With that, the complete group ran up to the top of Freegate's walls as if the hindmost would get the last pick of the gear, which was indeed the case as Cloton explained from the front. “Normally we'd just make the Rare Reaper take the leftovers! Normality! Who needs it!” The competition lost some of its purity after that loot protocol explanation, since Ulrik dropped behind Vinnette while Cadmos pretended to have something in his shoe. A flimsy excuse. He wore boots.

From the top of the fortifications, one could see officers chase monsters back and forth tirelessly along the horizon. Not real officers, of course. Who would think that? Just a fun little graphical representation of Vigilant Patrol, the semi-idle mode that offered players an opportunity to get a little more out of all those surplus characters they had recruited, the ones content creators put in their groups as a challenge to drive viewer interest. Public Service served that same purpose, but the ceaseless growth in the rosters of long-term players as well as in their stocks of the junk that mode gave necessitated that an extra system be bolted on. In Vigilant Patrol, a developed group could rampage through infinite waves of enemies inspired by the scintillating story mode with a few alterations made for reasons of narrative integrity. Also, it had different kinds of junk. Still a waste of effort for slackers who cared nothing for the thrill of digging the occasional pearl from the oyster pile, but those people quit three days in, just after they finally finished rerolling.

Starclose Hill! Though unimpressive in topological terms, its status as the location where Part 2 of the story had its conclusion marked it as a place of honor and loot. “It's also the center of the world according to the beliefs of the neighboring countries. That's Kiffness and Lithness, where most of the centaurs live,” Cadmos explained.

Bel Felicitous Fasde adjusted his blueshades to emphasize his mathematical prowess. “You can say that about anywhere because we're on a globe. Apparently that was confirmed in some interview. I heard it in a video about free-to-play National Hunt setups. The enemy comes.” He raised his lens to emphasize his warpological prowess.

Experimental Guardians, Space Pirates, Followers. The designers gave up on the elemental system for the last stretch of Part 2 and made every enemy an Eclipse. Why not? The players did the same thing. Even FTPs threw their free event Hemts T. Elf and Dashers Christmas at all content without discrimination, to say nothing of any premium Jonathans Brightwater or Youls Sandshaker they happened to recruit. All but the unluckiest could eventually stumble on enough officers for a full Eclipse team, if not the four-Eclipses-plus-Sibyl setup so popular at the time.

The strength of that sort of group came from the convenience of never having to change it, but any assortment URs and most SRs with upgraded red, purple, or gold gear could meet the challenge of Part 2 Chapter 8 Vigilant Patrol regardless of elemental synergy. Bel Felicitous Fasde, for instance, came equipped with north of 30,000 Attack. Adamant automata cast in the shape of centaurs by the villainous Albennereon Fax disintegrated from the force of his initial Crashing Tempest, only the first of Bel's three active skills. Sure, Maelstrom Meditation did no damage and therefore was a pea under the cushions of content creators and forum haunters across the Commandment of Hero internetverse, and sure Bel struggled in the realm of public opinion because of it, but he endeadened enemies just the same.

Of course a Reaper had no stomach for losing to a Warper in a DPS contest. Ulrik brandished his keen scimitar. “Inferno Strike!” His blade slashed the foe even as his cry rent the heavens, and the Experimental Guardian responded by losing just enough of its HP to wish things had worked out otherwise. “I have a Mummy Sword,” he stated in answer to Cloton Zvolo's and Bel's puzzled looks.

Bel winced. “I'm very sorry to hear that. I wish I had known earlier. Wait. They give Rares Mummy sets now? Prosperity is the inheritance of every player, it seems.”

“Hold on. I need to consult with my associate about how to answer that without telling direct lies. That was my Part 3 resolution. Princess Melban!” The two two-stars scheduled a public response meeting for the next break between waves so as not to interrupt their moral support of the URs. Vinnette Melban delivered their joint statement at the appropriate time.

“We do have Mummy Swords . . . both of us . . .”

Bel winced again. “Ancient here.”

“Tasgaaaaaan!” Cloton wailed, but in an energetic sort of way much unlike that dreadful moment when the low-tierness of his Cloton Solo alt became undeniable. “But a Starclose set is the dream for Champions tired of putting down sawdust all day behind the rest of you classes.”

“Either that or Enzet,” Cadmos agreed. Such was the sad condition of most Champions, whose five skills and Nova that constituted their Skill Stars spent so much helium or whatever it is stars do on taunting or redirecting damage that little was left for the big damage enjoyed by Reapers and Warpers. If some Champion, Boxer Andit hypothetically, did hope to PS a little D, only by boosts to both Critical Rate and Effect could such a thing be achieved. It worked for Boxer Andit, both hypothetically and for really real, but neither Cadmos nor Cloton Zvolo wore a distressingly large boxing glove.

Ulrik raised his hand. “I have a question.”

Cadmos had an answer. “Yes, I genuinely do think a Starclose Sword would be better for you even if you would rather have Speed than Critical Effect. Even a Starclose Spear or Dagger would probably be an improvement.”

“I think we should look at some figures first,” Bel warned.

“Yeah, shut up, Cadmos. My question concerns high-rarity culture. Do SRs and URs talk about what equipment they want the entire time they're fighting?”

Puzzlement descended again on Bel, much as he insisted on descending from the gacha when players wanted to recruit more desirable officers. “Yes, of course.”

Cloton turned his back on the Space Pirates assaulting his person with laser cutlasses to no effect. “What else should we discuss? Strategy? We're young and we'll never lose!”

