Ramiel wiped the bloody blade on a piece of his cloak. Keeping a weapon clean is essential to its longevity. At least, that's what the blacksmiths always said when he brought them damaged weapons for repair.
He had already grown fond of the sickles and wanted to stay with them for a long time. He would be sad if he destroyed such good weapons through his sloppiness.
In a way, he felt sentimental about them. They share a common past. It was they who helped him steal the life of the first man in Avalon.
When he finished, he extended his hand toward the tent. Small lightning bolts danced on the tip of his two fingers. Although they look inconspicuous, I wouldn't advise underestimating them. One of them is enough to fry a grown man alive.
