"Pull up a chair!" said Mister Best in a convivial voice. "As is usually Best Practice, we're doing the After-Action Review. Everybody's contribution, everybody's skill use to the extent that you're willing to comment, everybody's level-ups, everybody's attributes. Secrecy is allowed, but not expected. Am I forgetting anything?"

  Earnest piped up. "Everyone's very proud of you," he said.

  "Yes," Mister Best confirmed. "That. An excellent showing, Dalliance." He gestured to their seats. "Before we get to anything else, since the two of you have just arrived: my condolences about young Master Pants."

  Dalliance stood awkwardly, while Circe just slid into her desk.

  Mister Best clapped his hands together and rubbed them briskly. He was clearly unhappy, but projecting confidence to make up for it. "Next on the agenda, then. I wanted to give you the opportunity to state where you spent your experience points."

  "I increased my Wit," said Dalliance. "But I still have another point to spend. I'm debating."

  In fact, he had five. Just the right number for another rank of Wit. Or . . . one more rank of Grit, to save himself a beating. Or worse for Whimsy.

  "Based on your performance," said Effie, "you might consider Agility next. You were fast, but you could be faster. And if you're going to use a bow . . . "

  "No harm in banking it for now," said Mister Best, sensing his indecision. "And Circuitous Mallow?"

  "I can't afford the next rank of Spirit," she said. "I'm banking it."

  "You should have, at minimum, received four points. Am I correct?" asked Mister Best, looking back at Dalliance.

  "I'm afraid not," said Dalliance. Internally, he reviewed the facts. Apparently, the System didn't consider him to have taken part in the killing of the two goblins struck by lightning in the courtyard. However, it did partially credit him for the death of the hobgoblin. That had been a surprise—and overflow. His bank, which could only hold five points of experience, had been suffused with eight. The last points had automatically gone into Might and Spirit, pushing his bank to six, before his recent Wit investment had bumped it to seven. There was really no rush to invest the points he had remaining. But.

  "I suppose a point in Agility would be a good idea," he said reluctantly. He would have to spend it there eventually, and it would help cover his bases with Da if it looked like he’d overflowed into a physical stat. And then he wouldn’t feel so bad for upgrading Grit, since he couldn’t afford Wit anymore. Two points left.

  But . . . if he went home without spending them, his Da would probably MAKE him invest them.

  Reluctantly, he invested two ranks into Charm. “And Charm,” he said. “For my bank.”

  "Very good," said Mister Best. He wrote it on the board: Agility+ and Charm+ for Dalliance.

  "There's a reason I'm doing this," he said, turning back to the class. "It's important for your team to have some idea of your capabilities. You, Dalliance, are capable of detecting enemies and their skills, and you can dodge arrows. I will not spoil the surprise for your classmates, but I will say you had excellent taste in choosing that skill. However, when we're doing an after-action analysis, that's not all we focus on. Skill usage. Quick hands—who noticed who doing what? It's all going up on the board."

  Dalliance’s hand was up first, to his own surprise. "Matters got Lackey to safety," he reported. "And the oth . . . Prudence? She got me. Safe, I mean."

  Prudence blushed slightly, and Dalliance found himself avoiding her gaze.

  Mister Best nodded. "Yes, very commendable, both of you."

  "Charity shot me," Sterling complained drolly. "Fired all seven of her arrows, and the only thing she hit was me."

  "Goblin archers are known to be very difficult to shoot, indeed," said Mister Best, eyeing Dalliance again. "And I will be covering the topic of 'Friendly Fire' later. Do not let me forget."

  Dalliance took his seat, his recently healed hip aching from the contact with the cold wood of the heavy desk.

  Charity remained silent, refusing to call out Sterling for ignoring the warning that the goblins were underground. Effluvia, however, had no such reservations and did so with evident relish.

  "I stabbed it," Sterling said defensively. "And how was I supposed to know Dalliance could see through the dirt?"

  "I can't see through dirt," Dalliance corrected him quickly, but was ignored.

  "Now, now," Mister Best interjected. "We have agreed to respect one another's privacy. There are good reasons we don't just go around looking at everyone's skill sheets. Very good, very old reasons."

