I have no doubts. Mr. Fleck, you’re a genius, if time allows, I’ll seek you out later. And using my newfound walking ability I was able to locate a target floral emporium.

“Mr. Jeffrey, my good man, is it within my bounds to ask who that dapper gentleman may be?”

I arrive at the hideout in the capital, starting off with a question pointed my way.

“He’s Savage,” I point behind me.

Back in the bar, Savage placed a condition to be introduced to the heretic cult. Apparently, one of the only reasons he befriended me was because I was an insane prick like him. I was gobsmacked, flabbergasted, dumbfounded even.

I can’t my only friendship was made on the basis that we were both psychos. Why did this have to happen to me? It feels as if fate loves to go against my will.

But I digress, Savage had been wanting to contact the heretics for a long while for unspecified reasons, and he approached me because he thought that I had a clue. In other words, Savage also believed that I was a damned cultist, which is also why he didn’t question anything weird I did.

Sigh. Truly, how lonely life can be. I mean, he was a good guy, but… I can’t help but feel betrayed.

“Well, does the man have your guarantee, Jeffrey my good sir?”

“Yeah, he’s Savage.”

“Indubitably, he does look quite savage,” Dok prods the grizzled panoply with his pimp cane, “Then come along now,”

He leads us into the compound, a certified warehousing facility and storefront with the proper authentications and operating rights. Yes, these guys have a compound. Operated by the front company, Lilac, they sell flowers to hide their more sinister underside.

Which is actually ingenious. Makes me wonder why the guys back in Joost weren’t doing the same thing.

“Damn, that was easier than I thought. Are they even trying to hide from Vigilance?” Savage couldn’t help but snort, “You sure this is it?”

“Yes,” I mean, this was the exact same process I went through, so I can confirm. There are no more additional processes, "We show up and if we get a vouch, then it's all good."

We pass the foyer of which we bump into a rather tall woman, she wears the conventional plaguebearer set with a rather noticeable bust, accentuated by the strict habit.

She speaks in a high soprano, with a rich upperclass accent, “Oh my, it seems introductions are in order. I’m the rector of this Lilac post, people call me Syringa,”

Her introductions elicit no small amount of déjà vu. Sometimes, you get a headache when talking to people. Sometimes…

I decide to mimic her tone, “Introductions are very much in order. I’m Jeff, and that’s Savage,” I motion toward the man in question.

“Aww, well isn’t he so cute,” She brings a hand to her cheek, “And is it correct for me to say that this little undead is under your charge?”

Savage is at least a head taller than me, but in comparison to this lady, Savage can indeed be considered a cute and little guy if you ignore his mangled panoply as well as his fatal condition. As expected of a rector, she’s undeniably insane.

“False, he’s a natural undead,”

“Oh? So you’re nominating him to join the order then?”

I nod.

"Wait! Really?"

What do you mean really? I fail to understand why she's so incredulous.

"Ahh, if a natural undead were to master Pestilence then it'd be an invincible existence. And he doesn't want to learn Death?"

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

She ushers a query my way, but before I can confirm anything she's already gone to shill to Savage.

“Savage! What a cute name. Would it be of interest to you to join the order, known as the cult of the dark arts then? To dive into the mysterious alchemical wonders of the realm and master Pestilence? To go against the rule of the idols? How about it?” She presses with a childish yet fanatical green glow on her lenses, whilst also missing the pristine opportunity to ask ‘How About Heresy?’ This mildly ticks me off, but I make no comment, sidestepping out of the conversation.

“I’ve sought this cult for a long time, and I’d like to know some things,” Upfront as always, Savage grates out his intentions, “I am open to the proposition if it means that my queries will be vindicated, and my desire quenched, ”

“Hmmm, we aren’t a cult but that will do,” She nods adding, “Don’t forget that you can’t back out!”

The childish glow on her lenses seems to clash with Savage’s fiery blaze. Creating two stark overtones.

“I won’t.”

“Splendid!” She claps her hands together, “A wonderful attitude, but it will have to wait after your probationary period is over, Jeff, correct? Be a darling and take care of the undead, he’s your charge. Now toodaloo~, I have some matters to attend to,”

She strolls away to another section of the compound, leaving us behind. And leaving me with an especially hard case of déjà vu.

“I can’t believe it was that easy,”

“I thought the same thing, my friend,” The same bloody thing.

“What happens now?”

Don’t ask me! “I’m the least qualified here.”

“I’m more qualified than you?” Savage gives a snarky retort.

“You’re an infamous undead, and these guys are most notably known for making undead for a living.”

That shuts the fellow up. And like this, we don’t say anything, as I eventually sit on a random crate.

“You're more talkative than before.” He finally breaks the awkward tension, though that comment can also be applied to savage. He usually just did, without bothering about talking.

“Wanna get more drinks?”

Okay, this has always been something I've wondered about. For some inexplicable reason, I can always find Savage at a pub, and this isn’t something odd for an alcoholic, but unlike me, Savage can’t actually drink, nor have I seen him drink.

I shake my head to turn down his offer. I’ve already drunk too much this afternoon, to the point where I had some drunken escapade.

And now there’s some lady staring at me. Like, I’m not okay. But granted, everyone in this storefront isn’t okay so my condition may as well be null and void. To what I understand, she’s one of the young’uns manning the storefront, with the light pink hair of a begonia and a grace in her talk unbefitting of her age. Not to mention she isn’t wearing dark attire, which for a change, doesn’t ring alarm bells.

She analyses the two of us, and our non elegant selves, before opening her mouth, “Do you guys practice Death?”

I don’t know. I heard Syringia say something about that but frankly don’t remember what I do half the time, but sure, “Yes, I practice it.”

“Oooh, is that why you guys are so cold?” She beams as presses a gloved hand on my arm.

I mean, Savage is a corpse, so I’m not surprised he’s cold and on account of it snowing outside, I wouldn’t doubt that I’m cold either. But she’s full inspecting my person, with some measurement apparatus and everything. She even took a blood sample for crying aloud!

“What are you pulling?” I can’t help but let the exasperation seep into my tone as I question the young lady.

“You’re way colder than the other guy, and I mean way colder,” She says flicking the tip of a thermometer, “Does this have something to do with being highler ranked? Mm, you're even colder than the armour guy,” She glances at Savage, “And he feels much more dangerous than you.”

I feel like that's an insult, even if it’s entirely true.

“Does the branch in Joost do things differently?” She continues with her stream of questioning, like shes trying to get down the nitty gritty of a case. Her style reminds me of a private eye I knew. He dead tho. Asked too many questions… Pried into too many matters…

“Oh, what’s this?”

Quite similar to how this lady is acting with how she’s holding a cursed artefact with nothing but rubber gloves. If I recall correctly, I fought a mutant snowman for that artefact and it could make the ambiance drastically drop in temperature.

“This is why you’re cold then?”

“Give it back before you get cursed.” I refrain from answering her question before it suddenly bites me. Cursed… That’s a cursed artefact. And I was holding that without any safeguards…

Am I cursed?

I mean, I have been feeling a lack of… feeling. To the point where I’m allegedly colder than a corpse. And I’ve been carrying that cursed artefact on my person for at least three days by now. Dead cold in my tracks, I ruminate over my condition.

Rolling up my shirt, I find my abdomen taking a purple, nearly black hue, with a shrivelled skin and bloated spots.

Shite.

“You have Frost’s bite…”

“You have Frost’s bite?!”

Can confirm, I have Frost’s bite…