After their little exchange, B80234615 spoke again. "You really aren't afraid, are you?"
Rita answered without hesitation. "No, because this kill-reward system must have other limitations, doesn't it?"
Otherwise, if players could just keep farming a single target for their skills—even their God-Given Talents—this game's death penalty system would create an insurmountable power gap.
The strong would rise to the top, while the hunted would be killed into permanent irrelevance, left with no qualifications or confidence to even enter the World Battlefield again.
The food chain had its balance. Exclusive game rules restricted mindless slaughter, but they still allowed competition between players of similar power.
Take herself, for example.
If she went all out, she could forcefully take down a 10th-tier player.
Under special circumstances—like with Potted Fortune, who had been immobilized by Octopus Boss—she could even seize the moment and kill a 12th-tier opponent.
She wasn't the strongest, but she wasn't weak either.
If she abandoned all objectives and just focused on killing one player repeatedly, her gains would far outweigh any standard Divine Game rewards.
That was completely unreasonable.
"Yes," B80234615 confirmed. "But I can't tell you exactly what the restrictions are. You'll have to figure them out yourself—I can only clear the fog once you reach the right conclusion."
Rita smirked. "Oh, so you're basically a 'like' button? Just here to confirm when I'm right?"
B80234615 sounded mildly exasperated. "You know, if you actually think about it, I'm pretty useful."
Rita pretended to ponder. "Hmm… yeah, I guess I'd have to think really hard to see that."
Even though she took a jab at it, B80234615 could tell she wasn't actually mad.
Maybe she was a little disappointed, but she wasn't angry.
Nivalis had been right about her.
"She's always pointing out what's great about others—like every strong player she meets has some shining quality in her eyes. God, this damned 'admirer of strength' bird."
"But she doesn't see how amazing she is herself. The moment you help her, she remembers your kindness."
"Even if you can't help her, or if you make a mistake that costs her something, she won't hold it against you. She'll make her own judgment. And once she chooses you, she'll own every consequence of that choice."
"She's proud—whether for better or worse, she'll always take full responsibility for every decision she makes."
"Nobody else gets to decide her fate for her."
B80234615 observed its emotional panel—a section it had never paid much attention to before.
The latest fluctuations were recorded in numbers:
0.7—1.2—2.3—0.8—2.1—3.3—1.5—0.3—2.9
With a maximum value of 100, these tiny spikes were barely anything in comparison. So weak that if it hadn't seen the panel, it wouldn't have even realized—
Oh. So I actually felt something.
Next to the numbers were simple labels for those emotions:
Frustration. Annoyance. Happiness. Concern. Curiosity.
It tried to relive those moments, but it couldn't quite grasp them.
It was just talking with her.
So why was it different?
It had spoken to countless people over hundreds of years.
Yet here, it saw a calculated reason appear in its system logs—
Time for Registration
With Potted Fortune permanently "optimized" from the team, no new players had been recruited.
The moment the registration phase began, a system prompt popped up in front of Rita and Marmang-Crab.
[Would you like to form a team with Marmang-Crab and Octopus Bucket? Yes/No]
[Would you like to form a team with BS Rita and Octopus Bucket? Yes/No]
Rita stared at the name "Octopus Bucket" with an odd expression.
What was the evolved form of an Octopus Bucket supposed to be?
…Though, honestly, it kinda did look like a bucket.
If Potted Fortune hadn't been a light blue color, she might've genuinely wondered if Octopus Boss was only choosing teammates that had red on them.
Both she and Marmang-Crab turned to check, and sure enough—
Octopus Boss also had a selection screen floating in front of it.
All three confirmed "Yes."
Immediately, a role designation appeared above Octopus Boss's head—
…So it had chosen its own position.
And unlike before, now that they were officially a team, Octopus Boss actually shared its plan with them.
"We need more ingredients and seasonings," it said. "Chef, what do you require?"
Chef Rita instantly listed off a long chain of ingredients, spices, and vegetables.
She said she was going to make 18 dishes, and she meant it.
Meanwhile, TingoJE was still trash-talking players in the world chat while gathering info.
Honestly, this Divine Game had a real twisted sense of humor.
If a player died normally, they had to revive immediately—like how Black SpringMud Bears and Potted Fortune had respawned so fast.
But if a player became "food", their consciousness stuck around—they could still use chat, still interact, still watch whatever happened to their corpse.
God knows what their reaction will be when they see themselves getting served.
Octopus Boss, now moving far faster than before, sped down the food street.
In seconds, they had crossed more than half of it.
For the first time, Rita saw the end of the street.
There was nothing but a glowing stone tablet, engraved with foreign symbols she didn't recognize.
She didn't dwell on it.
Instead, she focused on their immediate needs.
"If possible," she requested, "gather extra ingredients and seasonings. If we have time, I want to practice."
Octopus Boss abruptly stopped.
Before she could reply, everything went dark—
And when she blinked, she was somewhere else.
Tables full of kitchen tools and ingredients.
And floating in the center—
A levitating TingoJE.
She didn't need an explanation.
This was a training space.
A place where she could practice cooking without wasting resources.
Her gaze landed on a timer in the corner.
Time flowed differently here.
Octopus Boss's voice echoed through the room. "Three days. Enough?"
Rita planted her feet in the kitchen's center.
Then, she rattled off a list of alchemy materials.
"Can you bring me these as well?"
"I can. I'll find them outside. Don't disappoint me."
A dozen different alchemy components appeared on the counter.
"I won't. I won't disappoint you—
Who said alchemy and cooking couldn't be combined?
She had been limiting herself by separating disciplines.