chsdbacks Chapter 661 Assembly and Raid
Chapter 661 Assembly and Raid
The ghost ship receded faster than it had appeared.
The thick fog on the sea surface seemed to be stirred by an invisible giant hand, surging towards the black cruise ship from all directions and enveloping its outline layer by layer.
Harding's final bolt of lightning struck the fog, creating only a brief ripple, without any feedback of impact.
The eye of the storm circled low in the sky for a few times, and only after confirming that the target had completely escaped the range of perception did it slowly close, releasing him and Dirk back onto the dock. The port was now unrecognizable.
The ground at Pier 3 was covered with drag marks, and containers were scattered everywhere like toys.
Several cranes leaned precariously against a nearby building, broken cables still dangling from their fractured steel frames, swaying gently in the wind. There was a fair amount of blood on the ground, but not many corpses.
Those who were sucked onto the ship left no trace, not even their bodies.
Harding stood at the edge of the dock, his chest heaving and beads of sweat on his forehead.
The full power output from the eye of the storm put a considerable strain on his body, but it was still within a tolerable range.
Dirk crouched down beside him, one hand on the ground, the Shadow Serpent's threads darting rapidly among the rubble, confirming that there were no remaining eerie creatures or survivors around.
"That thing really got away." Dirk stood up, dusted off his hands, and said, "The energy fluctuations have completely disappeared, and there's no sign of life detected."
Harding fell silent upon hearing this, and after a moment nodded without saying anything more.
He took out his communicator and pressed the call button.
"The ghost ship has retreated from Pier 3 of the port. The casualty situation is still being assessed. We request further support to clear the site."
There was a two-second silence on the other end of the communicator, followed by a voice he didn't recognize.
That wasn't the usual voice when answering the phone; the other person's voice was more composed and lower.
"Hardin, return to headquarters immediately. All elite troops, return to headquarters immediately as well, now."
Harding's fingers paused for a moment.
He glanced at Dirk, who also heard the voice on the communicator and frowned slightly.
The two immediately recognized the person on the other end of the line: the president of the city's psychic association!
"Everyone?" Harding asked.
"Everyone," the voice on the other end repeated, and then the communication was cut off.
The door to the meeting room in the Fog City Psychic Association building was open.
When Harding and Dirk walked in, there were already more than a dozen people sitting inside.
They were all familiar faces.
All the elite teams that participated in the raid on the abandoned factory were present, along with some senior members who were usually in charge of other areas. Even those who were away on business trips were now in the conference room.
The large screen in the conference room was lit up, displaying a person's file photo.
He was a middle-aged or elderly man with a refined appearance, wearing silver-rimmed glasses and a dark gray suit, smiling at the camera.
Harding had seen that face before; in fact, he could say he was familiar with it.
They met in lectures, in the association's internal newsletters, and in group photos at formal occasions.
Vidor Rein
Dirk paused at the doorway.
His pupils contracted slightly, and his lips moved, but no sound came out.
Harding's expression didn't change, but his right hand unconsciously clenched.
Given the situation on site, everyone basically knows what to expect when news of Xi Yao is released.
To be honest, they had their own speculations about this professor.
They've been investigating ever since the abandoned factory incident.
But the distance between "guessing" and "confirming" is sometimes farther than the distance from Chongqing to the other side of the mainland.
At the very front of the conference room stood the association president.
He was an old man with gray hair but a straight back.
He had a thin face, sharp eyes, and wore a dark gray uniform with a badge on his left chest that was larger than everyone else's.
Standing next to him were two people, a man and a woman, both around forty years old, wearing dark blue jackets that were slightly different from the association's uniform. Their collars had gold trim instead of silver.
The psychic is incredibly bizarre and appears to have been sent directly from headquarters.
The president's gaze swept over everyone present, confirming that all the elites had arrived, before he spoke:
"The prophet from headquarters arrived three days ago."
There was a moment of silence in the conference room.
Then a suppressed, forcibly restrained commotion arose.
Some exchanged glances, some clenched their fists, and some unconsciously touched the strange spot where their seal was located.
They were told that the prophet would arrive in two days, and all preparations, internal checks, and temporary scheduling were arranged according to that schedule.
The prophet had arrived three days earlier.
This meant that the chairman's "two days later" was a lie, and that the old man in front of them didn't trust any of them at all. But no one complained.
