Chapter 798 - 660: Assembly and Raid

The ghost ship retreated faster than it appeared.

The dense fog on the sea seemed to be stirred by an invisible giant hand, surging from all directions towards the black cruise ship, wrapping its outline layer by layer.

Harding's last lightning strike sliced through the fog, only stirring up a brief ripple, with no feedback of a hit.

The Eye of the Storm circled low a few times and only withdrew slowly once it confirmed that the target was completely out of perception range, placing Harding and Deke back on the dock.

The port was unrecognizable at this point.

There were dragging marks everywhere on the ground of Dock No. 3, with containers scattered like toys all around.

Several cranes leaned crookedly against the adjacent buildings, broken cables dangling from the fractured steel frames, gently swaying in the wind.

There was plenty of blood on the ground, but few bodies.

Those sucked onto the ship didn't even leave behind corpses.

Harding stood at the edge of the dock, his chest heaving, his forehead beaded with sweat.

The full power output of the Eye of the Storm was a significant burden on his body, but still within tolerable limits.

Deke squatted beside him, one hand pressing on the ground, with the Shadow Snake's threads swiftly darting among the rubble, confirming no remnants of the bizarre or survivors around.

"It really ran away." Deke stood up, dusting off his hands, "Energy fluctuations completely vanished, and there's no sign of life Qi."

Harding, hearing this, fell silent for a moment before nodding, not saying much more.

He took out the communicator and pressed the call button.

"Dock No. 3 at the port, ghost ship has retreated. Casualty report pending. Request subsequent support to clean the scene."

The communicator was silent on the other end for two seconds, then a voice he didn't quite recognize came through.

It wasn't the usual operator's voice; the tone was more steady, deeper.

"Harding, return to headquarters immediately. All elites, return to headquarters immediately, now."

Harding's finger paused for a moment.

He glanced at Deke, who also heard the communicator's voice, his brow slightly furrowed.

Both immediately recognized the identity of the person on the other end: the President of the Spirit Communicator Association of this city!

"Everyone?" Harding asked.

"Everyone," the other party repeated before the communication was cut off.

...

...

The Wudu Spirit Communicator Association building, the conference room door was open.

As Harding and Deke walked in, there were already over a dozen people seated inside.

All familiar faces.

The elite teams involved in the abandoned factory operation were all present, along with some senior members responsible for other regions usually.

Even those who were away on business trips now appeared in the conference room.

The large screen in the conference room was lit up, displaying a profile photograph of a person.

The man was middle-aged, with a scholarly appearance, wearing silver-rimmed glasses, a dark gray suit, smiling at the camera.

Harding had seen that face before, perhaps even considered it familiar.

On the lecture stage, in internal communication briefings of the Association, and in some formal event group photos.

Victor Rain.

Deke's steps paused at the doorway.

His pupils contracted slightly, his lips moved, but no sound was made.

Harding's expression didn't change, but his right-hand fingers unconsciously clenched.

Everyone knew what kind of news would be announced under such circumstances.

Truth be told, they had guesses about this professor.

Ever since the incident at the abandoned factory, they've been investigating, constantly searching.

But the distance between "guessing" and "confirmation" can sometimes be as wide as the distance from Wudu to the other side of the continent.

At the front of the conference room, the President of the Association stood there.

He was an elderly man with gray hair but a straight back.

With a lean face, sharp eyes, dressed in a dark gray uniform, the badge on his left chest was a circle larger than everyone's.

Beside him stood two people, a man and a woman, both around forty years old, dressed in deep blue coats slightly different from the Association's uniform.

Collars without silver trim but gold.

Disaster-level Spiritualists, apparently directly dispatched from headquarters.

The President's gaze swept over every person present, confirming all elites were gathered before he spoke:

"The Prophet from headquarters arrived three days ago."

The conference room fell silent for a moment.

Then a kind of repressed, forcibly suppressed tumult arose.

Someone exchanged a glance, someone clenched their fist, someone unconsciously touched the place where their own mysterious sealing occurred.

The message they received was that the Prophet would arrive in two days, and all preparation work, all internal assessments, all temporary deployments were arranged according to that timeline.

But the Prophet had already arrived three days ago.

This meant that the President's "two days later" was false, also meaning the elder in front of them trusted none of them.

