Two weeks had passed since Gordon's rather unorthodox solution to the Oakhaven sickness. He hadn't seen Souma since carrying the unconscious sentinel back to the guild. Elias had reported that Souma woke up the following day, seemingly unharmed, but had been urgently recalled by his master.
The good news was that, just as Elias had predicted, the villagers who had been suffering from the strange affliction began to recover within two days of Souma's cleansing and Gordon's… consumption. The oppressive atmosphere in Oakhaven had lifted, replaced by a sense of normalcy and relief. The dark clouds were gone, the hateful whispers silenced. Life in the village was slowly returning to its peaceful rhythm.
Gordon, however, was experiencing a bizarre and deeply unsettling aftermath from his encounter with the giant worm.
The most persistent and unnerving side effect was a constant, gnawing feeling of fullness. Even weeks after consuming the creature, Gordon felt as if he had just eaten a massive meal. Food held no appeal, and forcing even a few bites down was a struggle. He was losing weight, his clothes hanging loosely on his frame, and he was perpetually weak and lethargic.
Compounding this physical discomfort was a disturbing internal change. Gordon found that he was constantly generating the same oppressive, negative energy – the lingering hate – that had plagued the village. It wasn't the ambient hate he could absorb; this was coming from within him. He could feel it churning in his gut, a dark, simmering resentment that had no source. He had to constantly fight to contain it, to prevent it from leaking out and affecting those around him.
He was trapped in a horrifying paradox: his body felt full, yet he was starving, and his insides were producing the very thing he had been fighting against.
Right now, Gordon sat hunched on the edge of his bed in his small room, the meager afternoon light casting long shadows. Two weeks had passed, and the gnawing sensation of being full hadn't lessened for a single moment. His stomach felt perpetually distended, tight and uncomfortable, even though he hadn't eaten anything substantial in days. The hunger pangs were there, a dull ache that warred with the overwhelming feeling of satiation, creating a nauseating internal conflict.
He ran a hand over his ribs, feeling the sharp edges more prominently now. He was losing weight, his strength was waning, and a constant wave of fatigue washed over him. He felt like a prisoner in his own body, starving despite feeling full.
But the physical discomfort was only half the battle. The internal production of lingering hate was a constant, suffocating dread. It felt like a dark, oily presence churning within him, a wellspring of negativity that threatened to spill over. He could feel its insidious tendrils reaching for his thoughts, trying to twist them into bitterness and resentment.
He pressed his hands against his temples, trying to quell the rising tide of darkness within. He didn't understand why this was happening. He had eaten the worm to save the village, and now he felt like he was becoming a source of the very affliction he had fought against.
Fear gnawed at him. What if he lost control? What if this internal hate leaked out and harmed someone? He imagined the villagers, their faces contorted in anger and despair, all because of him. The thought was unbearable.
Confusion was his constant companion. He had no one to turn to. He couldn't tell Elias, not after the guild leader's near-panic over Souma. Revealing that he had eaten a giant, magical worm and was now experiencing these bizarre side effects would likely result in fear, suspicion, and possibly even being ostracized.
He certainly couldn't tell Bertha. The thought of her knowing, of her seeing him as even more of a freak than she probably already did, was too humiliating. And Souma was gone, the one person who might have understood the magical implications of what was happening to him.
He was utterly alone, trapped in a horrifying and inexplicable predicament, with no one to ask for help and the terrifying possibility that he was becoming a danger to the very people he had tried to protect. He curled into himself, a silent sob escaping his lips, the weight of his secret and his suffering pressing down on him. The silence of his room amplified his isolation, a stark reminder of his desperate situation.
But despite the debilitating physical effects and the gnawing fear, Gordon hadn't been entirely idle in the past two weeks. The vivid dream of Edith, the High Priestess, and her lesson on the still mind technique had resonated deeply within him. In his isolation, desperate for a solution, he had clung to that memory, practicing the technique with a fierce determination.
