When Schiller returned home, Jonathan was sleeping soundly on the couch, Valentine was dozing in a lounge chair on the back porch, and Martin had simply kicked out his legs and fallen asleep on the floor.
Schiller woke them all up. They sat there groggily, like wandering ghosts. Jonathan, sporting enormous dark circles under his eyes, muttered, "I really can't take this anymore. I don't want to kill anyone else. I just want to sleep."
Valentine raised a slightly trembling arm and said, "I don't think I can endure labor this intense. I need rest."
"I really can't eat anymore. Ancestor God says he really can't eat anymore," Martin wailed. "This is utterly ridiculous."
"But I've already disposed of all the bodies." Schiller lightly clapped his hands. "And what you mean is that you're not planning to find new ones, but instead let so much prey sneak away."
"That's not prey at all!" Jonathan roared. "I feel like a piece-rate factory worker! So why am I not actually working in a factory instead of doing this?! Piece-rate workers aren't this exhausted!"
"Professor, not everyone is like you and doesn't need rest," Valentine said sincerely. "Insufficient rest will seriously affect our efficiency. It would be bad if we damaged any organs."
Schiller looked at them and, after hesitating for a moment, said, "Fine. Rest this afternoon. We'll resume work tonight."
Everyone looked as though they had received a pardon, completely ignoring Schiller as he shook his head and muttered, "You're worse than college students."
Suddenly, as if he had thought of something, Schiller ignored the three zombie-like figures dragging themselves upstairs to sleep and pulled out his phone to start sending emails.
"Launard, I know you often go hunting. Come over and do me a favor. I can give you half