"A sentinel, huh?" Gordon said, his voice carefully neutral. "So, you're here to… investigate?"
"Yes," Souma replied, his tone bright. "I've been studying the reports. The symptoms are… perplexing. I'm hoping to find a magical origin." He looked directly at Gordon. "Elias tells me you've been… experiencing some things yourself."
Gordon stiffened. "Experiencing things?" he echoed, his voice tight.
"Yes," Souma said, his smile still bright, but his eyes now probing. "The… feelings of dread, the unease in the air. Elias mentioned you're sensitive to such things. It could be a valuable asset."
"Right," Gordon said, forcing a smile. He was trying to gauge Souma's intentions, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being scrutinized. He needed to be careful, very careful.
Elias, oblivious to Gordon's inner turmoil, clapped his hands together. "Excellent! Now, Souma, Gordon will show you around the village. He's the best guide you could ask for!"
Gordon led Souma through the village, the sentinel's bright eyes scanning every detail, his questions peppering the air like a relentless rain.
"So, Gordon," Souma began, his voice cheerful, "tell me more about the symptoms. What exactly do the villagers experience?"
"They… get sick," Gordon mumbled, his gaze fixed on the cobblestones beneath his feet. "Confused. Angry."
"Angry how?" Souma pressed, his tone clinical. "Violent? Irrational?"
"Just… hateful," Gordon said, his voice low. "Like… everything's wrong."
"And the source?" Souma asked, his eyes gleaming. "Do you have any theories?"
Gordon hesitated. "No," he said, his voice flat. He wasn't about to tell Souma about the lingering hate, about his ability to consume it.
"Elias mentioned you were present when the… victims were dealt with," Souma continued, his tone casual, but his eyes sharp. "Could you show me the location? The ground where they were… burned?"
Gordon's stomach clenched. "Why?" he asked, his voice tight.
"Just to examine the residual energy," Souma replied, his smile unwavering. "To see if there's any… lingering magic."
"There's nothing," Gordon said, his voice firm. "It's just… ground."
"Even so," Souma insisted, "it's important to be thorough. Every detail could be a clue."
Gordon sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. He knew he couldn't refuse. "Fine," he muttered, leading Souma towards the outskirts of the village. He pointed to the scorched earth. "There. It's just a patch of burnt grass."
Souma knelt, his fingers tracing the blackened earth. "Hmm," he murmured, his eyes narrowed. "I sense… something. A faint residue. But it's… chaotic. Unstable. It's hard to pinpoint." He stood up, looking at Gordon. "Did you feel anything unusual here?"
Gordon shivered. "No." He lied.
Souma closed his eyes, his expression serene. He began to murmur a series of arcane syllables, his voice low and resonant. He extended one hand, palm facing outward, and a soft, golden light began to emanate from it.
The air around them crackled with energy, a tangible hum that vibrated through Gordon's very being. The golden glow intensified, becoming brighter and brighter, filling the space with a warm, comforting radiance.
Gordon felt a strange sensation, a wave of tranquility washing over him. The power radiating from Souma was unlike anything he had ever experienced. It felt like a gentle embrace, a mother's soothing touch, calming his anxieties and fears. It was a stark contrast to the dark, chaotic energy he usually dealt with. He felt a sense of peace, a momentary respite from the inner turmoil that constantly plagued him.
"What was that?" Gordon asked, his voice hushed, his eyes still wide with wonder.
"It was a standard cleansing spell," Souma replied, his voice calm and reassuring. The golden light faded, leaving behind a sense of serene tranquility. "Just a way to purify the area, to dispel any lingering negative energies."
Gordon could feel the difference. The air felt cleaner, lighter. The subtle, oppressive pressure that usually hung over the village, a constant reminder of the lingering hate, had dissipated. It was as if a weight had been lifted, a dark cloud dispersed. He took a deep breath, savoring the feeling of lightness and peace. "It… it feels great," he admitted, a genuine smile spreading across his face.
Souma simply smiled, a gentle, reassuring smile, as he witnessed Gordon's genuine appreciation for the cleansing spell. "I'm glad you feel the difference," he said, his voice warm.
"Could you teach me?" Gordon asked, his eyes filled with a hopeful glint. The idea of wielding such calming, purifying magic was incredibly appealing.
Souma's smile softened, but he shook his head gently. "I'm afraid not, Gordon," he said, his tone apologetic. "These are official sentinel spells. They're not something I can just… teach. There are protocols to follow."
"Protocols?" Gordon asked, his enthusiasm deflating slightly.
"Yes," Souma explained. "To learn these spells, you need to enter an apprenticeship with the sentinel order. You'd have to go through rigorous training, and, of course, obtain official permission. It's not something that can be learned casually."
A dark thought flickered through Gordon's mind. _Maybe I wouldn't need all that hassle if I could just… eat his soul_. He imagined absorbing Souma's power, gaining the ability to cast those cleansing spells with ease.
But then, he immediately reprimanded himself. _Bad Gordon,_ he thought, his inner voice stern. _Souls aren't meat that you can just eat casually_. He shook his head, trying to dispel the morbid thought. He was becoming too comfortable with the idea of consuming souls, a habit he knew was dangerous and morally reprehensible. He needed to control his urges, to remember the line between necessity and monstrous indulgence.
