Mien: Omoikane

Sarakiel extended his right hand in front of him as if to grab an invisible object. With his eyes closed, he started to gather mana in his hand. He waited until the amount was ample for a summoning before casting a spell.

"Cresco, le Blanc."

A blinding light, imitating the colour of a clear sky, bosomed from his hand and gradually took on the form of a sword. Sarakiel veered it hard on the side, shattering the illumination like it was glass.

'Unfortunately for you demons, we aren't as kind as you think.'

A coal-black hilt reared with an inky star diopside pommel; topped by a rain guard decorated with a network of vines to hold the misty white blade; it was the holy sword le Blanc.

Although the knights had their own weapons of preference, the Emperor bestowed a holy sword to each and every one of the Rounds, and designated them as a veiled symbol of authority.

Duke Sarakiel Helian was a notable genius in his proficiency with the bow, but when the odds were against him, he borrows the Emperor's power by wielding a claymore named le Blanc.

As if on cue, Mikhail and Sarakiel disappeared in a blink. They abruptly appeared on top of the heads of the Demon Nobles.

Percival, with both of his hands gripping the handle, swung the sword down in an attempt to cut Malphas' body. However, the crow, that was somehow clutching a spear with its left wing, parried the blade weakly.

The knight then descended on the ground and prepared to block the incoming attack of Malphas from above. He put one of his hand on the hilt, another on the tip of the blade, and endured the weighty strike of the Demon Noble. Mikhail pushed with all of his strength to ward off the demon's weapon laterally. Malphas staggered, but managed to regain its balance in a jiffy.

"That was heavy, you tw*t!"

"--- --- ---------- -- ----."

"Crows don't speak, they squawk. Act like a bird you whiny sh*t."

"----- --------- -- -------- ------ --------- ---- -----."

Mikhail dashed towards Malphas, vaulting a meter away to meet the creature eye-to-eye. Although, he did not spot that a magical orb instantly materialized on his right side. Lacking in foothold, Mikhail quickly placed his sword on the right to counter.

Since the Demon Noble exceeded him in magical power, the beam that came out of the orb catapulted him to a tree. The trunk was significantly dented, flaunting the explosive impact.

Luckily, Mikhail was able to conjure a spherical shield in the midst of his flight, earning him no injuries. He stood up and glared at Malphas who exclusively stared back at him, devoid of any hostility.

'Again? Three times that my sword met his spear, and in all of those occasions, that bastard was trembling. Is it the same with Sarakiel?' The knight was bemused of his observations, shifting his gaze towards his comrade in the process.

He discerned that something was off when Sarakiel remained motionless in the middle of the field.

"Sarakiel! Are you hurt? What's the matter?" He shouted just enough for Duke Helian to hear.

Mikhail breathed a sigh of relief when his ally turned his head to confront him. Though he did that, the look on the eyes of Sarakiel, which were burning with rage, kept him on edge. He readily made his way to Duke Helian's location.

"What is wrong with you?" Percival immediately asked, so that they could address it at once.

Regardless of his open-mindedness, the knight commander could simply treat the ensuing utterance of his subordinate as preposterous.

"Ronove, that Demon Noble is unconscious, and Malphas is being influenced by a powerful hypnosis spell. Who could've done these measures?"

"Lord Mikhail, don't you find it strange? From the time we arrived, they haven't moved an inch off of their spot. Also, I sense no other living creatures on this island except for the four of us."

"Now that you say it."

"Utter bullsh*t!"

Sarakiel gripped his sword awfully tight, extremely so that he would've dug through the metal hilt if it wasn't for the material's prime durability. Après that sententious display of irateness, the knight channelled a glower, brimful of execration, towards the immotile Demon Nobles. It was perspicuous that Duke Helian was spiteful of being disgraced. His resolve was mocked the moment he discerned that his opponents were undeserving.

On the other hand, Mikhail's impression on the matter differed from that of Sarakiel's. Perchance, it was because Percival adhered to a peculiar ideology.

Initially, he reckoned that his aide was spouting ludicrous statements to rile him up. Withal, after a trice of poring over the things he found quaint, the man realized that Sarakiel's deduction fairly clarified the bizarre happenings.

