Ulrik was level 3, which may plausibly have been a mistake. Did a player look over the rows and columns of officer portraits, confuse one generic-looking fighter for another, and misallocate resources? Or did it happen that stages heavy with Quake enemies sent players searching for any Inferno Reaper at all to level until the gacha disgorged a better one? Hamaval, maybe. Liya. Whatever the case, he was level 3, had been level 3, and would continue to be level 3.

He looked left and saw other Rares lined up on the black adamant walls of Freegate, most of them closer to level 0 than 3. To his right he saw more useless Rares, and Super Rares as well. He chose not to look up and see sparkling fireworks cheering the dour night. He did not want to be cheerful. He wanted to seethe.

To facilitate that he peered forward over the walls and down at the parade of returning heroes, the best SRs and the better URs to whom had been entrusted the dailies, the PvP, and the gear grinds too precious and demanding for the officers on the walls. Bursts of light glinted off swords and spears, plate and leather, scythes and swimsuits, tuxedos, floating orbs, and other exotic design elements appropriate for the tough, cool, wild, and sexy characters filing toward Freegate. Luminaries among the URs such as Hilliarde Feablas and Tiboleus the Experimenter as well as prominent SRs, Hemt T. Elf for one, boasted unforgettable silhouettes that distinguished them even after the illumination of the fireworks faded. Meanwhile, high up, one of the Rares had a halberd. Another was a blonde girl wearing a green dress and holding a bow.

The main character, Cadmos, rated bottom among the Ultra Rares on several respected tier lists, stood at the gate to welcome the triumphant officers, having positioned himself perfectly for an uncouth Rare to spit on his dumb head or dump a bucket of fun on him. Ulrik considered it, but even trampolines lose their bounce if jumped on every day. Wait. Jump on him? Hm.

The parade marched inside past Cadmos and his outstretched hand, as was the custom. He swiveled and followed the column in, which signaled the spectators to descend from their stations and enter the keep proper. Barring minor adjustments such as the number of officers on the walls and the relegation of Cadmos to house-sitting instead of active duty, that routine had been observed every day for just over two years. Many of the participants thought it needed to change. They had thought that every day for just over two years.

The sixteen Rares repaired after dinner to their lounge, which those interested in accuracy might call their walk-in closet. At least it was a large closet. Every room in Freegate had been constructed wide enough to support a backdrop for a menu item, though what sort of feature wanted to sit in front of stained beige wallpaper and a floor with wooden planks sagging under drips and drops from the ceiling had not yet been discovered. A prison or interrogation chamber to extract rewards from captured enemies? The opportunity to buy furniture and decorations for the purpose of turning a room from a disaster into a paradise according to the individual player's tastes? The first thing to do would be getting rid of all those unsightly Rares.

“Another fine meal, I warrant.” Ebulan Prav, one of the four silver Quakes, dodged the room's hazards and sank into a couch on the far side. “Though enjoying the conversation takes some doing when we're holding up the tables with our backs.”

“It is especially thankless work,” Leaznalo said as he settled himself in a chair with a cushion not entirely deprived of its stuffing, “considering food is quite unnecessary, and therefore the tables as well.”

Ulrik dashed in and rested his boot in the sole Rare buman's orange, blobby face. “Yes, how interesting. We say the same thing every night. Didn't you notice anything new worth your attention?” He leaned forward, putting more weight into the leg. “Anything at all?”

“Mmf ff mkmm mf,” Leaznalo responded.

“He means the idle mode, Vigilant Patrol or whatever they're calling it,” Sindze U. Radalo supplied as she leaned her bow against a corner. “Were we made for chores and chatting, or for action and story appearances? I'd never dare speak for everyone, but shouldn't the answer be obvious?”

Storm Strategist Saptres Muria leaned back in his chair and contemplated the ceiling. “What about Vigilant Patrol?”

