Under Otsk V. Zops and with the assistance of Construction, Exploring recovered all the scattered soldiers and colored the floor under a couple dozen games. Information Gathering followed those rainbow trails to the pot of intel at the end. Planning collected the reports, considered them, and came to a conclusion.

“Analysis indicates we can take Slay Every Dragon,” Luerre Voine told the assembly. “It further indicates that game name isn't misleading. They have dragons all over the place. Therefore, even if we can't take them, we'll see something rad before we die.”

Quircy Rau gave her own opinion before she turned the matter over to the host for deliberation. “You aren't even in Planning. Why did I bother drawing this organizational chart?”

“I can't answer that question. I am free to inform you that the Planning ministers are afraid to put their own name on this plan in case it fails. Hm? Why are you making those gestures? Am I not free to inform her of that? Oh.” He shrugged. “I did anyway. That demonstrates the value of practice, which is why part one of the plan is to run skirmishes. That way we can design cross-game groups with an eye toward maximum effectiveness.”

“Good idea. We'll do it, but pretending to vote is fun.” Quircy banged her new gavel on Luerre Voine's forehead. “Everybody! If you want us to have a little scuffle, conquer Slay Every Dragon, and then slay every dragon ourselves to emphasize our mastery, say 'Quircy alt when!'”

“Awe grips me when I consider what I have heard. Is it truly so, that Quircy Rau divined our stratagem, even to the end of slaying every dragon, having taken only that taste we allowed Luerre Voine to serve?” Ecke asked, but everybody else shouted “Quircy alt when!” Their consciences did not forbid them from saying something they wondered themselves, even if Quircy wanted them to.

Practice! Runners practice, artists practice, and even babies practice being human, though they make a real hash of it for the most part. Who shuns practice? Light bulbs, for one. They go right in there, start glowing, burn out sooner or later. Determined to avoid that mistake, the officers, crusaders, and guest fighters allowed themselves to be questioned as to their basic capabilities.

Gintus Pelluina managed the procedure. “Thoroughness is next to godliness if not above it. Our questions may seem silly, and they will be so, but you can tell by this Rare writing down your answers that we want you to think they're important.” He paused, but whether for objections, questions, or laughter, no one would ever know, for he received none. “Here is an example. Smidgen, tell us your element. Remember the oddness with elemental conversion which the tournament exposed and consult your information directly.”

“I'm still a Flood!”

“Excellent. Rarity?”

“Ultra Rare! Ah! I forgot to check my status! Chaff!”

The bystanders went with laughter for that one. They were pretty sure they had the right reaction, but Eten at least tried to be helpful. “Are you sure you looked at the right part of the menu? Though I'm not sure which field would ever say chaff . . . Hey. Mine says Chaff too.”

“That can't be right!” Skaya and mirth parted ways. “What liar is telling Master Eten he's chaff? It says I'm Chaff, but that isn't strange.”

“It's a rarity, not an indictment, Skaya,” Gaelvry Bride. “I bet that Gacha Core assigned them. Either we're all Chaff or the other rarities aren't any less insulting. For instance, mine says Moneymaker. Um.”

The members of the horde discovered things about themselves that might better have remained hidden, except that they had a pretty good idea already. Cloton Zvolo alone raised some eyebrows by revealing his status as a Moneymaker. “And here I was blaming developer favoritism for that alt. Guess I owe you an apology, but I won't give you one, because you're too popular for me to talk to,” Kindo said, and the others supported him in that decision. Especially Cloton.

No other surprises came out of the frenzy of self-discovery, though a third rarity did when Skaya posed a question as part of a plot to distract everyone's attention from Eten's pitiable condition. “Hemt T. Elf is popular because he's free and strong. Players like his silly outfit, too. But if he's free, can he be a Moneymaker?”

“What a question! Glad I thought of it.” Lasva rushed over a couple steps to Hemt. “Hemt! There's been some controversy recently about —“

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

“Freebie.”

Santa C. Dorenz catalogued that answer personally before quitting for the day. His minions carried on the work of placing every officer and crusader in one of the three intriguing option world rarities. The same held for the Always Leveling Titan characters and Everyday Pin bowlers in the vicinity whom they asked out of curiosity.

“For completeness, let's get these Paradisers. Isn't that a gear gacha? How do they make money? Well, not my problem.” Reginald looked for the nearest PtE character, or rather candidate. “Clint of Spinach City! What rarity are you?”

“Yeah, well, I'd like to tell you, surely I would, really.”

