The Heir's Dominance

13

Harry chuckled softly. He leaned back against the bed, running his hand over the iron padlock that hung warmly against his pubic bone.

The fear and awkwardness that had once crept into his mind whenever this ghostly figure appeared had now vanished completely.

“But honestly… After saving Mr Thomas, my spirit has been reignited many times over. I feel that only I can handle all of this.”

“You cowardly lad, you were indeed destined to look after all this. Like it or not, only you can carry out this task,” hissed the Spirit of the Padlock.

“But I’m really grateful, you know! If it weren’t for you, I might have found it even harder. Thank you for your help,” said Harry sincerely, looking into the Spirit’s red eyes.

"You’re such a strange lad! Suddenly thanking me like this."

"If Old Grandad hadn’t acted quickly to summon the Barong mask, that silver mirror might well have sucked my brain dry."

The Spirit of the Padlock turned his face towards the window, brushing the collar of his jacket as if there were dust clinging to it—a typically pretentious gesture.

“Don’t get too big for your boots, you coward,” replied the Spirit coldly, though there was a warm glow behind his aura. “I just want to be free of all this as soon as possible. The sooner you get those items, the sooner I can go back.”

“It’s not as if it’s that hard to just say ‘you’re welcome’,” Harry quipped with an amused smile.

He turned his attention back to the map on the table.

His index finger lifted, tracing the red ink line leading to the second point, which was circled in thick ink. Next to the circle was Grandma’s slightly faded handwriting: ‘Old City Hospital’.

“There’s something strange in Grandma’s notes,” said Harry, his expression turning serious.

“How did Grandma know that these dangerous objects would come to life one by one?”

The Spirit of the Padlock floated closer to the table, gazing at the map with a look full of old memories.

“Because she wasn’t a careless woman. She had the ability to anticipate things that were beyond prediction. In fact, she’d already prepared all this for you, Harry,” said the Spirit of the Padlock, recalling Grandma Sukma. Now, for the first time, he called Harry by his name without any teasing.

“You had a choice last night, Harry,” continued Roh Gembok softly.

“You could have run away and left the townspeople to deal with this mystical terror on their own. But instead, you threw yourself into the thick of the danger for the sake of people who didn’t even know you.”

“I just didn’t want to see anyone come to harm simply because they were in the wrong place,” replied Harry softly but firmly.

“I’m not a hero or a mystic like my grandmother. I’m just Harry… as long as I have this power, I’ll use it to protect people.”

The Spirit of the Padlock gazed at the young man before him for a moment. A deep sense of respect shone in his dim red eyes. The ethereal man nodded slowly, strengthening the unseen bond between them.

“All right then, you coward,” chuckled the Spirit, reverting to his familiar teasing tone. “Save that heroic speech for later. Your body has reached Level 2, but that’s nothing compared to what you’ll face when you have to fight other, stronger guardian spirits. Your soul’s capacity at the Old Hospital will be tested by something far more terrifying than just a pen or a mirror.”

“How dangerous are those spirits?” asked Harry, tidying up the map and putting it back in his bag.

"The third artifact is waiting there..." the Spirit trailed off, pointing towards a red dot on the map that had begun to tremble violently in Harry’s inner vision.

"...is the Soul Syringe. That thing does not seek fear, Harry. It preys on the despair of those who are dying."

"The Soul Syringe? Then how am I supposed to find them in the hospital? Aren’t there loads of syringes there?”

"You’re still so foolish! Don’t you already have the inner eye? It is your inner eye that will guide you." Harry nodded.

Harry stood up, smoothed out his shirt and sheathed the silver-purifying dagger behind his waist. His eyes radiated unshakeable determination.

“In that case, let’s be on our way, old man,” said Harry firmly. “We have souls to save.”

"No, Harry! We can’t set off now. You’re too weak—so what should I do to boost my energy? I’ve had a rest and I feel fresher than ever."

"Your stamina isn’t just physical; it’s also measured by the strength of your spirit. The strength of your spirit can only grow if you feel warmth or experience love."

"The conditions are getting more and more ridiculous. You know full well that at my age I still don’t have a partner. So where on earth am I supposed to find that?”

"The affection and love you need cannot come solely from your partner. Try to think: where else might you find them? Only that will strengthen your soul. Once your soul is whole again, we can fight the spirits guarding those antiques once more."

"But… we don’t have time to go looking for all that."

"You will die if your soul’s strength weakens and fades. Is that what you want?”

"Of course I don’t want to. What sort of fool would let themselves be destroyed just to fight an invisible creature?"

"You’ve been that fool from the very start."

"Don’t call me a fool. I didn’t want to from the very start, but circumstances forced my hand! Now, if not me, then who else?"

"So you must find a way to increase your strength." The spirit guarding the lock commanded in a mocking tone.

"There’s no way I can do it! The conditions this time are completely ridiculous!" grumbled Harry in frustration.

Harry ran his fingers through his hair until it was a mess, staring at the figure of the Old Man floating near the exit of the antique shop with a dejected look.

"You haven’t even tried yet, have you? Why are you giving up?”