And so Arin's shift continued, with him firing arrows into the night sky at anything that even remotely resembled a flying creature. Most of the time, there was nothing directly beneath the arrows, but that did not make the shots unnecessary. The flying creatures were especially dangerous if they managed to escape into the open air and out of reach of the archers. If even one escaped, it meant that an extra creature could potentially emerge from the portal every fifteen minutes, and while one additional creature was not particularly frightening, a hundred of them would be an entirely different matter. Worse still, all of them were Stage One creatures that could fly, which meant Arin had absolutely no interest in allowing even a single one to escape.
Because of that, Arin found himself firing again and again throughout the night, even when he could barely see anything worth shooting at. His shoulders had started aching badly from the constant motion, and his arms felt heavier with every passing hour. The work was repetitive, but it was not something they could afford to become careless about. Every flying creature that escaped increased the danger for everyone below, and Arin had no desire to find out what would happen if too many of them were allowed to build up. So, when the first light of dawn finally began appearing over the horizon, Arin was more than happy to know that his shift was finally coming to an end.
Fortunately, the sun would never be directly behind the portal from their current position at any time of the day. That small bit of luck made their job considerably easier, because having the sun shining directly into their eyes while they were trying to shoot flying creatures would have been disastrous. Their enemies were already difficult enough to see when they were moving rapidly through the sky. Adding blinding sunlight to the situation would have made every shot far more dangerous. Arin did not want to imagine how many creatures could slip through if several hundred archers suddenly found themselves unable to see properly.
"Hey, Arin, we are here to relieve you of your duty," said Tom as he walked toward him.
Arin turned toward his friend while massaging his shoulders, which were obviously causing him quite a bit of pain. He had been standing in the same general position for hours, constantly drawing his bow, releasing arrows, and repeating the process whenever another flying creature appeared. The movements themselves were familiar, but doing them at such a ridiculous pace for an entire shift was something else entirely. Even with his new strength, his body was beginning to protest. Arin looked at Tom and Bill and immediately noticed that both of them looked considerably fresher than he did.
"Thank you. Did you have a good rest?" asked Arin as he looked at the two of them.
Tom and Bill both looked well-rested compared to him, although they were walking a little stiffly. Their expressions were relaxed, but their bodies betrayed just how much the previous shift had affected them. They had spent their time sleeping while the other group fought, and now they were returning to take their place on the line. It was a simple system, but it was exhausting everyone regardless. Arin could already feel himself longing for the moment when he could finally lie down.
"Yes, you could say that. The beds were lovely, better than anything I could have expected out here," said Bill. He then rolled his shoulders with a grimace. "But boy, am I not used to firing this amount of arrows for so long and under such intensity."
Defeat was evident in his voice as he spoke, and Arin could understand exactly what he meant. Shooting a bow for practice was one thing, but firing hundreds upon hundreds of arrows during an actual battle was completely different. There was no leisurely pause between shots and no opportunity to stop whenever their arms became tired. Every movement had to be performed quickly and accurately because every missed flying creature could become someone else's problem. Even the Sonnenbergs, who had spent their entire lives training with bows, were discovering the limits of their bodies.
"As if that is not the truth," said Tom. "But boy, am I glad that I did not have time to make a new bow after I became an official Mortal. I do not think I would have made it through my shift."
"That is a good point. I did not think about that," said Arin as he considered Tom's words. "It would have been unbearable to draw that much weight for this long."
The thought made considerably more sense once Arin considered what their new strength actually meant. Since becoming Mortals, the Sonnenbergs had become significantly stronger, and their heavy bows were now much easier for them to draw than they had been before. What had once been an exhausting weapon had become something they could handle far more comfortably. However, there was a major difference between being strong enough to draw a heavy bow and being able to repeatedly draw that bow hundreds or thousands of times without exhausting yourself.
They had always understood that heavy draw weights were impressive, but there was a practical limit to what a person could do with them. Drawing a 180-pound bow fully back and releasing an arrow was an incredible feat of strength, but that did not mean someone could repeat the process endlessly. A person might be able to shoot such a bow perhaps ten times before their muscles were completely exhausted, after which they would likely be finished for the rest of the day. Strength alone did not remove the physical strain caused by repeatedly performing the same movement.
That was why the Sonnenberg family generally advised using a bow with a draw weight of around ninety pounds instead. A ninety-pound bow could still deliver more than enough power for practical combat, while being considerably easier to use for extended periods. An archer could fire such a bow for much longer without exhausting themselves, which made it far more useful in an actual battle. There was little point in having a bow that was twice as powerful if the archer could only fire it a handful of times before becoming useless.
Of course, that advice had changed somewhat during the past few weeks. The Sonnenbergs had deliberately been training with their heavier draw-weight bows because they knew that the secret realm could burst open at any moment. They needed enough power to ensure that when they hit a Stage One corrupted creature, their arrows could actually kill it rather than merely wound it.
The difference was important enough that they had accepted the additional strain during training. A wounded corrupted creature was still a threat, while a dead one was not. If they could put enough power behind every arrow to kill their targets immediately, then the entire defensive line became safer. That was why the family had been deliberately pushing itself so hard before the secret realm opened.
