The Salesman tilted his head the other way. “Are you not afraid of me?”
“...I guess not,” said Hector.
“And why might that be?”
“I don’t know. You are very frightening.”
“Ha, I know, thank you. I’ve been this way for a long time--long enough, in fact, that it gives me pause when I meet someone unfazed by my presence.”
Hector understood. This guy was wondering if Hector was powerful enough to not be bothered by his ridiculous soul pressure--powerful enough to oppose him, in other words.
“I don’t sense much from you,” said Ivan. “I don’t sense anything, actually. Quite strange. Are you that weak? You’d have to be less than a year old as a servant in order to have a soul that pathetic. And yet, from the way you speak to me... You have lipoid proteinosis, don’t you?”
“The inability to feel fear. It’s a genetic disorder. You have it.”
“...I don’t think so,” said Hector.
“No? Tell the truth, now.”
Hector felt the air grow heavier. The field density of the Salesman’s soul had increased, he was pretty sure. But what was the point? Judging from the man’s last sentence, was it supposed to make Hector tell the truth? Was that even possible? It did feel a bit oppressive, but Hector still felt perfectly capable of saying whatever he wanted. And so, after mulling it over for a few seconds, he decided to respond with, “I am telling the truth.” He hadn’t been lying anyway.
But the realization gave him an idea.
“Huh,” said Ivan. “You’re a curious one. How old are you, then?”
“...How old are you?”
Irritation flashed across the Salesman’s face, and his field density increased again. “Answer me.”