Re-Awakening: Evolving My Shadow Limitlessly With A System
Chapter 54: Three Golden Rules, Karivara Bean

Chapter 54: Three Golden Rules, Karivara Bean

"Three months ago," the woman said after checking her notes.

I stayed silent, but inside, I was doing the math.

Three months.

That meant the anomaly was still in its early stages.

It would be weak.

If there was ever a time to stop it, it was now.

But I didn’t accept the mission right away.

’Anomaly Area 51 is... hard to deal with.’

Its ability sounded simple.

Too simple, really.

Once you became aware of it, and you were within its range, you would be teleported to a certain unknown dimension.

In my last life, its range grew until it could swallow all of Europe.

No one had been able to stop it.

The hidden clans had almost given up on defeating it.

Even the United Nations had believed it was the end, which led many to believe 2012 would be the end of the world.

And just before the [Area 51] annihilated everything, House Daelthorn decided to go all in.

They used their Rank 5 Treasure, [Heavenly Restriction], to delay the anomaly.

For one week, they stopped it from pulling in anyone.

But it came at a cost.

The [Heavenly Restriction] made the anomaly stronger in exchange.

Whatever the Anomaly had prepared in the unknown dimension was strengthened by several times.

’Even though the Anomaly had become much stronger, House Daelthorn had no choice but to enter it.’

’If it wasn’t defeated within one week, the anomaly would’ve taken every person in Europe to the unknown dimension.’

All members of House Daelthorn entered the unknown dimension.

None came back.

Well, except for one.

Elias. My uncle.

He came back. He lasted sixty seconds.

And then he died.

Even though he couldn’t speak, what they managed to extract from the last recorded bits of his memory gave the humans the most important thing: the defeat condition of Area 51.

[Kill the Deputy Director.]

This was important.

Because all Anomalies return after 100 years.

When Area 51 would return a century later, the knowledge of its defeat condition that House Daelthorn found by sacrificing itself would help the people defeat it again.

I leaned slightly forward, scanning the bulletin board again.

Should I take it?

I knew almost nothing else about what lay in the unknown dimension.

Was the deputy director human? Monster?

Could he be harmed? Or was he invulnerable like most high-ranking Anomalies?

What was the layout of the place?

Were there multiple layers?

It could be a fortress filled with eldritch horrors.

It could be worse.

Some anomalies created logic loops or conceptual traps.

Once inside, you might forget who you were. Or worse, you might remember things that were never yours.

There were three Golden Rules of Anomalies.

Rule 1: The more people who know about an anomaly, the stronger it becomes.

Rule 2: Anomalies always follow a pattern of rules, even if they’re not obvious.

Rule 3: Any damage done by an anomaly within the last six hours is reversed if it’s defeated. But the dead don’t come back.

Rule One was my biggest problem.

Area 51 had already started to gain notoriety in 2003.

If I waited, more would learn of it, especially the people poking in dark net forums, and supernaturals who wanted to defeat an ’undefeatable’ anomaly.

Every whisper, every documented sighting.

It would feed the anomaly, make it stronger, and extend its reach.

Now was the best time to act.

’Alright.’

I looked up at the receptionist and said, "I’ll take Mission D."

She glanced at me, then frowned.

For a second, her eyes flicked down to her sheet like she was double-checking.

Maybe she thought I looked too serious to pick a mission that sounded like a regular missing-persons case.

Most others had gone for guaranteed anomaly sightings.

They wanted success, after all.

Mission D sounded like a dead-end on paper.

"Understood, sir," she said eventually, her voice neutral. "Please head to the third waiting room on the left. Your teammates are waiting there."

I nodded and turned.

I moved through the crowd of odd-looking people.

Some of them were dressed in black armor, some in coats stitched with runes, a few wearing mundane clothes and plastic smiles.

As I approached the hallway leading to the waiting rooms, three men stepped in front of me.

They wore uniforms with expensive body armor.

One of them gave a polite bow. "Sir, apologies for the inconvenience, but we’ll need you to come with us."

"Is this related to the mission?" I asked.

"No, sir," he replied. "This request was made by the Supernatural Policy Division. We’ve been asked to escort you."

I didn’t respond immediately. The mask I wore hid my expression, but I narrowed my eyes behind it.

"Alright," I said eventually. "Lead the way."

Supernatural Police.

They were the result of alliance between the major hidden clans.

Their job?

To regulate the supernatural community and, most of all, detect and investigate "illegal supernaturals."

People like me - Alan Veritus - were called illegal supernaturals.

We were who awakened without being registered, and were yet to join a Hidden Clan.

’Strange...’

The underworld didn’t endorse illegal supernaturals, but they turned a blind eye if the person didn’t cause problems.

That’s why they used blood verification instead of official supernatural IDs during registration.

So why did they call Supernatural Police to investigate me?

That made no sense.

’Are these people fake Supernatural Police?’

If I had to guess, the Underworld was doing this to investigate my true identity.

After all, I was a 16-year-old who reached 3-star Mage grade, and supposedly had access to an artifact that could create portals.

’They will probably take me to interrogation room, act as Supernatural police and try to find out who I really am.’

I chuckled inwardly.

It could be said I had planned for this to happen. One of the pieces that lead to this was my age as 16-year-old.

People with access to artifact should be old.

And underworld would have registered their blood in their repository.

’But my blood wasn’t registered until recently.’

’They have zero idea who I am.’

I walked behind fake Supernatural Police with hands in pockets.

They led me down a dim corridor with walls that hadn’t been repainted in at least a decade, then pushed open the door to a small room with a table, two chairs, and a grainy camera blinking from the corner.

"Wait here. An inspector will be with you shortly."

I nodded and sat without a word.

The door clicked shut behind them.

’An inspector, huh?’

All inspectors of the Supernatural Police were Rank 3.

That wasn’t low by any means.

In a normal Hidden Clan, a Rank 3 supernatural could serve as the Clan Head.

Even in one of the major Hidden Clans, they’d be shown respect, while the higher positions like Clan Head or Clan Elder would be occupied by Rank 4 Supernatural.

So they weren’t sending a grunt.

A few minutes passed. The door opened again, and a large man with broad shoulders walked in, holding two paper cups.

He set one in front of me, then took the chair across from me with the other in hand.

"Hello, Alan. I’m Nikandros."

I didn’t answer right away. I was staring at the cup he’d placed in front of me.

’What kind of lunatic brings coffee to someone wearing a mask?’

And worse—far worse—was the scent coming from the cup.

It was unmistakable.

Karivara bean, grown only in the cloud-laced fields of Mt. Orinnas in the fallen world of Vetrean.

It was a place I had visited in my last life.

Karivara bean were nutty, with hints of bitter citrus and a strange aftertaste that lingered like smoke.

’It’s my favorite coffee.’

There was no chance that coffee could be on earth.

The only way to enter the world where it was grown was through an Ancient Ruin in Wageah.

And yet, my sense of smell told me this coffee was made from Karivara bean.

’To think these lunatics would bring this.’

’What are they going to do if I actually drink it?’