Partial teams of aspirational Rares sallied when they could, intent on stuffing themselves with Commons and lining their pockets with materials. Reginald, Clyse, and Ipons caught up and entered the workforce, which increased the chance of putting a party together. The bulletin board could only torment so many Rs at once. Even Ebulan Prav occasionally joined in order to add 4 to that 36 he had attained as one of three Rares to receive some resources before Vigilant Patrol's advent. It was a simpler time then, with worse and fewer officers. Rare levels rose up through the 40s, slowly, till the day a miracle occurred.

“Six of us? Now we'll have to fight for a spot! I'll go first.”

“Ouch! Tramda, you don't have to kick me. I don't mind not going out today.”

“Really? Sorry about your shin then. Where are we going today?”

“Chapter 7. Warpshaped Slivers and Chunks. With those . . . Yes.” Ulrik looked Tramda right in the eye. “We Warp Enhance our gear. Then we can progress even when we're down a man or two.”

“You didn't have to get on all fours to make eye contact. I'm not that short. I get it, though. You're excited. I'm excited too. Come on!”

Tramda Olex skipped to the walls, and Quille Treten, Sindze U. Radalo, Vinnette Melban, and a Reaper with but one name followed until they passed her, which did not take long. Skipping would be done more otherwise.

“Is anyone from Perandra Regna? If so, can you tell us if this part was about breaking through a series of border forts to open a route to Atran Arx, the adamant fortress Alben constructed to control western Perandra? Because it looks that way to me, but I'm just a captivating huntress from Brenlond, you know?”

“None of us are. I can change my name to Ulrikeros Ulrikula and pretend. I expect to be paid for this service.”

“A terrible idea. Perandrans are for practicing your swordsmanship on, far as I'm concerned. I don't mean young Saptres and Ipons, of course.”

“But you do mean Burmin? I get you. He thinks he's so big. What's worse is that he is.”

“Eh? He's Perandran? Sure about that, young luman?”

“Yeah, I'm sure. What's with the 'young' thing all of a sudden?”

“Sounds more Santa-like, doesn't it?”

“No.”

“I don't see how, and honestly, shouldn't Santa know which good little boys are the sons of Beruvian merchants who moved to Perandra and met their wives there?”

“You're right of course, Sindze. I'm still going to kill these Perandrans, though. Can't tell me I shouldn't.”

“I can tell you that you should have been killing them all along. Do you three think this is a visual novel? Am I the one who's mistaken about what this game is? No. Princess Melban and I can't both be wrong.” Ulrik yelled those words back from far ahead, surrounded by Collaborator Soldiers and Collaborator Skirmishers whose numbers fell every few seconds, only to rise again.

“You can take the Doveskan out of Dovesk, but not the Dovesk out of the Doveskan, is it?”

“You didn't know where Dovesk was a month ago.”

“There hasn't been a rollback to a month ago, has there? I'm still 44, aren't I? In we go, then.” Quille Treten jumped into the melee shield-first, looking like Haybren himself, exulting in the fiery fury of battle. He matched his might against that of the Skirmishers, Infernos with bows and no chance against him. Meanwhile, Tramda warped the Storm Collaborator Soldiers bearing pike and plate. She did not at any point resemble Lusin, though Sindze might have qualified for the role in a school play if she put down her bow and picked up a violin. Vinnette healed away, not something Werpt did in most depictions, chosen instead to stand around looking tall and dignified. The party contained no Floods to be criticized for not resembling Polsom and Haybra, which would have been difficult for a single officer in any case.

“These losers are a poor canvas for the Reaper's art. I wish Burmin had come.” Ulrik tried hanging a few Soldiers on a pike to dry, but gave up in disgust. “This is too deep into the story for normal weapons. Give me lassos and barrels that shoot bananas!”

“That's a lot to ask for a nobody with a scimitar,” Sindze said during an archery duel she knew she would win.

“In my next life, I would like to have a more extravagant weapon.”

“A bigger sword . . .”

“Or three swords joined at the pommels that spin when I throw them. That kind of thing.”

“A tank . . .”

“With artillery support. Yes.”

“Sorry, but what game is this again? Maybe you're thinking of the submarine later, but that . . . hm. I guess, yeah, why not give me a railgun? You hear me up there? And a jetpack!” Sindze shook her bow at the uncaring sky.

