Azrael pulled another arrow out of a restocked barrel, nocking it and firing into the trees. He’d stopped infusing the tips with [Wind] mana a long time ago. It was costly, added more time to his already slow firing rate and didn’t help with his accuracy at all.

His arrow struck his intended target and a spider fell down, dead. It was nearing the end of the third and final wave.

In the last few waves Azrael had encountered various types of arachnids. From small and fast ones to others that were poisonous or shot web nets, right through to large lumbering spiders that simply pierced everything they met with their long legs.

The tree-slinger variant was one of the newer ones. They would shoot webs into the trees, before reeling themselves in at high speeds. This had allowed a few to sneak past the wall uncontested. Zen had dealt with those that made it into the fort effectively.

It had been a long tedious day. Azrael’s arms were sore and trembled with each arrow he pulled, despite having taken several long rests. Even Zen was beginning to show the stress of a long day. His occasional shot would fly past any intended target, vanishing into the forest, or piercing trees.

The men weren’t faring much better. Despite rests between raids and a later introduced rotational shift the soldiers were bone tired. Weapons had broken, shields cracked, and many men were sporting serious wounds, while a few would never see the next day. Even with the extra healers from neighbouring forts, not everyone could be saved.

Right now, there were only a few straggling spiders left, trying to breach the fort. Azrael wasn’t even sure why they bothered trying. The waves were as good as done. The men seemed to realise that too, attacking the last remaining spiders with a vengeful gusto.

Azrael watched Zen take down the last of the arachnids. It fell to the ground with a thud. Several soldiers followed suit, falling to the ground, spent. They had survived.

A feeling of relief spread through the fort as the sounds of combat stopped.

There was no more clicking of chitinous legs, no more sound of screeches of dying spiders and no cries of wounded men. There was only a relieved and subdued silence. They had survived. They had prevailed. Even Zen didn’t seem immune to the atmosphere, dropping to rest against the balustrade at the top of the wall.

Below Azrael watched the gates swing open, as non-combatants streamed out. Some went straight for the soldiers, delivering water to drink and helping the wounded.

Others approached the spiders’ corpses, retrieving arrows and beginning the process of dismantling. These people were the only reason that they hadn’t run out of ammunition earlier, or that the battlefield was clogged with dead spiders.

During the gaps in the waves, they had rushed out, clearing and collecting the spiders and arrows with a practiced ease. Zen had told him that these waves happened every now and again and that the spiders were harvested as usable alchemical ingredients.

A scream rung out from one of the gatherers and Azrael heard a panicked shout, which was instantly echoed by many others. Zen rose and muttered a curse.

Azrael looked out seeing all the soldiers and non-combatants flooding towards the protective gates of the fort. Behind them was a massive spider, far larger than any they’d fought before. It was almost the size of the wall itself. Zen immediately tried to take control of the situation.

“ATTENTION! WAVE BOSS! ARCHERS!”

At his command, all able-bodied soldiers rushed up onto the wall, despite their weariness and other injuries. Under his order more than sixty bows were drawn and fired. A rain of death fell towards the large spider.

Almost all of them bounced of its thick carapace, ineffective.

A second volley proved just as ineffective. Even Azrael’s wind infused arrow glanced off the spider’s thick hide. Only one of Zen’s arrows managed to do serious damage, piercing the large spider’s eye. It let out a piercing shriek, which caused several soldiers to black out. Azrael managed to shrug it off due to the effect of his [Aura].

As a further counterattack the spider began to spawn dozens of white eggs, which cracked open the moment they hit the ground. Dozens of cat sized spiders began to join the assault. Zen made a quick decision.

“Everyone to the left of a barrel, swords!”

Since two archers shared a barrel of arrows, every second man retreated down the wall, swapping their bow for a sword. They streamed out of the fort, forming a protective line. Azrael looked at the barrel he was sharing with Zen. He was on the left side of the barrel, so… technically…

Azrael dropped his bow, jumping straight down the front of the wall and trusting his stats to prevent him from the worst of the danger. He dropped into a roll and mitigated most of the impact, even as he drew one of the short swords.

Good. He was no longer stuck on the wall. He was so bad at [Archery] that the game hadn’t even rewarded him with the skill. Swinging the sword blade in a few circles he tried to familiarise himself with the blade. Behind him he heard Zen call his name. He ignored it.

Moving past the elven swordmen, he met the first of the spiders with his blade. The blade smashed through the carapace, killing it outright. It joined the rest of its brethren on the field, dead.

The next spider came and then the next. Azrael met them all with his blade. His muscles were too tired for any fine work, but that was ok. Strength was enough. These spiders were weaker and slower than any of the others that had come before. Even their fangs proved ineffective, drawing little blood.

Eventually the rest of the elven soldiers joined him, and they continued the slaughter. Arrows rained down from overhead, aiming for the spider mother. It was still ineffective, but every volley one or two arrows managed to find a chink in the great monster’s armour. Zen’s arrows were guaranteed to be amongst those. Despite this the large spider didn’t move, simply spawning more and more small spiders.

It was only after a good five, ten minutes when Azrael realised why.

Warning!

You have been paralysed.

Azrael couldn’t feel many parts of his arms, or legs, letting wounds build up as the paralysation set in.

“Paralysis poison!” He called in warning. A few heads glanced his way, before they also realised what was happening. Luckily, Zen had heard his warning.

“Men, retreat! Medics!”

Azrael ignored him. He’d gotten the NPCs out of the way, but the fort was doomed to fall if nothing was done about the continuous spider spawns. If the wave of spiders continued, then the soldiers would all be poisoned and die. If the spider mother decided to move it could almost just walk over the wall. Either way the fort would fall.

Using magic, Azrael applied wind to his feet for speed, before copying the principle from Zen’s bow again and applying a layer of wind to his blade for increased sharpness.

He’d had enough time to replenish his reserves since he’d used it for the arrows.

Judging from his current mana output, he had a little under half a minute’s worth of mana if he went all out. Staggering his usage pushed it up to a minute, maybe a little more.

In a sudden burst of motion he dashed forward towards the monster. He wondered if they would give him a fancy weapon for saving the fort.