  Prudence's voice cut through the discussion. "You should talk about traps, too," she said, her tone brooking no dissent, not that she found any.

  Mister Best's expression had softened at her words. "Poor young Master Pants," he commiserated. "Yes. Of course. We will."

  "For those of you who count yourselves his friends," Mister Best continued, "you will be happy to know that young Master Lackey has been pronounced stable and should not sustain permanent injury."

  Civility snickered. "And here I thought we'd seen the end of the Lackey line."

  "We are in mixed company, Mister Matters," Mister Best reminded him, his voice firm. "Let us keep the conversation suitable for common discourse."

  “In the end, Sterling did lead us to victory,” said Prudence loyally. “He stood between us and the goblins the whole time.”

  “Is this affecting our grade?” asked Dalliance.

  “Everything does,” said Mister Best mildly. “But I suppose I should get around to discussing grades.”

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  "In the coming days," said Mister Best, his voice cutting through the quiet room, "I anticipate some challenges with this class that I have not generally run into, as we are divided on an important matter. And I regret to say the untimely loss of Mister Pants is not what I am referring to."

  He let that sink in, his gaze sweeping over the students. "Children, if the danger were not real, the System would not have allowed you to gain points in the races and games before the Hunt. The gods made this system to enable us to survive what is coming. For those of you who want to know more about the theology behind that, may I recommend Miss Charity Troubles? She has plans to be a future scholar of theology, and will be able to tell you more than I.

  "What I do know is this: this system punishes the rapid acquisition of power."

  A faint scoff came from Sterling’s desk. Mister Best’s eyes narrowed slightly.

  "That’s not entirely true," Charity said quietly.

  Mister Best rounded on her desk. “I was just talking you up,” he complained, “And then you had to say something foolish.”

  Mister Best raised a finger. "Let me be precise. To say the system punishes rapid acquisition of power is broadly true, from a viewpoint relative to steady acquisition of power. The system doesn’t punish acquisition of power from a viewpoint relative to non-acquisition." He sighed, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. "I hate that you made me say that. The more strength you get, the more rapidly you can gain power, and the more rapidly you gain power, the more rapidly you Tier-Up and experience the diminishing returns for experience points at higher tiers, until you are effectively frozen in place. In counterpoint, the more wisdom you pursue, the more control you have over your progression, but the more time it takes to progress. Balancing both is the key."

  He paused, seeing a hand. "I know what you’d like to say, but put your hand down, Mister Worth. I will not be discussing your father’s skills and stats. That would not be my place, or yours, to do in public. The balance is key," he repeated, gesturing toward Dalliance. "Young Dalliance here experienced, I imagine, a couple of points of overflow from his recent Blessing, and his reaction was to put a point in Charm to increase his ability to bank points in the future. He is adapting. Now! Some common points of confusion: There would, in theory, be nothing wrong with a single-attribute build, except that the System does not seem to allow it. Why? Ask the theologians. Ask the gods. The System does not act like an ideal system designed to quickly and efficiently turn us into weapons. We must, therefore, deduce that that was not its sole purpose."

  He held up a hand to forestall another interruption. "Put your hand down, Miss Troubles, I am getting to my point. Regardless of the original purpose of the System, we can observe its constraints. And in System Studies, we will be considering what, if any, means lie within our grasp to subvert those limitations. However, in the end, unless one of you plans to donate a life’s wages to the priests for a 'clean slate,' the fact remains that we work within the bounds of the possible."

  Charity opened her mouth to speak, but he raised his voice, crowing loudly over her attempt. "And those eleven of you which attended the hunt have a better grasp of the possible than the other five! And that, Miss Charity, is what I had been building up to. Now, I will happily cede the floor so you may tell me where I am wrong."

  She stared at him, taken aback. "Oh," she said. "I . . . don't think you are wrong. I'm sorry." A little flush crept up her face.

  "Very well. So," he said, turning back to the class, rubbing his hands together. "Now you’ll be wondering who is the strongest in the class. And I want to give you a bitter truth: the strongest person in this room is still me. Followed by Miss Early, due to the benefit of her magic, followed by Mister Worth, due to the benefit of his specialized equipment. One does not ascend overnight."