"In our brief match, Malphas never attacked first. It also showed signs of movements when I waltz in a sort of barrier surrounding it. I guess a couple of meters is its range of awareness. What's more, that Demon Noble was incessantly trembling and I couldn't fathom, for f*ck's sake, the reason until I deliberated on it. Although, your inference enlightened me that it's residual fear."

"Another group had inflicted them this much damage before we got here." Sarakiel begrudgingly said, still seething.

Mikhail's interest was kindled by the entities powerful enough to subdue two Demon Nobles at once. Nevertheless, extinguishing that fire was the least of his current priorities.

"I understand why you're upset, Sarakiel. Even so, I swore to Khamael that I'd defeat those nobles. I don't care if my pride as a knight will be tarnished. I'll make that come into fruition whether I perish or don't in the process. These demons are not at the level where we could leisurely fight them at full strength, then hope to emerge as victors."

The Duke dropped his head in declination, refusing to abase his ego. It was graspable for Sarakiel Helian to act unrelenting regarding this topic, since he grew up in a revered ducal household. It was in contrast to Mikhail Percival who came from a dubious background. They were bound to have dissimilar views, that's an absolute.

"I always remind the Rounds that only the stronger side has the liberty of giving mercy. However-"

Mikhail closed in on Sarakiel and gripped his shoulders, firmly.

"Right now, we are the weaker party. We have to take advantage of their weakness." The knight commander stated as he lowered his hands. He proceeded to put a bit of distance between them to allow his subordinate to ponder by himself, absent the pressure.

Merely seconds had passed when Sarakiel raised his head, wearing a new resolution on his countenance.

"My Lord, I apologize for losing track of my duties. I will heed your advice."

"Out of the two of us, I should be the one apologizing for being so brash. I'm just glad that you are apprehensive of the logical thing to do." Albeit sporting a poker face, it was evident that Mikhail's stress was moderately alleviated.

"Then, what's our plan of action?"

"I urge you to appraise the scroll that the wretched ba- I mean, the Emperor provided you. If it won't cause you any harm, then you can use it. Otherwise, throw it back to him."

"Didn't you say that we won't follow through with His Majesty's scheme?"

"That declaration is exclusive to us siblings. Do not inhibit your chance for progression."

"Bu-"

"No more disagreement. I am your Commander, listen to me."

Sarakiel could only heave a sigh upon hearing the coercive persuasion of Mikhail.

'Where did his compassion go?!' Although he wanted to whine, Duke Helian conformed to his captain's wishes.

Foremost, he buried le Blanc, upright and halfway, on the dry dirt in front of him. He then revealed the scroll that was hidden in his pocket - A rolled parchment, with the hue of the same blue reflected on the petals of a False Indigo, fastened by a brown string. Simultaneously, Mikhail retreated back in the woods to not serve as an obstruction to what might come out.

'Let us see. The instruction was to create a five-tier magic circle prior to casting the passage on its perimeter. The caster must stand in the centre of the circle and feed it with their blood to claim ownership. How troublesome, this spell is animate. One slip, and it will devour me without hesitation.'

Sarakiel sharply drew in a lot of air, proceeding to shut his eyes to adeptly concentrate. The knight initiated the mass accumulation of mana in his body that will prove to be the most difficult part considering the deficit of mana on the island.

Following the arduous stretch of gathering, he began to manipulate the strings of mana to sketch the outermost circle on the ground. The array spanned to a diameter nearly encompassing the whole clearing the size of a small district. The circumference of the circles would decrease by a sixth of the preceding one as they unfold.

Once the wreath of magic was done, Sarakiel untied the knot and lifted the scroll in front of him.

"Profero"

The scroll hovered mid-air while it straightened itself, uncovering its contents for the caster to read.

"psalmus David Domine clamavi ad te exaudi me intende voci meae cum clamavero ad te"

Letters that formed words, producing verses as they connect, were being scribbled in the blank spaces of the magic circle by the streaks of yellow light coming out of Sarakiel's fingertips. When the writing of the scripture concluded, he sauntered towards the core where the volume of mana was densest.

Using the tip of the pocket-sized jagged blade that he concealed in his left sleeve, he pricked his thumb and let ichor come out of the tiny hole.

"Descendere, Ierathel."