All of a sudden, they heard the sound of footsteps coming from the street beside the house. The sword fighter soon put their hand on the sword’s hilt while still standing with their back to the wall. They moved to the corner of the house that faced the street and leaned out just enough to determine the origin of the sound. They saw the back of a person who was walking in the opposite direction at a slow pace. Once diary and pencil were put back in their respective places, the private contractor wondered whether they should approach the stranger or not. The reason why they were hesitating was that they were having a bad feeling about getting closer to that person. Despite this, they began following the suspect with their hand still placed on the handle of their weapon. The person they were tailing was a middle-aged man wearing worn-out clothes. He was walking with a slight limp towards an unidentified destination. After pursuing their target for a while, the soldier had the impression the man had no idea where he was going. They desperately needed information, thus following him any longer was pointless. For that reason, they decided to reach out to the limping man while maintaining a safe distance.

“Excuse me, can I ask you a question?”

Strangely, the man seemed unfazed by the sudden question and kept walking without a second thought. Could it be that he doesn’t know Collis? Collis was the official language of the mercenary’s birthplace, the Seven Hills Federation. It was adopted as the second official language by other countries because of the federation’s past influence. Most people knew it, but the man in front of them seemed to not understand the world language. Luckily, the merc dabbled a bit in the language of the kingdom, so they tried again to communicate with the stranger.

“Hello! Can you help (me)?” they asked in poor Solarian while moving closer to the man. This time he reacted: he stopped in his tracks and slowly turned his head. There was something strange about him, but before the sellsword could point it out, the limping man suddenly started running towards them in a frenzy. Guided by their instinct, the mercenary drew their sword in a matter of seconds and thrust it into the man’s chest. They realized only a moment later what they had done and panicked. However, their panic was short-lived.

“What is this!?” the terrified hireling cried out.

No blood came out from the stab wound. It was as if they had struck an inanimate object. But what frightened the private contractor was his face. Rotten skin, exposed dirty teeth, and unmoving white eyes, which seemed to stare into the merc’s soul. All these grotesque features were hardly hidden by the broken mask he was wearing. They had to get away from him.

They kicked the man in the stomach, pulling the sword out of his body in the process. The creature hit the ground hard and lay unmoving on his back with no hint of getting up. The mercenary stared at him for a while, trying to process what they had just witnessed. Their blood-stained blade was proof that they weren't dreaming as it was the terrible stench that emanated from the stranger's corpse. They couldn't believe they had failed to smell the stink while following the man. At least they were fast enough to end his life before he could harm them. The reprieve was short-lived though. Their attacker was getting off the ground with unnatural movements and sometime later he was once again on his feet, as though nothing happened. Except for the crevice in the centre of his chest, the man didn't show any change, not even a grimace on his rotten face. The sword fighter recalled the mage's words. "Those fiends would not move a finger, even if they see an innocent person be devoured by the undead," was what she said before disappearing. Back then, they had thought that it was just a common saying of this country, but what if the girl was literally speaking about the undead? The creature in front of them certainly fell within that category. What a great day! First a giant spiked turtle and now a walking dead immune to pain. How can it get any worse? The zombie didn't wait for the hireling to sort their thoughts. He began limping towards them, ready to attack once in range. The unhired blade had to make a choice: they could fight against the man or flee the scene. The monster didn't suffer from the wound inflicted on his chest, right where the heart should be. If he could withstand hits to vital organs, then the chances of actually killing him were low. They could try decapitating the creature, but that meant letting him get closer enough for their sword to reach his head. A sword that was already damaged. The mercenary had noticed how the blade had had difficulty sliding out of the man's body because of its slight deformation.

Before they could form their next thought, their legs were already moving on their own in the opposite direction of the undead. The choice had been made. The merc ran as fast as they could; the limping zombie was some steps behind them. Because of his injured limb, the man couldn’t keep pace with the soldier, increasing the distance between them. Even though they had the upper hand at the moment, the mercenary knew that they couldn’t keep it up any longer. They were already exhausted after escaping from the great tortoise in the second district and the little chance of resting they had was lost once they started tailing the undead. They had to shake off their pursuer before he could catch up with them. While running through the alleys of the district, the private contractor caught sight of a half-collapsed house just a few meters ahead of them. At that moment an idea popped into their head. They sprinted towards the building, scaled it with the help of the house rubble, and reached the rooftop with careful steps. Once at the top of the building, they looked for their stalker. He was getting closer to the house at a moderate pace and showed no signs of fatigue. The unhired blade surveyed their surroundings: there were other buildings around them, some still in good conditions and accessible with a good jump. The sound of debris falling interrupted their scouting. The zombie had begun climbing over the rubble on all fours. He had probably realized that he couldn't do that while upright, not with an injured leg. However, his climbing wasn't going to be an easy task: several bricks were thrown at him at regular intervals, most of them hitting his head. These hits were an inconvenience for him, but they didn't stop the walking dead from crawling up the rubble, even while his brain was leaking out of his newly open skull.

"Why can't you just die!?" growled the sellsword with another brick in hand ready to be cast. They had hoped that this would have been enough to kill the undead so that they didn't have to resort to plan B. But it seemed things weren't going their way. A few minutes passed and the creature was finally able to reach the rooftop, the climb becoming easier once no more bricks were thrown at him. The sword fighter stood just a few steps before him with nowhere to go. The zombie didn't waste time and immediately lunged at them. However, their target had already turned their back and started running towards the edge of the roof. The undead didn't get discouraged after stumbling and soon followed the mercenary as fast as possible for a limping man. The pursuit was short though. Before falling off the building, the soldier leaped into the air in the hope of reaching another building's rooftop. Time seemed to slow down for the merc, a feeling of dread creeping up from the pit of their stomach. What if they didn't make it? They would fall to death or even worse survive the fall with severe injuries. In any case, their fate would soon be revealed. As time resumed, the hireling felt their feet land on something: they soon rolled over to break their fall and once the momentum stopped, they opened their eyes, closed unconsciously during the leap. The unhired blade was now lying down on the rooftop of the other edifice. They had succeeded in their reckless stunt.