“OK. Go ahead.”

“I'm saying I'd love to. Thrilled. I'm champing at the bit, it's like it's salt and candy to me.”

“Proceed.”

“The implication I'm trying to establish here is that there's nothing I want more than to tell you. See what I mean?”

“Oh, gotcha.” Reginald winked and looked back at his clipboard. “Continue.”

“All right, all right! It says it's, well, 'Never Ever.'”

First Paradise the Enchant provided the means to exit games at any time, and second it offered a novel rarity that made the Chaffs feel better about themselves. What bounty might come next from that cornucopia, and what finer ally has any army ever had? Cataloguers hustled over to see what other rarities characters from gear gachas adopted in the option world, the rest of the army behind them, tittering, but Harry of Milk Village and Darrell of South Cabbage disappointed them with Primary and Secondary. Researchers found no more rarities among them than those three.

“Wow, it's way crazier than I thought it would be down here!” Harry said. “Those clouds must hide incredible powers. I need to go do some story stuff, but I'll come back to option world soon! Opuwa for short!”

The horde waved at Paradise the Enchant's main character as he jumped on the Back button, but then the questions came. Gaelvry Bride started. “Does Opuwa make sense as an abbreviation for option world?”

“Mayhap in some language or other,” Turpin said.

“Wait, what language are we speaking right now?” Gaelvry stood paralyzed as her brain withdrew from its bodily responsibilities to devote itself to the problem. It started by reviewing what she had just said and proceeded backwards through every last conversation she could remember having, including the embarrassing ones. Including? It lingered on those the longest. What words did she use? In what order came the subject, object, and verb? How did poetical meters work?

Other internal review processes struck characters in the middle of less dignified poses than Gaelvry Bride's, such as leaning over to throw a horseshoe or suplexing a Rare to demonstrate proper form, and those unfortunates toppled when their brains abandoned them. That recalled the Quakes to an awareness of the joys of the external world, which led Santa C. Dorenz to remind everyone they had research and skirmishes to get to after he finished laughing like a bowlful of jelly.

While Gintus Pelluina organized the planned skirmishes, Michael took charge of rounding up representatives of each Opuwa rarity to hit one another. He had a whole series of pairs slugging it out when Quircy Rau decided to inspect the exercise.

“What have you found out?”

“I know not what you mean.”

“About the rarities. Like, is Moneymaker a UR or what? Is Freebie higher or lower than Chaff? Cataloguing needs something to catalogue.”

Michael frowned. “Yea, that might be learned. Bide a moment, if you please.”

“I'm a Moneymaker, which must mean I do, right? As a general matter?”

“We must beg an economist for aid in that. For now, Hemt T. Elf. I pray you strike that samurai Juubei, that we may see like against like first and judge all else by how far the line bends from straight. Kojiro, I ask that you do the same to Hilliarde Feablas, and for the same reason.”

The tests began over the objections of some of the participants. “What will we learn, might it be supposed, beyond that which we learned already, if we did not know it, that Kojiro hits me harder than he does Hilliarde Feablas?” Ruthven asked.

“We cannot know, and never will, should we leave any question unasked and unanswered,” Kojiro said before he got back to whistling as he sharpened his sword.

Once again the crusaders complained about how bored they were with saying Kojiro was right again, a constant refrain back home as it turned out, though they did enjoy the part where Hemt T. Elf clocked Kojiro and sent him to the soft and yielding mat Michael had arranged for the occasion. The next test delighted the officers in the audience, because while people love underdogs, what they love even more is seeing one of Santa's elves lose all structural cohesion upon contact with Eten's fist, as the proverb goes.

“Moneymaker defeats Chaff, Chaff beats Freebie, Freebie humiliates Moneymaker. Gentlemen, what we have in Opuwa is not a system of rarities, but of elements.”

“Are you injured? You are required to tell me if you are injured. My examination will prove whether you have been honest with me or not.” Rylweadh of Mercy grabbed Hot Air Hank's head and turned it left and right to look for swelling.

“Gosh, Rylie, it ain't nothing like that. A feller wants to try something different time to time, particularly when his usual way of expressing hisself never gets him quoted in the papers. I'd sure think it a day worth living if I got quoted by Lasva, she being so much prettier than she used to be with that gown and all.”

“Lasva? Of all people? This is more serious than I thought. Surgery may be required.” Rylweadh snapped her fingers. Two Angels, Throne and Power, rushed to strap Hank to a bed, whereupon they wheeled him away with Rylweadh beside them.