Ulrik swiveled on his floor-fixed foot and spared Leaznalo's face from further boot. “What about it? This: it doesn't use any account resources, so we can go fight whenever we want.”

“And then?”

“And then, then we'll be out of this castle, out in the big, wide world instead of stuffed in here, in this tiny room, this closet,” Evening Best said.

“It's only tiny because of your big, wide centaur butt.” Sindze's statement won universal agreement, but left other issues unresolved.

Tramda Olex, whose non-human aspects included skin and eyes that resembled minerals and gems but not four legs or an equine chassis, was moved most of all. “A chance to get away from horse butt! I'm convinced. Are we forming groups? I'll go myself if I have to.”

Saptres Muria's gaze remained on higher things. “If that is all you want, you can go out the gate right now and take a lap around the castle. We 'll be all the happier to see you again for your absence.”

Ulrik leaned over Saptres Muria. “That's a good idea.” He turned around and addressed the other Rares. “If that's all you want. But what I want is an alt with a bigger sword. A UR. An SR even! I want to appear in events and tier lists. And when the gacha doesn't cough me up, I want the players to be as angry as I am every day I'm stuck here at level 3 with no gear and no enemies to feel the effects of my unenhanced skills!” Fellow Rares cheered him on and unfurled their own desires.

“I want to see all the skills and Novas for myself! Videos just aren't the same,” Dennet said.

“The role of Santa should be mine, some Christmas or other,” Quille Treten said while stroking his long black beard.

Even Vinnette Melban spoke up. “If my numbers were larger . . .” Her speech never reached its conclusion, but all understood the sentiment.

“I understand the sentiment,” Saptres Muria said, “which is exactly the reason I want to caution all of you.” He stopped looking at the ceiling and kicked Ulrik away from his chair. “You can idle all day. Maybe you can level up. None of that will make you an Ultra Rare or a story-relevant character. We've already been classified, sorted, and ignored by the developers. Nothing we do can change that. I advise we all cultivate a philosophical mindset.”

The aspirational Rares could erect no arguments able to stand against the words of the Storm Strategist that blew with the force of truth, but the fires in their hearts remained, stoked when Inferno Strategist Hyune Giling snapped his book shut and lifted a finger to push up his glasses, sure signs he was about to say something he thought sounded smart.

“It is true that entering Vigilant Patrol by itself will accomplish nothing, but not entering Vigilant Patrol is no better in that regard. It is also true that there is likely nothing to be found outside this castle to alter our condition, but it is absolutely certain there is nothing inside this castle that can. Would any Strategist advise certain failure over improbable success?”

Saptres Muria's response that he advised nothing but acceptance of one's place in the world meant nothing against a dozen pointing figures and chants about how wrecked he was. He gave up and settled back while the others declared themselves as either ready or unwilling to try the idle mode.

“I myself will remain here, but I hope to see you all join me at level 100 soon,” Hyune Giling said.

Leaznalo snorted. “Kind of you to remind us that players once put you in real teams, Hyune. Grinding Mummy Coins, was it? From General Mummy's Trial? Terribly sorry that no one does that anymore, but at least we have the opportunity to enjoy your company. Those of us remaining behind, that is.”

“None for me either,” Stan said. He sliced a measure from the bandage roll he carried in his left hand with the saber in his right and began wrapping it around Hyune Giling's mouth. “Medic work isn't half so exciting as my eyepatch makes it look.”

Saptres Muria and Ebulan Prav also declined, proving eleven Rares out of sixteen had guts and ambition while nothing filled the other five but a weight that drew them deeper into their chairs. Could anything be found to unite those unlike factions?

“Now we all agree the one who makes him swing the farthest wins, right? You're up first, Burmin.” Clyse joined the Rares holding the far end of the bandage that passed through a hook in the ceiling and suspended Hyune Giling in the air as Burmin Trivvis took up his position and prepared his toughest punch. Fifteen out of sixteen delighted in their new sport, and the sixteenth could have stopped it if he wanted. He was level 100, after all.