify a destination.

He simply met Eric's gaze with an impassive calmness.

Eric's grip tightened on the bookshelf's structural support.

He drew a deep breath, quelling the rising tide of emotion within his chest, before posing the question for which he already suspected the answer.

“Teacher, will you ever return?”

Jie Ming inclined his head, a negative response.

The gesture was deliberate, unhurried, and devoid of any hesitation.

Although Archwizard Austin had not explicitly articulated it in their assignment, all the wizards, including Jie Ming, understood implicitly that upon the completion of their assigned duties, they would effectively be relegated to an outsider status.

“Beyond the confines of the underground laboratory,” Jie Ming’s voice remained calm, devoid of the emotional turbulence one might expect during a parting. “I’ve stowed away some items for you. As for their contents, you shall have to judge for yourself whether to implement them.”

“Ah, yes.” Jie Ming appeared to recall something, his tone still dispassionate. “Dirk had previously arranged a meeting with me. Upon his return shortly, he’ll require assistance in modifying his seal. You will need to manage this yourself then. Given your present proficiencies, it should pose no significant challenge.”

Eric’s mouth moved, opening and closing, then closing and opening again, yet not a solitary word escaped his lips.

Nevertheless, Jie Ming’s composed demeanor brought him considerable relief. At the very least, it did not suggest his mentor was embarking on a perilous journey to his potential demise.

“Teacher,” Eric’s voice finally found its footing. He loosened his hold on the bookshelf’s frame, allowing his hand to fall limply to his side, adjacent to his trouser seam. His waist curved slightly as his tone imbued with a plea.

“May I accompany you, Teacher?”

Jie Ming regarded him, then slowly inclined his head in negation.

Although this particular plane exhibited no overt signs of external interference, every wizard who set foot here understood that this realm was, in essence, the dominion of Archwizard Austin.

Without his explicit consent, they lacked the authority to claim anything from this place.

The resolve Eric had tentatively mustered immediately dissolved into nothingness.

In all honesty, he had anticipated this outcome all along.

From the very first moment he encountered Jie Ming, Eric had perceived that his teacher was not meant for this world.

The aura his teacher radiated, that sense of aloofness starkly contrasting with his surroundings, had made it unequivocally clear to Eric that his teacher harbored secrets.

He didn’t even feel as though it was a secret that required his protection.

Could the individuals within the Spirit Medium Association—Harding, their president, those high-ranking officials who had collaborated with his teacher for numerous years—truly remain ignorant? Certainly not.

A researcher of indeterminate origin, possessing astonishingly advanced skills, had materialized in Mist Capital without any discernible background, familial connections, or established social network.

Such an individual would inevitably arouse suspicion in any epoch, any nation, or any organization.

However, the advantages Jie Ming provided were simply too substantial.

His refined sealing technique granted the Association’s spirit mediums extended lifespans, often by decades. His unique separation technique allowed elders who had dedicated their lives to the Association to experience serene final years. His therapeutic methods enabled patients suffering from soul injuries, who were otherwise expected to await their demise, to regain their strength and stand once more.

In this world where the Strange held sway and human lives were as fragile as blades of grass, a single Jie Ming was equivalent to a hundred elites of the Association.

Consequently, a silent consensus was reached, and no one dared to breach that unspoken understanding.

They collectively wove a protective shroud for Jie Ming through their silence, and Jie Ming, in turn, reciprocated that silence with his extraordinary techniques.

Eric swallowed down the surge of reluctance and unwillingness that churned within him.

His chest expanded with two deep, heaving breaths before gradually returning to a state of calm.

“……” His voice emerged, rough and strained. “For all these years, thank you profoundly, Teacher.”

He placed a hand over his chest, then executed a deep, solemn bow—a gesture of profound respect.

Jie Ming’s gaze was fixed upon the crown of his head.

The hair there had grown somewhat long, with a small lock stubbornly standing on end at the nape of his skull, likely disheveled by debris when he hastily ascended from the underground laboratory earlier.

The collar of his white coat was askew, with the left side noticeably higher than the right.

Jie Ming elevated his right hand, gently placing his palm upon Eric’s head.

The palm’s warmth was neither scalding nor chilling; its pressure was neither too firm nor too gentle.

Eric’s body gave a slight tremor the instant the touch made contact, then became perfectly still.

Jie Ming stroked the top of his head once before retracting his hand.

