"What are you saying? I have no knowledge of such a thing." Mikhail was bewildered, validly so. He hadn't deciphered the identity of the vessels, let alone command them.
"Really? Then what is that?"
Ierathel pointed his right index finger in the direction of the forest. There it was, a battered grey corpse standing in the shadows.
Mikhail's jaw hardened, and the veins on his temples bulged to the extent of looking ready to burst. Bedevilment towered over all his emotions, since his capacity to cater indignation had been long exhausted.
'What is happening? Did the spell activate by itself? Did anyone use another necromancy spell on him?' He was agonizing in his mind, reflecting on the possibilities that brought them to this tragedy.
Much to his vexation, he felt more sorry for his little brother who was not bestowed with a serene repose even in his deathbed.
Concurrently, Ierathel observed the knight's dive into penitence as it combed through the man's voiceless ruminations.
'Why is he bemused? It is his mana that's doing the controlling of that undead.' The Angel was as confused as Mikhail on the specifics of the matter. Wherefore, it prompted the local mana to narrate the occurrences on the island.
The series of events, beginning from the instant that the Percival brothers landed in Ikdes up to the trice prior to its summoning, was presented as a cinematic play inside the Angel's head. Whilst the episodes unfold, the simper on Ierathel's face grew wider by the jiff.
Once the show concluded, delight could be seen plastered on the Angel's countenance. It was disturbing, especially considering that it was Sarakiel's visual, the knight who couldn't take pleasure in seeing the suffering of other people.
'An activation via the destruction of the scroll? How cruel and ingenious. This is the feat of that human who's surveillance spell I have yet to cut off. Quite a nasty fellow, aren't you? Seeking entertainment out of your subordinates' struggles.' Its contemplation sounded as if it was talking to a person directly.
Ierathel did not dislike crafty individuals because it tended to be more beneficial to have friendly relations with such characters.
The Angel then shifted its attention towards the mortal in front of it, deciding to withdraw him from his misery.
"Want me to tell you a good news?"
Although Mikhail appeared to be ignoring Ierathel's verbalism, the latter continued with its speech.
"That child could be revived. It is not too late."
Upon hearing these desirable words, the knight hastily snapped his head to face the Angel.
Letting the dead rest in peace by not turning them into an undead and reviving them from their lifeless body were two ideas needing different introspections. The former did not conform to humanistic ethics while the latter was perceived as a miracle. Why was that? It's for the reason that no human could resurrect the dead back to their original state of being. At best, they could call forth a mannequin with a soul, yet devoid of consciousness, from a quondam lively specimen.
Hence, by the justification of implausibility, Mikhail gave up the notion of bringing Khamael back to life. However, seeing that the Angels were creatures beyond the mortals' comprehension of phenomena, the knight lusted to grab the chance that revealed itself.
"How do we revive Khamael?!" He bellowed rhapsodically.
"It's simply a sleight of hand for our species. I can sense that there is another Invocatory verse embedded on a scroll in my host's garment. Assist your brother in completing the same summoning process that Sarakiel did. My time is up. Thus, I have to depart. I hope to meet you again in the future, Mikhail." Ierathel said as it closed its eyes, spreading its arms wide open.
All of a sudden, the lustre of Sarakiel's body waned in brightness until the light was obsolete; the wings gradually shredded their feathers, allowing them to be freely swept up by the wind in the air; followed by the magic circle vanishing without a trace; Ierathel finally left this world.
Although Mikhail was caught off guard by the Angel's abrupt farewell, he readily caught his collapsing comrade before he hit the ground. He was cleared of his worries when he inspected the body of Sarakiel and saw that there were no injuries on his figure. Consequently, the commander lifted the out cold Duke, laying him on the dirt somewhere in the forest, allowing the lad's back to lean on a tree trunk.
Afterwards, he secured the green scroll that was stashed inside his aide's coat to ably execute Ierathel's lead. The man then ambulated his path to Malphas' location.
"Khamael, come here."
Mikhail still couldn't fully grasp what the Angel was advising him to do. Nevertheless, there was nothing except hope in his psyche.
'If I can revive him, I won't hold back on accomplishing any means.'
The undead Khamael took its time in walking with its crooked joints and unstable balance. Lumps of mana supplemented the parts that refused to interlink, in addition to those that were extensively busted and incapable of holding their shapes. He nearly wanted to lament the contemptible condition of his brother if not for the urgency they needed to adhere to.
The moment Khamael reached his side, Mikhail initiated the gathering of mana and the sketching of the magic circle.
'I think it will be fine if I cast the spell as long as the blood offering is from Khamael. But how can I collect his blood? An undead's body is barren of blood. I guess I should visit the place where we found him to see if there are residues.'
"Khamael, hold this scroll and stay here. I'll be quick." He pried the stiff left hand of Khamael open, placing the rolled parchment on it.
Mikhail sprinted en route the southern shore, leaving a trail of dust in his wake. With his departure, the clearing went quiet. There was no sound, not even from the wind blowing, trees rustling, animals yammering, nor the birds chittering. It was pure solitude.
A couple of minutes later, the older Percival returned with his palms full of soil. The pools of blood have virtually dried up, so he had to scoop them up together with the clod, lest he'll be wasting time. He immediately nighed his brother to start the incantation.
"Profero"