A Journey Unwanted-Chapter 450 - 439: Best bet?

[Realm: Álfheimr]

[Location: Quadling Country]

[Glinda’s Castle]

It was a single figure.

They stood apart from everything else in the garden, as though they did not quite belong to it—like something misplaced. A long, faded brown cloak wrapped tightly around their frame, the fabric worn and dulled by time, its edges shifting restlessly with the night wind. It concealed nearly everything, falling in layers that obscured the body beneath so completely that even the simplest details—height, build, and posture—were difficult to pin down at a glance.

There was no immediate indication of who—or what—they were.

Man or woman.

Young or old.

Nothing about them gave anything away.

They simply stood there, unmoving, as if they had always occupied that exact spot, as if the garden had been built around them rather than the other way around. And despite that silence, despite the vibrance of the red flowers and the beauty of the land, their presence clashed with it.

They did not belong.

"Well, that’s not creepy at all," Puck murmured under her breath as she hovered at Grimm’s side, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took in the sight of the motionless figure. There was no real fear in her tone, but there was caution now.

Her gaze turned sideways toward Grimm, searching his unreadable helmet.

"Is that another attendant of the castle, or something like that?" she asked, though her voice carried a faint doubt, as if she already suspected the answer wouldn’t be that simple.

"Not with those garments," Grimm replied without hesitation. "The structure and the material do not align with what we have observed thus far. And their gaze." He paused, just slightly. "It feels familiar."

Puck’s brow furrowed at that, her attention snapping back to the cloaked figure.

"Familiar?" she echoed, her voice a tad quieter. Then, almost immediately, realization began to form. "Wait, considering what we were just talking about—" She tilted her head, studying the figure more intently now, though her expression suggested she didn’t fully believe what she was about to suggest. "—you don’t seriously think that’s the one who’s been following you this whole time, do you?" she asked, skepticism threading through her tone.

"Maybe," Grimm answered simply, and then he moved.

One step forward.

His sabaton pressed into the grass, bending it slightly beneath the weight as he left the stone behind and entered the garden proper. The scent of flowers—thick and almost overwhelming in its richness—rose immediately, filling the air around him. He did not react to it.

He continued walking.

Puck lingered for half a second longer before drifting after him. They approached the figure, closing the distance gradually until they came to a stop a fair distance away.

From here, the details sharpened.

Grimm’s gaze lowered slightly, catching what little the cloak allowed to be seen. The lower half of a face—pale. Not just fair, but almost unnaturally so. The chin was delicate, refined in a way that suggested youth, while the lips carried a natural rose to them, the only color breaking the otherwise muted presentation.

Standing this close also made something else clear.

He towered over them.

("...And what is this...?") Grimm noted internally, his attention narrowing. ("This energy, it is not mana. Not even remotely similar. It lacks the structure or the signature, it is something else entirely.") His armored arms folded across his chest, the motion slow. "State your business," he said, blunt and direct, his voice carrying no pretense of politeness.

Puck immediately turned her head toward him, giving him a look.

"You know, most people would start with something like ’hello’ or ’who are you,’" she pointed out, her tone dry. "You know, basic conversation starters. Things that don’t immediately make you sound like you’re interrogating someone."

"I do not waste time on needless things," Grimm replied without even glancing at her.

Puck let out a small breath through her nose, shaking her head.

"Aaaand there it is," she muttered, a small grin tugging at her lips despite the situation. "Another completely predictable response. Honestly, I don’t even know why I expected anything different at this point. You’re consistent, I’ll give you that."

Grimm seemed ready to respond—but before he could, the cloaked figure spoke.

"I do apologize for this." The voice that emerged was unmistakably female.

Soft and almost too soothing. There was a calmness to it that didn’t feel forced or artificial—it simply was, drifting toward them.

"I was under the impression that my observation remained sufficiently concealed," she continued, her tone carrying a note of genuine regret. "It was not my intention to cause you sustained discomfort, nor to impose upon your awareness in such a persistent manner."

Puck blinked, caught off guard.

"Huh?" she muttered, her head tilting again, this time more sharply. "Wait—hold on. You’re actually admitting to it? Like just straight up?" Her eyes narrowed slightly as she leaned forward in the air, studying the figure. "You’re the one who’s been following him? Watching him this whole time?" she pressed, her tone laced with disbelief.

"Yes," the figure answered without hesitation. There was no defensiveness and no attempt to deny or deflect. Just a simple admission.

"I see," Grimm said. If he was surprised, it did not show. His helmet remained fixed on her, his posture unchanged. "Then answer—to what end?" he continued.

"I cannot yet say, Defier." The title hung in the air for a moment. "I merely determined," she went on, "that you possessed the potential to be of use to my current objective, my mission. However, lacking sufficient information, I chose observation over engagement. It was the more prudent course of action."

"And your conclusion?" he asked, pressing the point without hesitation.

There was a brief pause.

"I have not seen enough," she admitted. "Your behavior does not conform to predictable patterns. Your decisions lack adherence to structured reasoning, and your actions suggest a disregard for conventional limitations."

A small shift of her head.

