Resurrecting the Guards!

As Elliot crossed the threshold of the tent, his eyes immediately met with the grim tableau before him, five human corpses neatly aligned on the chilly ground.

"Master Lowry, there are only five bodies recovered?" He spoke, his voice a mixture of urgency and disbelief as he surveyed the still, pallid faces of the deceased guards. An inexplicable shiver ran down his spine.

Master Lowry, who had been standing solemnly at the entrance, responded without turning. "Considering the ferocity of the zombie tide, retrieving even these five is fortunate." His tone was steady, betraying no emotion as his gaze lingered momentarily on the fallen.

The air inside the tent felt heavier as Master Lowry hoisted the lion lantern higher, casting a harsh light over the somber scene. He elaborated with a slight shrug, "Zombies possess an unnerving hunger for human flesh. It's rare for victims of such attacks to remain as... whole as these."

Acknowledging the master's words with a nod, Elliot's heart sank a bit further. The reality set in, these five guards were just a small fraction of what they had lost, and their potential resurrection would barely tip the scales against the overwhelming zombie horde.

He didn't immediately commence with the magical rites. Instead, Elliot crouched beside the bodies for a closer inspection. The first thing that struck him was the state of their uniforms, heavily stained with dried blood and punctuated by gaping, ragged wounds, the same type that had claimed Alice. Each wound varied in location; a skull cracked open, a chest cavity shredded, an abdomen grotesquely splayed open to expose the dark innards.

The chill of late autumn hung heavily in the air, and though not long deceased, the corpses retained a slight suppleness under Elliot's probing fingers. The coldness of their flesh, however, whispered the undeniable truth that life had long since fled.

His examination moved from the morbid to the practical; the guards' attire drew his critical eye. They were all uniformly dressed in poorly fitting leather armor and plain cotton trousers, a stark contrast to Captain Alice's sturdy chain mail. The leather, scuffed and thin, seemed barely capable of offering any real protection. Elliot pinched a piece, noting its softness and the multitude of scratches that marred its surface.

Around him, the sparse armor bore makeshift reinforcements with iron plates at vital areas, an attempt by the makers to offer some semblance of safety. Yet, it was painfully clear that these efforts had been in vain against the relentless savagery of the undead attackers.

Master Lowry broke the silence with an explanation, his voice tinged with a hint of resignation. "These leather armors were hastily bought by the guards from a local market as we departed from Eagle's Rest Castle. The Empire's regulations forbid us from bringing any weapons or armor from our homeland."

Understanding the gravity of their predicament, Elliot solemnly nodded. He reached for the sword belted to one of the corpses, examining it closely. The blade, devoid of a proper scabbard, was wrapped crudely in cowhide strips around its handle. The metal of the blade itself was sharp, yet marred by a patchy color and minute cracks visible to the naked eye, clear signs of inferior steelwork.

"In essence, this is what our guards are equipped with," Master Lowry commented dryly, his voice echoing slightly in the confined space of the tent.

Elliot grasped the full implication of Master Lowry's words: even with the guards resurrected, how could such poorly equipped men stand a chance against the relentless undead?

Choosing to ignore the despairing undertones of his master's remark, Elliot redirected his focus. He straightened, stepping back from the corpse as he retrieved a well-worn book titled "The Essence of Necromancer" from within his robes.

Master Lowry cast a brief glance at the tome's cover, his expression unreadable. The unwritten laws of the magical community were clear, no mage would ever probe into another's collection of spells and secrets. Curiosity lingered in the air, yet out of respect, he refrained from asking further.

Turning to a marked page, Elliot found the section on "Resurrection" and shared a tense nod with Master Lowry, who offered a supportive gaze in return.

Positioning himself beside the central corpse, Elliot inhaled deeply, steadying his nerves before he began to chant. The words of the resurrection spell, woven in the convoluted syntax of the Aeolian Ancient Magic Code, rolled off his tongue with surprising fluency. Despite his modest academic achievements, the basic mastery of this arcane language was a skill Elliot had honed well.

As the incantation progressed, a subtle, magical energy began to fill the tent, invisible and unfelt by any but those versed in the art of magic.

As Elliot's incantation filled the air, Master Lowry stood to the side, his senses tuned to the magical currents swirling around them. The magical fluctuations were mild, nothing more than what you'd expect from a novice, a mere second-level wizard's work.

Master Lowry's brow furrowed in puzzlement. How could the Lord...?

Then, the unexpected happened. As Elliot pronounced the final syllable of the spell, the air above the corpse rippled, and a colossal humanoid phantom materialized out of thin air. Master Lowry's eyes widened, and he nearly bit his tongue in astonishment. The appearance of a phantom during a spell was profound, indicating a connection with the spirit realm typically reserved for spells of seventh level or higher, a master's realm! Clearly, Elliot was channeling powers far beyond ordinary resurrection magic.

But there was something off. The phantom wasn't the somber, black-robed figure of death one might expect with necromantic spells. Instead, it resembled a tall, slightly corpulent figure clad in a wide-sleeved black robe, crowned with ebony, and bearing a stern, somber expression distinctly oriental in nature.

It was none other than the King of Hell!

Elliot recognized him instantly. The figure's majestic and foreboding presence was unmistakable, and Elliot could hardly believe who had answered his summoning.

The apparition lingered but a moment before vanishing as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving the tent eerily silent as the magical energies dissipated.

Both Elliot and Master Lowry turned simultaneously to the central corpse. The dead guard, his body previously ravaged by the undead, began to miraculously heal right before their eyes. The chest wound closed, and with a soft groan, the young guard's eyelids fluttered open. He sat up shakily, confusion clouding his features.

Blinking against the dim light, he looked up at the two figures before him. "Lord... My Lord? Master Lowry? Where am I? What happened to the zombie tide?"

Before Elliot could formulate a response, he felt a sharp poke from Master Lowry behind him. Turning slightly, he caught sight of the other four guards, previously lifeless, now eerily sitting up straight beside their comrade.

The air in the tent thickened with an unspoken mix of hope and dread as the newly resurrected looked around, equally bewildered by their sudden return from death's grip.