Pestilence: Rise Of The Pure Undead

Chapter 444 A Possibility

"You can't possibly be serious, Pitit!" in the end, Isilt just settled on these words, for the owner of the adorable nickname that was 'Grigri' turned out to be the undead that had slaughtered an entire family just across from here, still headless, white cape fluttering in the fresh winds.

The voices of the damned surrounding him were quiet, only faint whispers speaking out from time to time, uttering incomprehensible words, if they were even words and not meaningless sounds, the headhunter handed over a thornless rose to Pitit, which he pulled out like a magician would have, the young girl accepting it without question.

"Not only is this a murderer, it's an undead!" keeping his voice as low as he could, which was complicated considering that he was amidst a most surreal situation, supernatural even, his little sister was having a nighttime meeting with a headless corpse that had already demonstrated the capacity to kill.

'And this thing offers flowers? What even is this?' roses were not something that grew anywhere on Belliste.

As though finally acknowledging his presence, the headless turned to Isilt, and handed him a rose as well, only to step back away from the light casted by the candle held by Pitit, vanishing, only leaving behind an echoing whistle.

"Damnation... How does that even come to be- I mean, how do you even know this undead, if knowing is even the right word..." Isilt pulled his sister back in by the back of her gown's collar, like one would snatch up a misbehaving cat.

"I don't know! He just showed up one time and gave me a flower, and he's kept on doing that since then, you know, he has a very bright soul, even brighter than mine or yours..." she said matter-of-factly, just twirling her finger in the air alongside the candle's flame.

"What does that even mean?! He beheaded little children for the south's sake!"

"You can't see it?"

"See what?"

"The souls of course, you can't see a shine in my head, you know, when you focus a bit?"@@@@

"Well, when we talked the first time, he tried to tell me his name, but he does not remember it fully, only managing to piece together the nickname someone had given him, which is Grigri" the young girl responded tentatively, not certain why her brother had suddenly changed his tone and seemed to be thinking deeply about something.

"So he can talk!"

"In that case, would you ask him about what the undeads are up to?" Isilt might have just stumbled upon the end of a rainbow, all that thanks to his younger sister having truly awful frequentations, truly, even if Isilt could tell how 'good' someone's soul was, he wouldn't engage with a murderer just because of that.

Perhaps he should, because the possibility this had opened was hard to fathom.

"I can ask him, sure... But I don't think he knows that much, he told me that the headhunters were special undeads created by the general himself, and that they served as the firstmost caste of the vanguard and troops that don't need support, they aren't high-ranking at all" explained Pitit, she did not mind asking, but it was like asking a soldier about the whereabouts of Alisart Cleavster, the former served the latter, but that did not mean that they knew much, if at all.

"Don't worry about that, just ask, ask away! He is not like the typical headless, he surely knows at least a little more"

"Alright then, I won't tell anyone about your... Activities, but still, please don't meet anyone in the middle of the night, undead or alive, besides, you are way too young for this-"

"You talk as if I am still a little girl, I am technically grown-up already"

"Whatever you say Pitit, you'll be grown up when you'll no longer need a chair to reach the shelves, now go back to sleep!"

Watching the light of the candle she carried disappear as she walked back upstairs, Isilt returned to what he had been doing originally, still not quite understanding what was up with the headless, or Grigri, but he decided to add a line concerning this possible stroke of luck.

'I wonder, could there be some of us giving information to the undeads? No, that's nonsensical, no one would give intel to an enemy who wants all of us dead...'

Finishing his writings, waiting for the ink to properly dry, he rolled the paper as tightly as was possible, next, was perhaps the most difficult step of his mission.