Chapter 73: Three Golden Rules, Are You An Illegal Exorcist
The [Heavenly Restriction] made the Cursed Spirit stronger in exchange for stopping its ability to pull people into its domain temporarily.
Whatever the Cursed Spirit had prepared in its domain was strengthened by several times.
Even so, my family had no choice.
If they didn’t act, all of Europe would have disappeared within a week.
Every member of House Daelthorn entered the Cursed Spirit’s domain.
None came back.
Except one: Elias, my uncle.
He survived for only sixty seconds after returning.
Before dying, he managed to say one thing.
"The Deputy Director is always watching—"
The rest of his words were unintelligible.
No one ever learned what it meant.
We didn’t even know it’s exorcism method because the only survivor of the Cursed Spirit’s domain died soon after he escaped the domain.
I leaned forward slightly, staring at Mission D again.
’Should I take it?’
I didn’t know what was inside the Cursed Spirit’s domain.
Was the "Deputy Director" a monster? A being with human appearance? Something in between?
Could he be harmed? Or was he invulnerable like most high-ranking Cursed Spirits?
What was the layout of the domain?
Were there multiple layers?
It could be a fortress filled with eldritch horrors.
It could be worse.
Some Cursed Spirits 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 Cursed Spirits.
Rule One: The more people who know about a Cursed Spirit, the stronger it becomes.
Rule Two:
Cursed Spirits always follow a narrative.Rule Three: Mental corruption vanishes after the spirit is exorcised, but contamination remains.
Rule One was the real danger here.
Area 51 had already started to gain notoriety in 2003.
If I waited, more people would learn of it, especially the people poking in dark net forums, and Exorcists who wanted to defeat an ’undefeatable’ Cursed Spirit.
Every mention, every post online, every whisper would feed it, making it stronger.
This was the best time to strike.
’Alright.’
I looked up at the receptionist.
"I’ll take Mission D."
She paused, surprised.
Her eyes dropped to her papers, double-checking the entry.
Maybe she thought I looked too serious for someone picking what sounded like an ordinary disappearance case.
Most applicants went for safer bets, missions that were guaranteed Cursed Spirit sightings.
They wanted guaranteed success.
Mission D didn’t sound like one of those.
"Understood, sir," she said finally, keeping her tone professional. "Please head to the third waiting room on the left. Your teammates are waiting there."
I nodded and turned toward the corridor.
The crowd of odd-looking people was present around me.
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 Exorcist Union’s Police 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."
Exorcist Union.
They were the result of an alliance between the major hidden clans.
Their job?
To regulate the Exorcist community and, most of all, detect and investigate "Illegal Exorcists."
People like me — Alan Veritus — were called Illegal Exorcists.
We were who awakened without being registered, and were yet to join a Hidden Clan.
’Strange...’
The underworld didn’t endorse Illegal Exorcists, but they turned a blind eye if the person didn’t cause problems.
That’s why they used blood verification instead of official Exorcist IDs during registration.
So why did they call the Exorcist Union’s Police Division, Exorcist Police for short, to investigate me?
That made no sense.
’Are these people fake Exorcist 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 the interrogation room, act as Exorcist 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 led to this was my age as 16-year-old.
People with access to artifacts should be old.
And the 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 the fake Exorcist 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 Exorcist Police were Rank 3.
That wasn’t low by any means.
In a normal Hidden Clan, a Rank 3 Exorcist 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 Exorcist.
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 beans 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 get these coffee beans was to enter the Vetrean world through an Ancient Ruin in Wageah.
And yet, my sense of smell told me this coffee was made from Karivara beans.
’To think these lunatics would bring this.’
’What are they going to do if I actually drink it?’
I finally looked up and said, "I don’t know, Nikandros, about what exactly I’m feeling right now. But if I had to guess, I’d say... betrayed."
His brow lifted slightly.
"Betrayed?"
"Yeah. I’m guessing you’re here to interrogate me, since you probably think I’m an illegal Exorcist.
"Which would be fine, except the Underworld’s supposed to keep their clients’ information confidential.
"So if my data ended up in your hands, well, it means someone sold me out," I said.
"Information like you being a three-star mage at sixteen?" he asked with a chuckle. "Don’t worry. The Underworld didn’t leak it. We just have ears in the right places."
So, they used spies.... is what he wanted me to believe.
But I knew better.
This guy was a man from the Underworld, and the information had never been leaked.
"I guess that’s supposed to make me feel better." I leaned back. "Still disappointing, though. I wonder what would happen if people started thinking that client data can be stolen from Underworld’s database."
His lips twitched at that.
He ignored the comment and beckoned to the coffee cup. "You’re not going to drink?"
"I don’t drink coffee," I said flatly.
"Really?" he chuckled. "My intuition says you do. And my intuition’s rarely wrong."
’....Does he think he is being slick?’
His words confirmed two things.
First, it really was Karivara coffee.
Second, if I drank it, I was fucked.
"So, Alan," he said casually, "since you already know we suspect you might be an unregistered Exorcist, can you show us your ID?"