Eric straightened his posture and reached up to wipe his face.

Then, his movements abruptly ceased.

The individual standing before him was no longer the ordinary, unremarkable Jie Ming he had known for the past decade.

Jie Ming’s stature was rapidly augmenting.

From under 1.8 meters, he grew to 1.9, then surpassed 2 meters.

His facial features were undergoing a metamorphosis as well.

His commonplace facial contours sharpened, becoming distinct and defined. The lines of his features transitioned from being indistinct to strikingly keen.

The aura of ordinariness that had resided between his brows and eyes vanished, supplanted by a handsomeness that seemed to transcend this era.

The garments adorning Jie Ming’s frame had inexplicably transformed into a dark, flowing robe—an attire clearly not belonging to this particular plane.

The robe’s fabric possessed the appearance of liquid dark metal, shimmering with a profound luster beneath the bookstore’s soft, warm illumination.

His hair had lengthened considerably, cascading down to frame his shoulders, its strands catching the light and refracting a subtle, dark golden hue.

Eric remained utterly transfixed, his mouth agape, the words he might have spoken caught in his throat.

He simply stood there, his mouth hanging slightly open, gazing at the figure before him who was simultaneously a stranger and intimately familiar. Only a single, persistent thought echoed in his mind: *So this is truly what Teacher looks like.*

After reverting to his original appearance, Jie Ming observed him, the corners of his lips twisting into what passed for a smile for Eric.

Then, his form started to dissolve.

Under the effect of the Great Void Step, his outline became indistinct, his colors transitioning from vibrant to faint.

Eric instinctively reached out, attempting to grasp him.

His fingers, however, passed through the dispersing light and shadow, making contact with nothing.

He was the sole occupant left within the bookstore.

The books remained orderly on their shelves. The ceiling light cast its warm, yellow glow. Steam continued tocurl from the teacup on the table.

The rocking chair, which had swayed when Jie Ming rose earlier, still moved gently back and forth.

Everything appeared as it always did.

Only a single person was absent.

Eric remained rooted to the spot, his hand still outstretched.

He gazed at the now vacant space and slowly retracted his hand.

His shoulders slumped imperceptibly, yet his back grew straighter.

His jaw clenched, and his lips thinned into a firm line.

His eyes grew red, but no tears fell.

Outside, on the cobblestone pavement, hurried footsteps grew louder, approaching.

It was the sound of several individuals running—heavy, rapid steps, their boots clattering noisily on the damp stones.

Eric turned and moved towards the entrance.

He pushed open the wooden door and stepped onto the threshold.

A grayish-white fog surged towards him, carrying the characteristic damp chill of Mist Capital, mingled with the scents of coal smoke and the salty sea air.

Harding led the way, closely followed by three team members from the Association, all recognizable faces.

Sweat glistened on their foreheads, and their breathing was labored, indicating they had clearly run the entire distance.

Harding halted at the bookstore's entrance, hands on his knees, gasping for air.

He looked up at Eric, who stood on the threshold, then cast a glance into the bookstore behind him.

The rocking chair continued its gentle sway. Steam still emanated from the teacup. A newspaper lay on the table.

“Where is your teacher?” Harding’s voice was hoarse and strained, interspersed with his heavy panting.

Eric remained on the threshold, his gaze sweeping past Harding’s head towards the distant, dark purple sky.

The writhing black patterns appeared denser than before, resembling a tightening net.

“He’s gone,” Eric stated.

Harding’s gasping momentarily ceased.

He straightened his posture, his eyes shifting from Eric’s face to the empty bookstore behind him, and then back to Eric’s face.

“Where did he go?”

Eric simply shook his head, offering no further words.

Harding studied him for several seconds before slowly nodding his head.

He refrained from asking any more questions.

The three team members behind him exchanged uncertain glances. Two retreated slightly, whispering near the alley entrance. The remaining one stood still, his hand hovering over the communicator clipped to his waist, seemingly contemplating whether to relay this information to headquarters.

Harding advanced a step, ascended the stairs, and positioned himself beside Eric.

A silence fell between them.

Mist flowed in from the alleyway, creeping over the cobblestones, across the bookstore’s threshold, and around the feet of the two standing men.

In the distance, a factory whistle sounded beneath the dark purple sky—a low, drawn-out note, as if lamenting the departure of one who had already left.