That overwhelming UR pep robbed Ulrik of all of his. Any officer could thrash Always Leveling Titan characters and enemies all day, as indeed he had, or score 240+ in Everyday Pin, as indeed Mentor Tendradius Pux had, but the unbounded possibilities of the pan-ludic milieu changed nothing inside Vigilant Patrol. Close to overcome by existential despair, he scheduled another meeting with the group's Medic. “Princess Melban. Our inferiority is unchanged. Or mine is. You've closed the gap a little. Congratulations on the buff again, by the way.”

“Thank you!”

“I can see only one future. A pathetic one. We've gotten just barely strong enough to take a hit or two. Therefore we have to follow these overstatted skillbags and do nothing but cart off the items they don't need. Or don't notice. Or are slow to pick up. In short, I think we should do idle mode a lot more, because I just realized that sounds great.”

“I think so too . . .”

Followers, who were regular guys armed with laser rifles! The Gramlin, a chubby monster thing that threw its dumb head at people in an attempt to damage the world that would never accept it! Cloton Zvolo and Bel Felicitous Fasde vaporized them without offering the tiniest acknowledgment they ever existed. Who could be satisfied by such soulless, industrialized farming techniques? Commandment of Hero officers and Commandment of Hero players, to name a couple relevant categories. Cadmos, however, preferred to contextualize the experience.

“Obviously Albennereon Fax led and equipped these Followers with weaponry from beyond our planet. What was never entirely clear to me was why people still followed him at this point. I don't mean that no one would have stuck with him after we kicked his underlings out of Freegate in Part 1. It's only that I'm not sure whether these are intended to be people so awed by his extraterrestrial technology that they're still sure of his victory or if they're zealous believers in his plan to create a new god. But Figro told me his plan in the story. I'm not sure how many other people knew about it.”

“Under 620 Defense on the boots probably isn't roll-worthy . . .” Cloton Zvolo mumbled. Bel Felicitous Fasde, for his part, browsed videos on how to cook meals from fantasy books with one hand while he lensed with the other.

Vinnette Melban poked Ulrik. He looked over and shook his head, she nodded, and that was that. “Very well. I don't do things grudgingly. Cadmos. Consider the Space Pirates. You already killed them. I was there, in a retrospective sort of way. Obviously these are space mercenaries he hired to replace them. That's why they know how to handle future weapons. They never imagined they'd be killed by primitive but handsome locals. Well? Do you dare go against my perfect inferences?”

“No, that's possible. But doesn't that explanation just kick EoS down the road a month? Figuratively, of course, ha ha. How is he able to contact off-planeteers and get them past the defense satellites so easily? Where does he get currency they would care about?”

“He's a scientist, so probably . . .” How often does a speaker start a sentence alongside a silent prayer that either his brain or some greater force will supply the ending before he gets to it? The consummation of that wish happens but rarely, but Ulrik was a Rare himself. “It's because of grant money. Recommendations for the finest research programs. Co-authorship! These are grad students, and we're handling them as roughly as that type deserves. Get a real job, eggheads.”

Unconventional interpretations of the story carried Cadmos, Ulrik, and Vinnette through the hardship of battle, while Cloton and Bel had an ocean of gear-related dreams to buoy them. Even so can many roads lead to one city and every new officer can be another street to Getting Paid City for the publisher. Speaking of destinations, there was the boss.

“The Starclose Guardian.” Cadmos pointed out the gigantic serpent that rested on thick coils of its own radiant silver body for the sake of any Rares in the audience who were used to chapters that ended with a ferocious battle against some dude with more HP than usual, or sometimes a whale wearing a pirate hat. Vinnette clapped and the URs began their assault, but Ulrik had both a question and negligible offensive capability.

“If that's the local guardian deity thing . . .”

“It is, Ulrik.”

“And the bad guy was constructing an artificial god that possessed enough power to subdue the entire universe . . .”

“He was, Ulrik.”

“Why didn't this dumb snake do anything about it?”

The tormented body of the boss dropped from still hands that a moment before had been bending it into a fleur-de-lis. Cadmos was paralyzed, not by any ability of the Starclose Guardian, though it did have one of those, but by plot shock. “I really can't imagine why it didn't show up in the battle, Ulrik. They had the model ready.”

The snake died before his crisis ended. “A dagger. Rares! Phweet!” Cloton whistled for the garbage disposal service, which hauled the Starclose Dagger away with the assurance such trash as that would never trouble him again.

And later, when Ulrik was in the Armory plowing all the resources he had into his first gold weapon, he made this sincere wish. “Fiery Haybren, if we do get a spinoff, I hope I'm in it. But I won't be. And Cadmos definitely will. Therefore I hope Bel Felicitous Fasde and Cloton Zvolo make it in. 5,032 Attack! And that's just the main stat!” That day, an angel got its wings. In Holy Legend Army. That happened frequently there. Back over at Commandment of Hero, a Rare broke 22,000 Attack for the first time in the game's history. As impressive as that was, one goal achieved is another goal conceived. “Attack Up 15% vs. centaurs. Is that a real substat? I'll stab Evening Best to determine what's real in this world.”

Ulrik skedaddled out of the Armory while the guard for that shift made a logbook entry. “Visitors: Some silver. Observations: The silvers have begun talking to themselves. Confinement is advised.” Castru put his pen down. “I hope we do get a spinoff soon. Our current society is in an unhealthy state. Everyone's beginning to lose it. Egad! Even I'm doing it now!”