  "What you will have seen, those of you who competed," Mister Best began, his gaze sweeping the room, "and what you will have to take my word on, for those of you who were skiving at home or otherwise engaged . . . " He gave a pointed nod to his daughter, Morality, who was clearly affronted at being too young to participate, an attitude with which Dalliance could no longer quite relate. "You would have noticed a startling correlation between the quality of someone’s gear and their ability to hew down the foe.

  "We are a tool-using species for a reason," Mister Best stated, his voice taking on the familiar cadence of a lecture. "And the reason is that tools are the Best way forward. I, in this class, shall emphasize that." A small smile touched his lips as he saw the classroom full of groans. “Then let us break the hunt’s results down. Three goblins fell to spells. Spells are a tool. We are harnessing mana, something outside of ourselves, to do work. However, spells are a difficult and expensive tool to acquire. We should look elsewhere for that reason."

  His eyes landed directly on Dalliance. "And for that reason, Dalliance, I’m afraid I’m going to have to focus on you."

  Dalliance was aware that his face had fallen into a frown. There was no helping it; Mister Best was on a roll.

  "Of the four goblins killed," he said, "one was killed with a tool any of you can aspire to wield." He picked a simple hunter's bow up off his desk; he had come prepared. "Sinew, wood, glue. This one is nice and has a horn inlay. What do these materials have in common?"

  He paused, looking expectantly at the class. After a moment, Dalliance spoke. "They are non-magical."

  "You raise your hand before speaking, Mister Rather," Mister Best said primly, "however, you are correct. What else?"

  "They’re all cheap shit," blurted Earnest, who also had forgotten to raise his hand.

  "The next student who fails to raise their hand will wear the dunce cap," Mister Best warned, his tone edged. "However, you are also correct. They are inexpensive. A sword, such as the one Mister Worth wears on his hip so proudly, is not so expensive." A few students murmured. "It is worth, perhaps, the same as a cow." That was pretty expensive in Dalliance’s head, but he could see the looks among some of the less well-traveled in class; Charity, notably, was completely unsurprised.

  "Whereas the armor required to go into battle with such a thing," Mister Best continued, "may cost as much as a house." That raised some eyebrows. "With these tools, your humble F-Tier classmate could plausibly stand a fighting chance against a C-Tier martial artist who was himself unarmed. We make tools for a reason."

  He placed the bow back on the desk. "And the best tools are chosen for their availability. Which means that of all the tools I have mentioned—magic, armor, swords, and bows—the bow is the best tool by far. It isn’t even a contest. For similar reasons, the spear is better than the bow, and the club is better than the spear. And yet, in this circumstance, availability and scalability failed to have the same impact as quality. And unfortunately, this is often true in the real world as well. The broader world, I should say."

  “And thus we arrive at your first class assignment: Arm yourselves. The change in your performance, or your performance versus the baseline, will be the metric by which you shall receive your first Systems Studies grades. Yes, Mister Worth, I’m aware how much difficulty you will have raising the quality of your weapon. Hand down.”

  “As for those of you who went on your first hunt, congratulations: You have received a Passing grade. There are no merit marks for a first hunt—courage is proof enough of merit for someone untested, and on that front, you all performed splendidly. For those of you who did not, I dearly hope none of you were [Pupils]?”

  Three heads shaken.

  “For the best. You’d have failed out—there’s no excuses for missing the Hunt. It’s not my Hunt, understand: it’s the King’s Hunt. I don’t make the rules, nor do I agree with the whole of the practice. Yet here we are.”

  He encompassed the class with a gesture. The missing desk was a gap-toothed hole in the furniture arrangement.

  “I regret to say that we must ‘make do’. There is one upside, however, at least from your perspective: no homework. Other than, of course, the assignment.”

  The unblooded students perked up at that. The others were still looking at the empty spot the desk had been, or, in Woebegone’s case, staring into space.

  “Ta.” he said drolly. “With that, let’s break for brunch.”