The Hypnotic Descent
A frosty standoff lingered between the adjutant and me.
Thud!
Dalmon slammed his desk with such force that the iron table warped beneath his palm.
“I… I only…”
His face, so at odds with his immense strength, looked terribly frail and sorrowful as he spoke.
“……I only wiped out those filthy, savage orcs! So why… why are you doing this to me? Berian’s heart is weak—that’s all it is. His heart is weak, so why take it out on me!”
“Lord Dalmon, I said nothing of the sort. I merely…”
I never finished the sentence.
The adjutant pressed the blade closer to my throat. Its chill seemed to seep all the way down my windpipe.
“Shut your mouth and leave. Say nothing more to Lord Dalmon.”
“……Understood, Lieutenant Sigrid. Lord Dalmon, I hope we meet again when the opportunity arises.”
The adjutant withdrew the blade from my neck. I rose from my seat.
As I turned to go, I glanced back. Lieutenant Sigrid stood rigidly at attention, her venomous gaze fixed on me without the slightest tremor.
Dalmon had buried his face against the warped desk, shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.
A day after my meeting with Lord Dalmon, a letter arrived from the kingdom.
Within two weeks, if the mage Berian’s phobia remains untreated, the contract shall be terminated.
It was easy to guess that Lieutenant Sigrid had added quite a few of her own opinions to the message.
I requested meetings with other knights and soldiers who had fought in the Ashfire Battle, but was refused every time. Lieutenant Sigrid’s influence was likely at work here as well.
Phobias—especially those rooted in PTSD—demand delicate handling.
Without knowing exactly what had happened back then, any treatment would remain impossible.
‘To treat Berian, I need to understand the Ashfire Battle.’
Not the doctored records, but the true events that unfolded during the Ashfire Battle.
‘But how?’
The truth had been buried by the kingdom and its army. I would no longer be allowed to meet anyone who had participated in the battle.
Berian himself had almost no memory of the Ashfire Battle due to his trauma.
More precisely, the memories existed, but he could not bring them to the surface. They had settled at the very bottom of his consciousness.
‘The advance payment isn’t the real issue. Leaving Berian untreated like this feels far too unsettling.’
Of course, the advance payment was a problem too.
I was in no position to return the money the kingdom had already paid…
While I was still mulling it over, Berian arrived at the counseling office. Today was his scheduled session.
“Good afternoon, Berian. How are your symptoms?”
“About the same. Lately I’ve been avoiding anything even remotely related to fire. Every time I see it, my breath catches and I start to stammer…”
“Have you been taking the medication regularly?”
“Yes, I’ve kept taking it, but…”
Even mentioning the word “fire” seemed to drain him. His condition showed no sign of improvement.
I felt powerless.
Without knowing what had truly happened in the Ashfire Battle, I could never treat Berian—and I had no way of uncovering that truth.
‘No… there is one method.’
A way to learn the truth and, at the same time, a way to treat Berian.
The idea surfaced in my mind, and I voiced it at once.
“Berian, would you consider undergoing hypnotic therapy?”
“Pardon?”
Berian looked unfamiliar with the term. In a world where the very concept of a counselor was novel, hypnosis would naturally sound strange as well.
“In cases like the phobia you’re experiencing, confrontation is essential. Avoidance and escape only make it harder to overcome.”
“I… suppose so. I have no intention of running away.”
Post-traumatic stress disorder does not heal by itself.
One must confront it again and again. Treatment is inherently painful rather than comfortable.
Fortunately, people in this world understood the idea well. Whether one called it reckless or courageous, their temperament favored confrontation over avoidance.
“I believe your phobia stems from the Ashfire Battle, Berian.”
“The Ashfire Battle… Yes, I suppose it does.”
“The memories from that battle were so painful that you sealed them away at the bottom of your mind. In that state, confrontation is impossible.”
Of course, confrontation could not be forced recklessly. It had to be done slowly, carefully, so the mind would not be overwhelmed.
For Berian, the process would involve first recovering memories of the Ashfire Battle, then gradually acclimating him to media and language indirectly connected to fire, and only afterward moving on to fire itself—finally reaching flame magic.
“Hypnosis can help with that.”
“How is that possible?”
“Through a combination of suggestion and magical elements, I will place you in a half-asleep state. Your awareness will grow hazy. In that condition, I will guide you with specific actions and words to gently draw the memories out.”
Hypnosis in this world differed considerably from the hypnosis of my previous life. Here, emotions could arise from mana as well as hormones, and magic itself made the process more direct, simpler in some ways, and even more reliable.
Hypnosis here utilized mind-based magic. Because of that, it was more immediate than the hypnosis I had known, and in a sense, more trustworthy.
After hearing the explanation, Berian looked uneasy.
“Isn’t that… mind-control magic?”
“Similar, but not quite. Mind-control magic can force someone to do things they would never normally do. For example, it could make a kind person commit murder. Hypnosis cannot.”
I continued calmly. If the client feared hypnosis, the therapy itself would be impossible.
“If mind-control magic creates something from nothing, hypnosis merely expands something that already exists in a small way. Hypnosis cannot create something from nothing.”