They continued their tour of the village, and Gordon's senses were assaulted by the oppressive presence of the lingering hate. It clung to every corner, a thick, dark cloud that permeated the air, invisible to most, but painfully obvious to him. He glanced at Souma, trying to gauge if the sentinel could see the same darkness. Souma's expression remained calm and focused, his eyes scanning the surroundings, but there was no indication he could visually perceive the shadowy miasma.
However, Gordon noticed Souma's posture subtly shift, his brow furrowing slightly. It was clear he could feel the presence of the negative energy, even if he couldn't see it. Without a word, Souma stopped, closed his eyes, and began to murmur the familiar incantation.
Once again, the golden light bloomed from his outstretched hand, filling the space with its warm, purifying radiance. Gordon watched in wonder as the dark clouds of hate, the tendrils of negativity, were drawn into the light, dissipating like filthy rags in a cleansing fire. The air around them became lighter, cleaner, the oppressive weight lifting. It was a beautiful, almost miraculous sight.
They resumed their walk, Souma performing the cleansing spell repeatedly, each time Gordon led him to the areas where the lingering hate was thickest. It became a pattern, Gordon would detect the oppressive darkness, guide Souma to the spot, and Souma would unleash the golden light, dispelling the negativity like a skilled gardener weeding a patch of unruly thorns.
Gordon, despite his initial apprehension, found himself increasingly drawn to the spectacle of the cleansing. He watched with a mixture of fascination and relief as the dark cloud, which had become a constant, unwelcome companion, was repeatedly banished. Each cleansing left him feeling lighter, more at ease, as if a physical burden had been removed. He was beginning to appreciate Souma's presence, even if he still held a lingering wariness.
Having circled the entire village, Gordon realized they had only one location left, the goat ranch. He felt a knot of anxiety tighten in his stomach. The thought of encountering Bertha after their awkward encounter filled him with dread. He had deliberately avoided the ranch, hoping to complete the cleansing without facing her.
However, a sense of responsibility weighed on him. This was a golden opportunity. Who knew if Souma would return tomorrow? If he didn't cleanse the ranch now, the lingering hate would fester, and he would bear the blame.
With a heavy heart, Gordon turned to Souma. "There's one more place," he said, his voice slightly strained. "The goat ranch. It's… where they keep the animals."
As they approached the goat ranch, the familiar sights and sounds of the farm filled the air. Ben and Fred, their faces etched with their usual mix of confusion and dutifulness, greeted them with awkward nods. "Boss is in her office," Ben mumbled, pointing towards a small, unassuming building.
Gordon's heart hammered against his ribs. The prospect of facing Bertha in her office sent a wave of panic through him. He swallowed hard, trying to appear composed, but his nerves were screaming. He knew he had to face her eventually, but he wished it wasn't this soon.
Gordon stood before Bertha's office door, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. Ben, ever the dutiful subordinate, gave a perfunctory knock. The sound echoed in the small space, amplifying Gordon's anxiety.
As the door creaked open, Gordon's breath hitched. He felt a strange mix of dread and anticipation. Slowly, Bertha's figure emerged, framed by the doorway. She looked stunning, composed and elegant. She wore a long, flowing white skirt and a light blue top that accentuated her figure. Her hair was neatly tied up, revealing the delicate curve of her neck.
Gordon's gaze was drawn to her, unable to look away. He was struck by her beauty, by the way she carried herself with such confidence. All his anxieties about the awkward kiss from the other day seemed to coalesce into an overwhelming, almost paralyzing sense of awkwardness. He just stood there, staring.
"Ah, you must be Souma Silenthill," Bertha said, her voice smooth and welcoming, her eyes lingering on Souma's handsome features. She completely ignored Gordon, who stood awkwardly beside him. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Bertha."
"The pleasure is all mine, Miss Bertha," Souma replied, his smile polite but slightly strained. He glanced around the office, his eyes scanning for the source of the lingering negativity. "I understand there's some… residual energy here?"
"Residual energy?" Bertha repeated, her gaze still fixed on Souma. "Oh, is that what you call it? I thought it was just the general… ambiance." She batted her eyelashes, a subtle, but noticeable, flirtatious gesture.
"Yes, well," Souma said, his tone becoming slightly impatient, "it's quite… thick. I'd like to begin the cleansing immediately, if you don't mind."
"Of course, of course," Bertha said, her attention finally shifting, but only slightly, to the room itself. "Anything to make our… ambiance more pleasant."
Gordon, feeling increasingly invisible, cleared his throat. "So, uh, Souma," he began, trying to insert himself into the conversation, "you felt it too, huh? The… ambiance?"
Bertha and Souma completely ignored him.
"Yes," Souma said, his gaze fixed on a dark corner of the office, "it's quite potent. I'll need to concentrate." He began to murmur the familiar incantation, his hand glowing with golden light.
"Such a… powerful glow," Bertha murmured, her eyes wide with admiration, completely ignoring the fact gordon was still trying to talk. "It's quite… mesmerizing."
Gordon tried again, "Yeah, it is. I was wondering Souma if you could —"
"Shhh," Bertha said, her eyes still locked on Souma's glowing hand. "I'm trying to concentrate."
Gordon sighed, feeling like a ghost in his own village. He watched as Souma's light purified the room, Bertha's eyes following every movement, while he was left standing awkwardly, completely ignored.