As we march onward with our retinue of seemingly cured zombies, I run calculations of my own. I consider the possibilities of what I have witnessed, weighed against the experiences of a lifetime.
How does it feel? Brigid's words echo in my mind. Knowing that all those people you've murdered weren't zombies?
I suppose she wants me to feel regret, but I don't. I have only ever known one King, one master, and I've slaughtered the undead in service to him. I killed them to defend the Kingdom of Free Will, and that hasn't changed. Whether they were undead zombies or alpha-lepers, they still opposed the Kingdom. They still opposed Paradise.
But what if I've been wrong about Paradise? If the King lied about the undead, could he have lied about Paradise, too?
Brigid tries to persuade m