“This is difficult to follow.”
“Above all, the human unconscious possesses a self-preservation instinct. Hypnosis cannot issue commands that override it. If it tried, the hazy awareness would sharpen and the hypnosis would break.”
There were ways to issue commands that defied those instincts, but I did not mention them. I had no intention of using such methods on Berian, and there was no need to instill unnecessary fear.
“You’re certain this hypnosis will help with the treatment?”
“It will. Without question.”
After repeated persuasion, Berian’s fear and anxiety toward hypnosis seemed to ease somewhat.
“……Very well. I’ll try it.”
When he finally nodded, a faint light flickered in his eyes.
“Will the hypnotic therapy take place here as well?”
“No. We’ll use the special counseling room.”
“The special counseling room?”
“Please follow me.”
I led Berian to the special counseling room.
Inside were a large bed and a single chair, with solid walls enclosing the space on all sides.
Berian looked around, puzzled.
“This… I’ve never seen a room like this before. Has it always been here?”
“We built it during the recent expansion of the office. It’s intended for special treatments, including hypnotic therapy.”
“Oh…”
The room was equipped with everything needed for specialized care.
And it possessed certain special functions as well.
“Please lie down on the chair. We’ll begin shortly.”
* * *
When people think of “hypnosis,” the first image that usually comes to mind is a coin.
The kind with a hole in the center that hypnotists in stories always swing rhythmically in front of their subject’s eyes.
In hypnotic terms, that coin is called a “medium.”
Its role is to induce “immersion.”
A person under hypnosis typically has their eyes closed and speaks in a somewhat sluggish or hazy manner. They may appear defenseless or half-asleep rather than deeply focused.
In reality, however, they are directing an unconscious level of concentration toward the hypnotist’s suggestions.
Because all their focus is poured into those suggestions, they only seem unguarded.
In any case, I would not be using such a “medium.”
‘Instead of a medium, I’ll use magic.’
The principle behind mind-based magic was generally the same: by altering the flow of mana inside the target’s body, one could induce changes in their emotions.
It was easy to picture throwing a rock into a calm lake to create artificial waves.
Yet no matter how many rocks one threw, the lake itself remained unchanged. Rain might raise the water level slightly; relentless sun might lower it. The fundamental shape of the lake stayed the same.
Likewise, mind-based magic could not produce lasting or permanent emotional changes. Nor could it evoke overly complex emotions.
‘But I can.’
I could see and feel the shape and flow of mana moving through another person’s body.
If I applied that ability more deeply and powerfully, I could even reshape that flow and, in doing so, guide the person toward specific emotions.
“Berian, from now on I will place my hand on the mana inside your body. I won’t merely observe its shape and flow—I will directly influence them.”
“That’s possible… No, asking such questions is pointless now. I understand.”
Berian extended his hand without hesitation.
“I trust you, Counselor.”
“Please do.”
I took his hand and observed the mana flowing within him—its shape, its movement.
As a powerful mage, Berian possessed an abundant quantity of mana. Its flow was smooth.
Yet its shape was mostly jagged and contracted—the kind of pattern commonly seen in those suffering from severe depression.
His inability to use magic because of the pyrophobia had likely dealt a heavy blow to his self-esteem.
“I’m beginning.”
As I spoke, I infused mana into Berian’s body.
I began directly influencing the flow and shape of the mana moving through him.
Simple to describe—yet an art possible only for me.
The moment I injected my mana, the flow inside him appeared to stop.
It had not truly stopped; it had merely slowed to the point where it seemed motionless.
The jagged shape gradually rounded out.
The once-angular particles of mana began to spin, transforming into smooth ellipsoids.
By then, Berian’s breathing had become perfectly regular.
His mind had shifted into a state where immersion came easily—precisely because I had reshaped the mana’s flow and form.
“Now, all you need to do is follow my words one by one. Take it easy.”
I had already told him there was no need to answer or nod, so Berian remained still. He simply closed his eyes in comfort. At a glance, he looked as though he were asleep.
“You are standing in a field where a cool breeze blows. In the distance, you see a cave. A deep cave. You slowly step inside. The cave leads downward. You walk deeper.”
Berian’s eyelids fluttered briefly, as if in spasm, then settled.
“The cave is quiet, yet safe and comfortable. There, you can hear only my voice clearly. Now, move toward the deepest part of the cave…”
At last, Berian’s expression and features relaxed completely.
I could tell he had entered the immersed state. Some people never succumbed to hypnosis, but Berian was not one of them.
“……A light appears ahead. You emerge from the cave. You are walking with your comrades, Lord Dalmon, and Lieutenant Sigrid. You are exhausted.”
Berian’s brow furrowed slightly.
I guided him carefully, gently, back into that moment.
“Tired, you find a place to rest and stop. What do you see?”
“A village… a village…”
A faint smile touched Berian’s lips.
“There’s a village… Orc villagers live there.”
“……”
I frowned.
‘Not an orc army encampment, but a village?’
I had assumed the records of the Ashfire Battle had been altered in only a line or two.
I was wrong.
The records of the Ashfire Battle had been fabricated from beginning to end.