“Did you trouble yourself to confirm that Suppression battles are visible by third parties before enacting your plan?”

“No. They are though.”

“Yes, they are indeed.” Hyune Giling pushed up his glasses and ran a Basilisk through. The Enzet coast kind of Basilisk, not the sacrifice for Adigail Zem's Nova kind. “However, your strategizing is done on an unsound basis if done without collecting information such as that beforehand.”

“Dennet is right now, at this very moment, watching Hilliarde Feablas grind dragons into soup he can sell at reasonable prices from a street cart in Perandra Splendida, and it isn't because of any strategizing by Strategists. It's because of one thing: vitality and optimism! You want to correct me because those are two things, but they add up to one enviable Inferno.”

“A ridiculous argument comes out of Ulrik's mouth, not that anyone's surprised. Rake him over the coals, Hyune.”

“Hm.” Hyune Giling opened his book and began reading. “No, Reginald. His reasoning is flawless. I knew that from the beginning of course, but was unsure how deeply he had considered matters. I have no more concerns.”

“I win again. However. Reginald. You seem full of beans and hatred today. Are you trying to take my place as an aggressive but lovable Reaper?”

Reginald consulted his clipboard. “Oh, it's nothing personal. I figured if Hyune broke down your confidence, you would seek validation elsewhere, and then I could sign you up for a session. That's all.”

“As long as it's nothing unseemly.”

“Reginald, I approve of your methods, but I think they might work better if you didn't explain them to the victim. Customer. Friend? Let's go with officer.”

The soft and hard, grassy and rocky coast of Enzet welcomed five Rares no less readily than four Rares and a Super Rare. Clyse in front, Vinnette Melban in back, and Ulrik, Reginald, and Hyune Giling in the middle trampled over the local wildlife as they talked.

“In any case, now that we've arrived, we have to consider the context of the story events in this area.”

“Space pirate, fleet, robot sharks.”

Reginald looked up from his clipboard and blinked. “Ulrik? You know this chapter's plot?”

“Does any officer not in all the world?”

“I, for one, would appreciate a more thorough explanation.” Since Hyune was the first officer ever to say that, Reginald accommodated him with the eagerness of a robot shark coming on to the land to harass a guy with red hair and a sword.

“This fight is harder than I remember,” Ulrik said after he dug his head out of the ground.

Crying over spilt Rhizis did nothing to make the fight go faster, though Ulrik kept it up anyway. Vinnette Melban at least moved on from the good old days and Regened away in the present with a smile on her face.

The battle was long with two Infernos taking up slots, so long that the Rares, as much as they would rather not, had to contemplate the possibility that they were near the limit of their capabilities, at least without extensive farming of red, purple, or gold sets.

“We must contemplate the possibility that we are near the limit of our capabilities.”

“I'd really rather not right now, Hyune. Pardon me if that sounds dismissive.”

“At least . . . we reached stages with red equipment . . .”

They buried all those bitter reflections and tenuous consolations along with the Alben Shark and moved on to the colosseum. “The hero made it to the capital, where all public business had been put on hold during the Enzet Games.” Reginald paused to check if Ulrik intended to ruin his summary, and seeing him juggling his scimitar with nothing else on his mind, continued. “The winner is allowed to petition the state for a boon, so he entered the tournament in the hope of warning them about Morado Ven's true intentions and getting assistance in his pursuit of Albennereon Fax.”

“Idiot. He should have asked to do better in popularity polls.”

“I doubt Enzet has that level of influence.” Hyune and Ulrik then congratulated each other over their achievements in the field of Cadmos-insulting, a fertile field indeed. None of that stopped them from fighting Gladiators, though the Speed Down from the nets did a little bit.

Unlike in previous excursions, that party advanced beyond the Gladiators to fight Gladiator Bear, a bear with a net and a sword. “We're already at the final boss?” Clyse asked. “No, chapters can't be that short, can they?”

“Tournament arcs demand a large cast of combatants. The more popular ones can be reused as characters later.” Hyune tapped a page. “A most productive convention.”

“Yeah, Lynissia debuted here for example. Crown After Crown too, but he hasn't appeared in the gacha yet,” Reginald said.

“Who got replaced by a bear?”

“Nobody.”