"You act according to your own will, independent of expectation or consequence," she continued. "And, if I may be candid, there exists the possibility that you are not entirely sane."

Puck let out a sharp snort at that, unable to help herself.

"Okay, yeah, I’m not gonna lie—that’s actually a pretty solid read," she said, glancing sideways at Grimm with a crooked grin. "I mean, you pretty much nailed it. Unpredictable, does whatever he wants, and probably a little crazy? Sounds about right."

But then her expression shifted slightly, more thoughtful.

"Though seriously," she added, looking back at the cloaked figure, "if you’re looking for help, you might wanna reconsider your options. This guy? Not exactly the most cooperative person. Or stable. Or, you know, safe."

"I am sane," Grimm stated, his tone unchanged, though there was an almost imperceptible firmness to it now. "Though I suppose such a distinction would be lost on those incapable of proper discernment."

Puck didn’t even hesitate.

She simply stuck her tongue out at him.

"Of the three Untainted in this realm, I determined the Defier was the best option," the cloaked figure clarified, her voice remaining soft and almost disarmingly composed.

Puck’s head tilted slightly at that, her expression shifting into something more openly puzzled as she turned her full attention toward the woman.

"Seriously?" she asked, her tone carrying a mix of disbelief and curiosity. "Out of three supposed options, you landed on him as your best choice? I mean... I’m not saying your judgment is completely off or anything, but if Grimm is your first decision, then I can’t help but wonder just how bad the other two must be."

She trailed off, her lips pressing together as if she was about to say more, perhaps something less charitable—but she stopped herself, glancing sideways at Grimm.

For a brief moment, he looked as though he might respond. There was a subtle shift in his posture, a small tightening of his folded arms, but then he said nothing, choosing instead to remain silent.

The cloaked figure did not seem bothered.

"God’s Executioner," she began, her tone unchanged, "would, without hesitation, attempt to cull me should I come within his sight. My nature, my existence, would be perceived as fundamentally incompatible with his purpose. To an entity such as that—one aligned so closely with the concept of divine judgment—I would not simply be an adversary. I would be something to be erased."

There was no bitterness in her voice as she said it, just fact.

"An Angel like that," she added quietly, "does not hesitate."

Puck’s expression shifted slightly at that, her earlier levity dimming just a fraction.

"And the Blood-Starved Knight," the cloaked figure continued, "is bound to a set of ideals so rigid, so deeply ingrained, that any attempt at cooperation would inevitably fail. Our perspectives are fundamentally opposed. His path is one of unwavering conviction. Mine is not."

A small pause.

"Working together would not be possible."

Grimm remained still, his gaze fixed on her.

("Those titles...") he noted internally, his thoughts narrowing. ("The grinning cat mentioned them as well, Executioner, Blood-Starved Knight, and Defier.")

There was weight to those names. But were they labels or mere classifications?

("Defier...") his mind lingered on it briefly. ("I do not recall defying anything of note in recent memory... yet that is the designation they have chosen.")

His focus sharpened slightly.

"And how," Grimm finally spoke, his voice cutting cleanly through the space between them, "does that make me your best option?"

The cloaked figure did not hesitate. 𝘧𝓇𝑒𝑒𝑤ℯ𝑏𝓃𝘰𝑣ℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

"Those who observed you," she answered, "reached a consensus. Among the Untainted, your behavioral patterns are the least constrained. You do not adhere to doctrine, nor do you operate under the influence of guiding principles or fixed ideals." Her head tilted ever so slightly. "You act according to your own will—without regard for expectation, structure, or outcome. That lack of alignment, that absence of binding ideology suggested a possibility."

A brief pause.

"That you might be open to something unconventional."

Grimm said nothing, though the words clearly registered.

Puck, meanwhile, drifted closer than before, until she lightly settled onto his armored shoulder. The alloy gave no reaction to her weight, but she leaned in regardless, angling herself near where his ear would be beneath the helmet.

"Hey..." she began quietly, her voice dropping into a whisper meant only for him. "Don’t you think this is just a little suspicious? Like I get that she’s being all calm and polite about it, but she literally admitted to stalking you and analyzing you, and then deciding you’re her best bet."

Her eyes turned briefly toward the cloaked figure before returning to Grimm.

"Who knows what she actually wants," Puck continued, her tone more cautious. "People don’t just do all that without having something up their sleeve. I mean come on. When has a stalker ever not had ulterior motives?"

There was a brief pause.

Grimm’s response came just as quietly.

"Perhaps," he said, his voice low, carrying neither agreement nor dismissal. "But that does not inherently diminish its value." A faint shift of his head. "If anything, it enhances it."

Puck blinked once.

"Of course that’s how you’d see it," she muttered under her breath.

"But it could be interesting," Grimm added, the slightest hint of something else threading through his otherwise flat tone.

That was all it took.

Puck’s expression shifted almost instantly, her earlier caution softening into something more familiar, curiosity.

"Ah," she said, realization settling in as she straightened slightly on his shoulder. "Yeah alright. Fair enough." Her lips curved slightly. "I guess that is a pretty good reason."

And just like that, whatever hesitation she had began to fade.

Both of their gazes returned to the cloaked figure.