Across parapets, through muddy fields with walls and towers in the background where keen eyes might espy a galloping centaur, they fought Alben's men, dozens of waves of them. Wandering clouds shrouded their battle as if the sky shuddered to watch it. Not the sun though, since that was the warrior god. He thought it was great. After countless enemies, the Rares reached the boss.

“Is this the boss or another midboss?”

“Looks like a midboss to me. It has this midbossy kind of aura, you know?”

“That's not an aura. It's charging up. There! See?” A dense white beam shot from the Experimental Siege Engine's barrel and engulfed the officers except Tramda, who continued pointing out how right she was as the Eclipse blast passed right over her.

“There goes a fifth of my HP. Is this what they call a stat-check?” Quille pondered that as he assaulted the cannon.

“Not if you can duck it, dummy.”

“Not confident I can duck as low as you. Not confident at all.”

“I'm not that short!”

“But you are a Storm. Our Inferno pride tells us to stand! And remove everything that tries to make us kneel! Observe,” Ulrik announced, and wrapped his arms around the boss's black adamant barrel. “This is a real stat-check!” He grunted and strained, his not-particularly-visible muscles failing to ripple under his red tunic as he struggled to wrest the cannon into a more position more favorable to his goals. Vinnette Melban employed her Standard Examination to trigger her Tuning passive skill which added 50 Attack to allies under one of her effects while dreaming of the day the aspirational Rares might level up their skills. 50 Attack? Really? 50?

“Ulrik, dear, honey, sweetie, in the time it's taking you not to do this, do you think you could have stripped off two or three health bars? My guess is three, but I bet Quille thinks you could only take off two. Can you believe it?”

“The answer . . .” Ulrik heaved and yanked the Experimental Siege Engine's barrel into an upright position just as it fired, filling the sky with a glow that drew all the color out of the world and replaced it with pulsing white and black, “. . . is four! Or three. Tough to tell. Anyway. Inferno Strike!”

That herculean feat did not deprive the opposition of all means of resistance, since the Engine's designers had mounted secondary machine guns here and there on its enormous body behind the barrel, an adamant block etched with silver runes and narrow channels for arcane reasons. The guns did low but constant damage. Vinnette Melban blessed her allies with low but constant healing. The result was predictable.

The ring of officers felt free to ignore what passed for danger and instead discuss the latest gossip, such as the formation of a Havamal booster club which had tried to persuade him to wear mummy wrappings as he went about his daily business, or at least put on a crown with a snake on it. His sense of dignity forbade it, which won him respect and admiration, but not an alt.

“What does he need an alt for anyway? He's still strong. Hey, what's that?” Tramda knelt and peered at a statue of a running man in bronze, about two hands high, that the boss left behind when it crumbled into an ex-boss. “Is that the level cap thingy?”

One dogpile later, the Rares had time to collect themselves, stand up, and resort to reason instead of violence. “Look, I understand. Really, I do. Who wouldn't be excited about getting a Material Facsimile for the first time? I'm not above it, and I don't expect better from anyone else. Think about it, though. First of all, none of us are capped at 90 yet, are we? Secondly, we each need two of these anyway. The first one isn't even that big a deal. Third, and I don't want to bring anyone down, but what are we doing out here? What was our goal? Was it just to level up? Is that all? 'I'll be happy when I'm 100.' Does anybody think that? As if. We came out here to give ourselves chances to get recognized, get costumes, get alts, get into events. What changes from 90 to 100? So what if we're capped? Especially if we lose our beautiful friendship over it. I don't wanna go on without you guys.”

“A fine speech, wonderful. I feel, however, its effect is undermined by your physical performance. Stuffing the Facsimile in your pocket? It won't do, Sindze.”

“Oh, well, but you know, is there some other action I could take that might work better? Sure is! Bye!”

“She's headed for the forest! Stop her!” Tramda hopped on Quille's back and pointed the way, while Ulrik and Vinnette entrusted their courses to no direction but their own.

In a contest of speed, the first out had to win. Even with no Strategists among them, the pursuers understood the importance of preventing that, and so Tramda knocked down Sindze with a Quick Cleave and hopped off to claim her prize. That delay ruined her hopes, for Ulrik snagged the Common Material Facsimile and kept running, that is until he tripped over Vinnette's caduceus between his knees. She stopped to retrieve her staff, allowing Quille Treten to seize the object of universal desire. He ignored Sindze's arrows in his back, but the ones that slammed into the back of his knees afterward demanded attention. He stumbled and dropped the Facsimile.