“Then why don't we have the bear yet? Put him in!” Ulrik demanded with Vinnette and Reginald nodding in agreement. His fury increased his damage by 33% and his Nova Growth by 20%, unless that had something to do with Gladiator Bear's Quakeosity. Hyune Giling was similarly incensed, or else the midboss continued being a Quake, but either way the Bear died much faster than the Shark. “See? Even his HP is Rare-like. The gacha can make him one of us easily.”

“Wouldn't they have to put in another Flood, Storm, and Inferno if they did that?” Clyse asked.

“Oh no. How horrible.” Ulrik cleared his throat that almost choked, unaccustomed to deadpan delivery. “Who dares face us now? Show yourselves!” He pointed his scimitar forward and waited. “My timing! Hold on, I'll try that again. Show yourselves!”

Buman Freelances rushed into the pit and dressed up the proceedings with a little style and a bit of flash. Their spears were long, their coats thoroughly buttoned, and their hats feathered. They were equally adept on battlefields, besieged walls, and the dance floor, which was bad news for their dance partners judging by that day's events. They came in like a Storm and went out like a jumble of materials used for increasing the levels of officers and improving their equipment in preparation for tougher battles.

“Isn't that a Token in there? Which class needs those again?”

The answer to Clyse's question came before she finished its asking in the form of an agitated Reaper jumping on the tiny round thingy and shoving it inside his tunic while yelling, “Skills! Skills! Skills!”

After a quick vote with a 4-1 result, the Rares cleared the next several waves and moved on instead of staying put to farm Tokens forever. If nothing else, they wanted to see who replaced Lynissia. Bel Felicitous Fasde, perhaps.

“A cruel trap,” Hyune Giling said when the next midboss appeared. “Forcing us to go against our own dear comrade.”

“How could you do this, Ulrik? After everything we've been through together!”

“Oh no . . . how can I . . .”

Reginald shook his head and said nothing.

“Am I just a scimitar to you idiots? He has a completely different fashion sense! And a boss-sized lifebar that absolutely does not say 'Ulrik' in any language I know!”

“It reads 'Doveskan Blade,' and you do hail from Dovesk, after all.” Hyune Giling closed his book and pushed up his glasses. “As to your question, the answer is yes.”

“It's true that enemy doesn't resemble somebody's attempt to draw Cadmos after hearing a description. One possibility is that he's the real Ulrik and we've been traveling with an impostor all this time,” suggested Reginald.

“He looks a lot more like a Doveskan Fighter than I look like Cadmos. Because he is one! With more HP! But he lacks something crucial, which, to be clear, is a name. Inferno Strike!'

“They've engaged in melee. Now there's no hope of telling which one is which! Oh well. Routine Inspection!”

The tearful battle began, and then it ended. The hostile Ulrik shared an elemental affinity with Lynissia for some reason, and the Buman Freelances for that matter, to Clyse's satisfaction. His offensive capabilities were hampered by having no more of a Nova than Lynissia did when she first appeared. “There's no way this boss will be recruitable any time soon,” players said. “She's clearly not done yet.” Well. When will humans learn that expectations and patterns are things they invented for fun while huddling around crackling fires for refuge from the ominous night?

The Rares mourned their fallen comrade while some stranger stood nearby and gave them all the finger. Then centaurs with javelins called Centaur Wanderers entered the arena and the officers forgot about everything that happened more than one-fifth of a second ago, for battle forgives no lapses in concentration. Clyse in particular needed to concentrate on delicate maneuvers such as not Taunting and running in circles while a band of four-legged Infernos chased her around.

“Help!”

“I'm warping as frequently as I can with this Speed, Clyse. Be patient.”

“Tell that to my HP!”

“My Skill Star is almost full. I will use it to turn all this sand into glass.”

“Great! How will that help me?”

“Your resting place will look awesome.”

“Look, I'm sorry about earlier, chide me if I'm telling a fib. We were just having a little fun, but I could really use your help right now. Eep!”

“I understand. I'll try to hit some of them too! Flames of Dovesk!” Ulrik crouched and slung his flames as low across the pit's surface as he could manage. The fire wave spread out, leaving glass and injured horse ankles behind it just as he had planned.

“A splendid tableau. The ground merges in its reflection the glory of the heavens and the savagery of the strife between the short-lived, short-sighted mortals of the world below.” Hyune Giling surveyed the scene. “In addition, some of the enemies are falling over.”

“Heehee!”

“Ha ha ha!”

