The task ahead was daunting. He needed to use his power, the same force that allowed him to consume external hate, to somehow break down and absorb this internal magical blockage. It was a dangerous proposition. He would be turning his power inwards, potentially risking damage to his own body. But the alternative – slowly succumbing to this internal poisoning – was unthinkable. With his mind clear and focused, he took a deep breath and prepared to wage war against the invader within.
Gordon took a deep, steadying breath, the stillness of his mind a stark contrast to the turmoil within his body. He focused his power, that familiar pull, and directed it inward. It was a strange and unsettling sensation, like trying to suck something out of himself.
He targeted the densest pocket of the worm's essence, a knot of dark energy clinging to his stomach lining. The pull intensified, and he could feel the foreign magic resisting, like a stubborn leech refusing to detach. A wave of nausea washed over him, and his stomach churned violently. It was a battle of wills, his power against the potent residue of the magical creature.
Sweat beaded on his forehead as he strained, the mental effort immense. The still mind, so clear just moments ago, began to waver under the pressure. His focus flickered, and the edges of his vision blurred. The internal resistance was stronger than he anticipated, the worm's magic deeply entrenched.
He could feel the internal hate, usually contained by the still mind, begin to stir, agitated by the forced disruption. It clawed at his thoughts, whispering doubts and fears, threatening to break his concentration. He gritted his teeth, pushing back against the internal chaos, trying to maintain the fragile hold on his power and the still mind.
Slowly, agonizingly, he began to make progress. Tiny fragments of the dark energy were being pulled away, dissolving into his own power. But it was exhausting, both physically and mentally. The still mind, which required immense concentration to maintain, was flickering more frequently now, threatening to collapse entirely.
He could feel his mental stamina waning. The effort of holding the still mind while simultaneously directing his power inward was proving too much. His head throbbed, and the nausea intensified. He knew he was reaching his limit.
With a frustrated groan, Gordon was forced to release the still mind. The clarity vanished, replaced by a rush of sensations – the gnawing fullness, the churning stomach, the insidious whispers of the internal hate. He gasped for breath, his body trembling with exhaustion.
He had managed to clear some of the blockage, he could feel a slight lessening of the internal pressure, but the process was far from over. The bulk of the worm's essence remained, stubbornly clinging to his insides. He had bought himself some time, perhaps, but the affliction was still very much a part of him, and he was left with the daunting realization that this was going to be a long and arduous battle.
But despite the incomplete cleansing, a sliver of relief pierced through Gordon's suffering. The oppressive weight in his stomach had lessened, and the internal hate felt slightly more subdued, like a caged animal that had been briefly calmed. He still felt far from well, but the edge of desperation had dulled.
His mother, hearing the commotion of him finally getting out of bed, entered his room with a tray of simple, bland food. Her eyes, usually bright and full of warmth, were clouded with worry. Seeing him sitting up, a faint color returning to his cheeks, brought a hesitant smile to her lips. She placed the tray beside him, her hand lingering on his forehead, checking for fever.
Gordon managed a weak smile in return. He picked at the food, the familiar aromas strangely appealing after days of forced disinterest. He ate slowly, savoring each bite, his mother watching him with an almost painful intensity. Every swallow he took seemed to ease the knot of anxiety in her chest. Their relationship was built on quiet affection and unspoken understanding. She knew he wasn't one to complain, so his insistence on staying home had truly worried her.
After a while, Gordon pushed the half-empty tray away. "I feel better, Ma," he said, his voice still a little weak but more firm than it had been. "Much better."
His mother's smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "Are you sure, Gordon? You've been so unwell."
"Yeah," Gordon insisted, a familiar restlessness bubbling within him. Being confined to the house for three days had been suffocating. The walls felt like they were closing in, and the silence amplified the strange turmoil within him. He needed to move, to feel the outside air on his skin, to distract himself from the lingering discomfort. "The fresh air will do me good. I need to get back to work. Elias will be expecting me."
His mother's disapproval was clear in her tightened lips and the way she wrung her hands. "But Gordon…"
"Ma, I'm fine," he said, trying to sound more convincing than he felt. "Honestly. Staying here is just making me stir crazy. A bit of patrolling will clear my head." He knew he was being stubborn, perhaps even selfish, but the urge to escape the confines of his room, to reclaim some semblance of normalcy, was overwhelming. He needed to feel like himself again, even if he wasn't entirely there yet. The thought of facing Bertha again, even just in passing, flickered in his mind, a strange mix of apprehension and a desperate need for human interaction, any interaction that wasn't with his worried mother. The silence of his room was becoming a heavy weight, and he needed to break free.