The five chased one another across Perandra Regna, Sindze making for the western forest where a green archer could find peace and the others veering away when they held the statue. They zigzagged over the entire country and entered the hilly borderland of Brenlond, where all five tripped over the inhospitable rocks and skidded to a halt in front of a man-made gap in the side of a hill flanked by columns and austere statues of warriors and generals.

The Rares all regained their feet while staring, their eyes wide with awe. “I saw this in Trials Quarterly,” Tramda breathed.

Quille Treten brought himself to speak. “The tombquarters of General Mummy!” Ulrik and Vinnette Melban stood still as if applying for membership in the Trial entrance statue club. Sindze gazed as well, mouth open, hands stuffing the Material Facsimile in her pocket.

“If we enter . . . from here . . . does it use up Trial chances?”

“I, Ulrik, will find out for you, Vinnette. I mean, Princess Melban. That's what I, Ulrik, always call you. In I go!”

“My voice sounds like Sindze's today. Ignoring that! If I say it, it must be a bold and worthwhile idea.” Ulrik walked into the swallowing darkness. The others waited. They gulped, wiped their foreheads, sneezed a couple times, looked around for the Material Facsimile, and ran through sudokus in their heads. At last Ulrik emerged.

“I died twice in there! We must go to Freegate to check.”

They backed out of Vigilant Patrol, which technically they had not yet exited despite their rambling and roaming, and ran to the office with the Trials desk. “Nine!” Tramda shouted, before looking around and lowering her voice. “Nine chances left on General Mummy.”

The possibilities outstripped the comprehension abilities of mere Rares. Quille Treten picked through the letters to distract his aching brain. “None left on Sandshaker, nine on Admiral Ilstru, none on Minister Tamerib . . . What did Admiral Ilstru do to these players?”

“Have a bad gear set. Poor guy. We can farm Mummy Coins though.”

“You cannot farm Mummy Coins. You'll all die.”

“My colleague, Saptres Muria . . .”

“That is my name, yes.”

“. . . is correct. At your levels, and with your equipment, General Mummy is an impossible challenge.”

“But Hyune, you'll help us out, won't you? Everyone needed your help to take on the first Trial, after all. We wouldn't think of doing it without you.”

Hyune Giling pushed up his glasses. “Certainly. I would be happy to assist, so long as you provide my equipment and agree to include me in the distribution of Mummy Coins. However, even with my personal intervention, I cannot recommend attempting clears at any level lower than 70.”

Tramda dumped a pile of green spears at his feet. “There. Pick out something nice. You can have Ulrik's crummy old amulet, too.”

“No he can't. Why did you say that? Are all lumans liars, or only the short ones? This amulet,” Ulrik declared as he presented his Mystic Amulet with the Nova gain on ally Nova effect to the world, “is the dream of every Reaper, the Holy Grail, the El Dorado, the Eclipse UR! I would sooner slay all of you than give it up! Actually, that sounds like fun regardless. Start running, Tramda.”

“Hey guys!” Ipons Ulsrada ran into the room with no respect for any ongoing conversation, which two years of experience had taught him not to hold. “I was sent to do Construction, and guess what? I managed to get the spot closest to the camera, even though Yutak Zvolo and Neur were there and neither one has an alt, although Neur's an Eclipse already and might not care, plus she's so hot she'll probably get one anyway.”

“I failed to guess a single word of that, I admit,” Leaznalo said.

“Public Service isn't bad, is it?” Burmin and others had come in too, behind a more charismatic, electrifying presence. “I was starting to get the hang of Firefighting. The next time I'm assigned there, I'll have that house out in no time.”

“You can't speed it up. You have to stay there for three hours.”

“Hush, Dennet. He's enjoying himself.”

“And I was enjoying my self by telling him how it is, but I can have fun other ways. I can't think of any right now.”

“Fun is for 70s. Secret fun for nobody outside this room. Cadmos, leave this room.”

“I haven't said anything yet. It seemed like nobody had noticed me, and I didn't want to interrupt.”

“Very good. But what's that? Oh no! I hear the cries of a small child who lost her doll! And a boy who still believes revenge is good! A hero is needed!”

“Really? I'd better get going. Talk to you later, Ulrik, Sindze U. Radalo, Quille Treten, Leaznalo, Evening Best . . . Wait, where's Evening Best?”

Ulrik shut the door in his wondering face and unveiled the secrets of mummies.