Everyone present was a veteran, and they all understood why this had to be done.
The mole is within the association, and at a high level.
If the true time of the prophet's arrival is leaked, all the plans will fall apart.
Only by making everyone believe in a false time will the mole arrange his actions according to that false time.
"The prophet has been analyzing these past few days," the chairman continued, his tone as calm as if he were giving a work report. "Today, through the mysterious connection between the ghost ship and the Black Robe organization, he has pinpointed their headquarters."
The image on the big screen changed.
It was a blurry photo that looked like it was taken underwater.
The photo shows a huge underground space with walls covered in glowing runes and a circular magic circle in the center, surrounded by various experimental devices.
This photo wasn't taken with a camera; rather, it was something the prophet "saw" through his eerie visions.
The mysterious abilities of the Fate type can directly capture the physical location and spatial structure of a target through the entanglement of causal lines, transcending distance limitations and ignoring physical obstructions.
"Contrary to initial predictions, their main base isn't in the wilderness, nor in any other city." The chairman paused for a moment. "They're in a semi-independent subspace. The entrance to this space is located underground at the Fog City Mental Hospital."
The air in the meeting room froze.
The Foggy City Mental Hospital.
That medical institution that treated a large number of patients with bizarre mental illnesses, that official institution with a long-term cooperation agreement with the association. The most troublesome thing is that many of the association members' family members and ordinary citizens are there!
If there really is an enemy headquarters in that area, it means that all the patients in the mental hospital have become hostages! No!
If it were just about becoming hostages, that would be a "good thing." But since it involves cultists, something much more troublesome would probably have already happened there! Images flashed through Harding's mind—images of the cult headquarters he had once wiped out.
It's no surprise that those madmen who have long lost their humanity are capable of anything!
It can be said that every time a cult's den is destroyed, a significant number of field personnel are involved in providing psychological counseling.
"The Prophet has confirmed that the core members of the Black Robe Organization, including their leader... Vidor Raine, are currently in that warp. They are unaware that the Prophet has arrived, nor that we have located their position."
The president's voice rose half an octave, carrying a decisiveness usually reserved for the eve of a decisive battle: "Our next task is simple: break in as quickly as possible, suppress with overwhelming force, leaving no room for retreat!"
He glanced at everyone present.
Although the elites present were surprised, they were not unexpected by the chairman's decision.
The chairman glanced at the two headquarters support staff standing beside him, and they both nodded at the same time.
"Alright! Let's go now!"
A dozen or so people poured out of the main entrance of the headquarters building. Some ran, some boarded the association's vehicles, and some released the strange energy within them, soaring through the air at a speed faster than the vehicles.
Such a big move by the Psychic Association naturally drew gasps from those around them.
What these elites didn't notice was that the moment they left the headquarters building, an extremely subtle, almost imperceptible mental tendril gently slid across their shoulders.
Like an invisible flying insect, it clung to the collar of his uniform.
Harding, Dirk, the chairman, two headquarters supporters, and several other elites... Jemin's mental power left a faint, almost non-existent mark on each of them.
It wasn't that he didn't want to leave behind the Eye of Light, but since the prophet was there, Jemin felt he should still be careful.
After observing for these days, he has basically confirmed that although the prophet controls a fate-related anomaly, he doesn't know whether the anomaly itself is too weak or the prophet's own level is too low, so he can only indirectly contact the fate line through actual things.
In that case, he would try his best not to leave any physical objects on these people.
This was a purely mental energy marker, without a physical form, and it only reacted when Jemin actively activated his mental energy. At the entrance of the used bookstore, Jemin leaned against the doorframe, his hands in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the headquarters building.
A faint light flickered deep within his pupils; he was tracking the location and movement of each team in real time through those mental markers.
"It's finally time to close the net. I'll get involved too, and see if I can find any trace of that wizard." Jemin thought to himself, then turned and walked back to the bookstore.
He hung up the "Closed for Business" sign, and the wooden door closed behind him, the hinges creaking with a long, sigh-like sound. His body vanished the instant the door closed, blending into his surroundings using the Tai Xu Step technique.
His mental energy followed the speeding vehicles and low-flying figures, passing through the high-rise buildings in the city center, and finally arrived at the door of a gray-white building.
The Foggy City Mental Hospital.
(I have something to do tomorrow, so I'm asking for leave in advance.)