He would spend hours in quiet contemplation, focusing on his breath, trying to calm the turbulent ocean of his thoughts. It hadn't been easy. The constant discomfort and the churning internal hate made it incredibly difficult to find any semblance of inner peace. But the memory of Edith's focused energy, the sheer power she seemed to command, spurred him on.
Slowly, painstakingly, he began to make progress. The roaring chaos in his mind would occasionally subside, replaced by moments of stillness. He learned to identify the tendrils of the internal hate and gently push them away, focusing on the quiet hum of his own being.
Days bled into nights, filled with his solitary practice. He would meditate until his body ached from hunger and exhaustion, pushing past the discomfort, driven by a desperate hope. And finally, after what felt like an eternity, he achieved it. The constant internal noise quieted. The churning hate, while still present, felt more contained, less volatile. He could reach a state of profound calm, a stillness that mirrored the ocean's surface on a windless day.
He wasn't sure how, or why, but a deep-seated certainty had taken root within him. This still mind technique, this ability to quiet the internal storm, felt like the key to unlocking his predicament. It was a gut feeling, an instinct honed by desperation, that this was the path to solving the bizarre affliction that was consuming him.
And these past three days had been a battle for Gordon, a desperate attempt to conceal his worsening condition from his mother. He'd feigned a persistent illness, claiming a stomach bug, which, ironically, wasn't entirely a lie. His mother, her brow furrowed with worry, had insisted he stay home and rest, plying him with bland food he could barely stomach.
But today was different. Today, Gordon was determined to end this. He had spent the last three days honing his still mind technique, pushing its boundaries, seeking a deeper, more profound state of mental clarity than ever before. He felt a strange confidence, a quiet certainty that this was the answer.
His plan, born of desperation and instinct, was audacious. He would activate the still mind, focusing his entire being into a state of perfect calm. Then, with his mind sharpened and amplified by this inner stillness, he would turn his attention inward, using his power – the same force that allowed him to consume the lingering hate – to devour the remnants of the giant worm's influence within him.
It was a gamble, a leap of faith based on nothing more than a gut feeling. He had no idea if it would work, if it was even possible. But he was out of options, and the thought of continuing to live like this, slowly wasting away while being poisoned from the inside, was unbearable.
He sat on the floor of his room, the familiar weight of fullness pressing down on him, the subtle hum of internal hate a constant undercurrent. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and began the familiar process of silencing his mind. This time, however, there was a new intensity to his focus, a desperate urgency fueling his concentration. The ocean of his thoughts began to calm, the waves receding, the ripples smoothing out, until only a profound stillness remained.
With his mind honed to a razor's edge by the still mind technique, Gordon turned his focus inward. It wasn't a sword he wielded, but more like a powerful vacuum cleaner, ready to suck up the lingering corruption. The stillness allowed him to perceive the affliction with startling clarity, like seeing dust motes dancing in a sunbeam.
The feeling of fullness wasn't just a sensation; it was a magical blockage, a dense knot of foreign energy lodged within his stomach and spreading outwards. And the internal hate wasn't just an emotion; it was a byproduct, a toxic residue leaking from this blockage, poisoning his system from the inside out.
The realization struck him with a force that nearly broke his concentration: his magical stomach, the organ that allowed him to consume and process magical energy, was simply overwhelmed. It was like trying to force a boulder through a pipe. The sheer size and magical potency of the giant worm had exceeded its capacity, leaving behind a significant portion of the worm's essence that his stomach couldn't digest or contain. This undigested magical mass was now slowly leaking its corrupting influence into his body, manifesting as the persistent fullness and the generation of internal hate.
He could feel the alien energy, thick and viscous, clinging to the walls of his stomach and seeping into his bloodstream, a dark tide polluting his very being. The still mind allowed him to pinpoint the exact locations of this magical residue, the areas where it was most concentrated. It was a roadmap of his internal suffering.