"But this is all well and good, but the next wave should be coming soon, and I really need to sleep," said Arin with a yawn. "So I will get out of your hair."
He started walking away, already imagining himself lying down somewhere quiet and finally getting some proper rest. His entire body felt heavy, and his mind was becoming increasingly foggy from exhaustion. After spending an entire shift firing arrows into the sky, the only thing he wanted was a bed. He had no interest in another conversation or another task.
"What is with that look?" asked Arin as he suddenly noticed the expressions on Tom and Bill's faces.
The two men exchanged a glance that immediately made Arin suspicious. There was something about their expressions that he did not like, especially the sympathetic look they were giving him. It was the sort of expression people used when they knew something unpleasant was about to happen to someone else. Arin stared at them, already regretting asking.
"Well, we were asked to tell you to go to the town hall to meet with the other representatives to have a meeting," said Bill, guilt evident on his face.
"Ahh, okay. I will go," said Arin.
He looked defeated as he walked away, moving almost like a puppet whose strings had been cut. His shoulders sagged, and whatever energy he had left seemed to disappear immediately. Tom and Bill watched him go, both clearly feeling bad about being the ones who had delivered the message. Neither of them wanted to be responsible for sending an exhausted man into another meeting.
"What would they be talking about?" asked Tom as he grabbed four arrows from his quiver.
He lined himself up with the rest of his guild while the flags were already being raised to signal that the next wave was coming. Everyone on the defensive line was keeping track of the time so they would not be caught unaware when another wave emerged. The fifteen-minute interval between waves had become something everyone watched carefully. There was no room for people to become distracted simply because the previous wave had ended.
Meanwhile, Arin continued toward the town hall with considerably less enthusiasm.
I just wanted to sleep, he thought, genuinely annoyed that his rest had been taken away from him.
He had not slept for a full day by this point, and his exhaustion was beginning to catch up with him. Because of the way their shifts were organized, he would normally only have around six hours available for sleep. The idea was that there should always be two shifts available at any given time: one actively fighting while another remained ready to reinforce the defensive lines if necessary. That meant that if every shift was relieved after six hours, each person would have approximately six hours in which they could sleep.
Six hours should have been more than enough for them.
At least, that was what they had initially thought.
Their days had effectively been reduced from twenty-four hours to eighteen hours in their experience, because the remaining six hours were supposed to be dedicated to sleep. The schedule itself was reasonable as long as everyone actually got their allotted time to rest. The problem was that Arin had just been denied his sleep because someone had decided that a meeting was more important. That was what made him particularly irritated.
"Okay, I am here. Can we please hurry this up? I want to sleep," said Arin as he walked into the meeting room.
He looked rather grumpy as he entered, which was unusual for him. Normally, Arin would have tried to avoid drawing attention to himself, especially in a room filled with representatives from other powerful families. He did not like being the center of attention, and he certainly did not enjoy speaking in front of groups of people. However, exhaustion had overridden his usual reluctance.
At the moment, he simply did not give a damn.
And he was not the only one who looked tired. Several of the other representatives sitting around the meeting room looked just as exhausted as Arin did. They had all been fighting, organizing, scouting, or managing people for hours. The secret realm had forced people who normally operated independently to work together, and none of them had been given much time to recover.
"Yes, I know how much you all want to sleep," said Jordan. "But I thought it important that we call this meeting to discuss what our protocol will be when we encounter US troops. That could turn out rather nasty, and I have no interest in finding out how well their guns work."
Jordan's expression was serious as he spoke.
Everyone in the room understood the concern. The United States had developed guns that had not performed as well as their creators had hoped, but that did not mean the weapons were useless. They might have failed to provide the overwhelming advantage some people had expected, yet a bullet was still a bullet. Nobody wanted to volunteer to discover exactly how effective those weapons were by taking one directly to the head.
The weapons were ridiculously expensive, which had made them difficult to use on a large scale. That did not make them harmless, however. A weapon did not need to be efficient or affordable to kill someone. Everyone in the room understood that, and nobody was interested in testing the limits of American firearms personally.
"Jordan does have a point," said Ingmar Roth with a troubled expression. "We do have a System-mandated duty to be here and kill these corrupted creatures, and I heard that they pay rather well."
He gave a small smile despite the seriousness of the situation.
"Every Stage Zero corrupted creature is worth a silver coin," Ingmar continued. "So that means that, either way, the soldiers that are corrupted humans will try to kill us for messing with their plans, and the non-corrupted ones will do so because they think we are stealing from them."
His expression became more troubled as he considered the situation.
"And when money is at stake here in the US, they god be dammed, they will try to get a piece of the action no matter the cost."
The room became quiet for a moment as the implications settled over them. They were not simply dealing with corrupted creatures anymore. They were operating inside another country, interfering with people who might believe they were defending their own territory, while the System itself rewarded the people doing the killing. That combination of money, military forces, corrupted humans, and competing interests was enough to make the entire situation considerably more dangerous than simply fighting whatever came out of a portal.