The hooves of the Centaur Wanderers became confused by the sudden terrain change, and some kept their owners upright only after a frenzied struggle while others failed in the effort altogether. “I want everyone to know I did not actually predict that would help Clyse. I was just bored.”

“Thank you for your honesty as well as for saving me, Ulrik.”

“The main advantage that results from some of them falling over is that I can't see their undercarriage reflected in the ground. Hey Clyse, do you suppose we can start a fashion trend of centaur clothes that wrap all the way around?”

“It's possible if we can get a trendsetter to wear them. The sad thing is, the only centaur I know personally is Evening Best.”

“Who?”

The Rares cleaned up the arena without further incident, since the Centaur Wanderers had not merged their intellects into some sort of collective or hivemind that could transmit warnings and the knack of navigating the new terrain. Some waves later, the final opponent entered, which was a guy with a scythe and a big health bar that said Prize Harvester.

“The finals were between the hero and Crown After Crown. He wields a scythe too, and it escapes me why they decided not to replace him with a generic centaur,” Reginald said.

“The art department's leg budget ran out? Oh, he's an Eclipse. Promotional Campaign!”

“Was Crown After Crown a Reaper? Observe how quickly his substitute's star fills. We must prepare to suffer a Nova.”

“Prepare what?” Ulrik thought and looked around. “Princess Melban, hold your Nova to heal us after his. That's my only idea.”

“It's a good one!”

“Thanks. Oof!”

The Prize Harvester activated Competition Remover, which shared its name with Crown After Crown's Nova, but not its animation. The replacement midboss dashed around and hit everybody with a scythe in a manner visually unimpressive but devastating mechanically to Rares.

“That hurt! Emergency Checkup!”

“I'm not up to half health after Vinnette's Nova? We're in a bad situation. Can someone think of a plan? Hyune? Ulrik?”

“The Reaper code demands I not stop a reaping in progress except with my own reaping.”

“Don't be concerned.” Hyune raised a finger to his glasses. “Our Phoenix status will save us once.”

“You don't get to push up your glasses for that! Reginald? Vinnette?”

“My critical chance increases when my health drops below half. Will that help?”

“Back into the hallway . . .”

“What do you mean? Oh, right.” Clyse ran to the pit entrance through which the Rares had not passed to reach the games. It had been placed there for decorative purposes only, but function follows form, as the saying can go when convenient.

“Certainly a scythe cannot be considered the weapon of choice in such an environment,” Hyune said as the boss strained to strike them but spewed sparks through the hallway instead as its scythe scraped the sides. “His Nova is subject to no such limitation, I must remind you.”

“Nova? You mean that attack that charges up when he hits us? How is he going to do that? Stop scowling, Ulrik.”

“This might go against our creed. I have to consult the other Reapers. But suppose they censure me when I do. Never mind then!” Ulrik set aside his doubts for the sake of his friends and, more importantly, himself. His scimitar wanted to slash, but quick pokes worked just as well.

With the battle trivialized, the Rares first decided what to name their new method (“Operation Vinvin”), and second conducted experiments in the field of seeing how light their pokes could be and still do damage. A surprising result emerged that the answer changed if they said “Uh!” or “Eiyah!” during the attack.

They exhausted testable ideas far faster than the midboss's HP bars, after which they stabbed without restraint while discussing how much more damage Count Poitnem would do and whether there should be a new element with advantage over Eclipse, and if so, the best name for it.

“Nova,” Ulrik said. “Wait. No.”

“Obviously Full Moon.”

“That's two words, and that ruins the symmetry,” Clyse objected.

“Very well.” Hyune pushed up his glasses. “Fullmoon.”

“Genius!”

“I want to be a Fullmoon!”

“Watch out, Cadmos. Fullmoons are coming.”

“How romantic . . .”

“Lanmaran Lash! That's another boss terminated. Our fortunes sure have changed, haven't they?” Reginald picked up a Material Facsimile left for the victors. “Remember fighting over these? Now nobody wants them.”

“Wrong again, Reginald. I want it. The reason? To safeguard until the bear becomes one of our peers.”

Reginald fumbled to grab his clipboard after he dropped it in surprise. “You're right! Entirely correct. Here, take the Facsimile and guard it sedulously.”

“I don't know what that means, but I will.” Ulrik and Reginald nodded at each other curtly, with the respect of one warrior for another.