As Gordon walked towards the hunter guild, the cool morning air a welcome change from the stuffy confines of his room, his mind was a battlefield of anxieties. Bertha occupied a significant portion of his thoughts, an unwelcome tenant he couldn't evict. He replayed their last encounter in her office, the blatant way she had dismissed him while showering Souma with attention. The memory still stung, a dull ache beneath the surface of his physical discomfort.
_Is she still angry?_ he wondered, a knot tightening in his stomach. The thought of facing her indifference again was almost worse than facing her anger. He longed for the familiar, albeit sharp, edge of her annoyance, anything but the cold wall of her disregard.
Then the unwelcome thought of Souma surfaced. Bertha's open flirting replayed in his mind, each batted eyelash, each admiring glance, a fresh wave of self-doubt washing over him. _Does she… like him?_ The idea, though logical given the circumstances, felt like a punch to the gut. Souma was everything Gordon wasn't – confident, charismatic, magically powerful, and undeniably handsome. Why would Bertha even look at him when Souma was around?
These thoughts intertwined with a growing resentment towards his own actions. The initial surge of heroic impulse that had driven him to consume the worm had long since faded, replaced by a bitter regret. _Why did I do that?_ he thought, his jaw clenching. _It wasn't my job. Souma was the sentinel, he was supposed to handle it._
He pictured Souma, lauded for his cleansing spells, while Gordon was left battling these debilitating side effects in secret. It felt unfair, a cruel twist of fate. He had acted selflessly, and now he was the one suffering, while Souma had likely returned to his comfortable life, praised for his efforts. A bitter taste rose in his mouth. He should have let Souma handle it, even if it took longer. He shouldn't have been so arrogant, so impulsive. Now, he was paying the price, both physically and emotionally, and no one even knew the true extent of his sacrifice. The weight of his secret, coupled with his lingering feelings for Bertha and his resentment towards the situation, made for a heavy burden as he continued his walk to work.
-------------
Gordon entered the hunter guild, the familiar hustle and bustle a stark contrast to the quiet turmoil within him. Before he could even shrug off his coat, Elias bustled out of his office, his face etched with concern.
"Gordon! There you are! I was worried sick! You look… pale. Are you sure you're well enough to be here?" Elias's worry felt genuine, and Gordon offered a weak smile.
"I'm alright, Elias. Just a bit under the weather. Needed to get out of the house."
Elias ushered him into his office, gesturing towards a chair. "Well, I'm glad to see you're on the mend. And I wanted to thank you, Gordon. Truly. What you did… at the river… it was remarkable. Souma told me everything."
Gordon's stomach clenched. Everything? He shot Elias a questioning look.
Elias beamed, oblivious to Gordon's inner panic. "Yes! He was incredibly impressed with your… insight. Said you noticed the corruption even he couldn't see. And then, when he was exhausted, you were there. You were a real help, Gordon. A real help."
Gordon forced a smile, the bitterness rising in his throat. "Just doing my job, Elias."
Elias clapped him on the shoulder. "More than your job, my boy! You were instrumental in stopping this sickness. And Souma… what a young man! Not only is he handsome – the ladies here were quite taken, I tell you – but his magical prowess is astounding! The way he cleansed that water… like a divine intervention! And he was so dedicated, pushing himself to his limits. A true sentinel, through and through."
Elias continued to sing Souma's praises, his voice filled with awe. Gordon listened, a tight knot forming in his chest. Each compliment felt like a fresh twist of the knife. He was glad the sickness was gone, truly, but the glowing accolades for Souma, the complete lack of recognition for his own, far more… visceral contribution, grated on him.
"He even mentioned you, Gordon," Elias continued, still beaming. "Said you had a good eye for these things. A natural talent, he called it. Though, of course, his training is on a whole other level."
Gordon just nodded, the bitterness threatening to spill over. He wanted to tell Elias the truth, about the worm, about the side effects, about the gnawing emptiness behind his forced smile. But the words wouldn't come. The fear of disbelief, of being seen as crazy, of further complicating an already messy situation, kept his mouth shut. He was left to swallow his resentment and listen to the continued praise for the handsome, powerful sentinel who had inadvertently left him to deal with the messy aftermath.