Yet no one voiced complaints.

Everyone present were veterans, understanding why it had to be done this way.

The mole was within the association, and of considerable rank.

If the Prophet's true arrival time were leaked, all plans would be ruined.

Only by making everyone believe in a false time would the mole act according to that false schedule.

"The Prophet has been analyzing these past few days." The President continued calmly, as if giving a work report, "Today, he locked onto the enemy's base through the link between the ghost ship and the Black-robed People organization."

The screen's image shifted.

It was a blurry photo seemingly taken underwater.

The photo showed a vast underground space, with walls covered in glowing Runes, a circular Array in the center, surrounded by various experimental equipment scattered around.

This photo was not taken by a camera, but was "seen" by the Prophet using his mysterious means.

The Destiny Element's powers can capture the target's physical location and spatial structure directly through the entanglement of causal lines, overcoming distance limitations and ignoring physical obstructions.

"Contrary to our initial predictions, the enemy's base is neither in the wilderness nor in another city." The President paused, "They're located in a semi-independent subspace. The entrance to this space is beneath the Wudu Psychiatric Hospital."

The air in the conference room froze.

Wudu Psychiatric Hospital.

The facility treating numerous patients with mysterious mental illnesses, an official institution with longstanding cooperative agreements with the association.

What's most problematic is that it houses many family members of association members and civilians!

If the enemy's base is truly within that area, it means the hospital's patients have become hostages!

No!

If it's just about becoming hostages, that's a "blessing"; with Cultists involved, there's likely been far worse happenings!

Harding's mind flashed with images of the Cultist headquarters he once annihilated.

Those maniacs devoid of humanity are capable of anything without expectation!

Every time a Cultist lair is destroyed, numerous field personnel often require psychological counseling.

"The Prophet has confirmed the core members of the Black-robed People organization, including their Leader... Victor Rahn, are currently within that subspace. They're unaware the Prophet has arrived, nor that we have located their position."

The President's voice heightened slightly, with a resolve only shown on the eve of a decisive battle: "Our next task is simple: break in with the fastest speed, suppress with the greatest force, leaving no room for escape!"

He glanced at everyone present.

Though surprised, the elites present were not astonished by the President's decision.

The President then glanced at the two headquarters reinforcements standing beside him, both nodding simultaneously.

"Alright! Depart now!"

Dozens filed out from the headquarters' main doors, some running, some boarding the association's specialized vehicles, some releasing their inner mysteries, speeding over low heights faster than vehicles.

The movement by the Spirit Communicator Association was met with astonishment by nearby personnel.

But what these elites did not notice was that the moment they left the headquarters, an exceptionally delicate, nearly imperceptible Spiritual Power tendril slid lightly across their shoulders.

Like an invisible insect, attaching itself to their uniform collars.

Harding, Deke, the President, two headquarters reinforcements, and several other elites... Jeming has left a faint, almost non-existent mark on each of them.

It wasn't that he wished to leave the Eye of the Micro-Light, but with the Prophet present, Jeming thought he should be cautious.

After days of observation, he was mostly certain that although the Prophet controls a Destiny Element's mysterious entity, whether due to the entity's own weak power or his own lack of skill, he can only indirectly touch fate lines through tangible things.

Hence, he aims to avoid leaving tangible marks on these individuals.

What he left was a pure Spiritual Power mark, without substance; it only reacts when Jeming actively triggers his Spiritual Power.

Beside the old bookstore's entrance, Jeming leaned against the door frame, hands in pockets, gaze directed toward the headquarters' direction.

Light flickered at the depths of his pupils, the manifestation of tracking each unit's position and movement trajectory in real-time via those Spiritual Power marks.

"Finally time to cast the net, I should intervene too, perhaps find the Wizard's trace." Jeming thought to himself, turning back into the bookstore.

He hung the 'Closed' sign, the wooden door closing behind him with a long, sigh-like creak.

His body faded at the moment the door shut, using Void Step to blend into the surroundings.

His Spiritual Power followed the speeding vehicles and low-hovering figures, passing through downtown high-rises, ultimately arriving in front of the gray-white building's entrance.

Wudu Psychiatric Hospital.

(Something came up tomorrow, requesting leave in advance for a day.)