Satoru did not log out right away.
The Salamander wandered through the arcades until, almost without noticing, he found himself back in the Town of Beginnings. The streets looked much as he remembered them, but the atmosphere could not have been more different.
Back then, even with the NPC musicians tirelessly playing cheerful fantasy tunes day and night, the swordsmen passing through town had rarely looked relaxed.
They walked fast, eyes fixed on their next objective, with no time to stop and enjoy the warm air. Their armor had been chosen for defense, their weapons for refinement level and performance. Appearance came second to whatever numbers might keep them alive.
The players around him now were in no such hurry. They strolled through the streets with bright hair and pointed ears, chatting about whatever had happened that day. Their outfits had clearly been chosen to flatter their avatars, fitted and stylish enough to make anyone look like an adventurer out of a story.
The elegant blades at their hips seemed almost decorative, symbols of the role they had chosen to play.
Shields were rare. Even a fashionable shield was still a broad, awkward thing, and watching someone defend patiently was never as exciting as seeing two blades flash through a rapid Sword Skill.
Satoru found it novel.
A little bittersweet, too.
As he passed groups laughing together, he became uncomfortably aware of how out of place he was. He felt like a veteran from another age dropped into a game built for people who had never needed to fear it.
His gaze shifted toward the fields beyond the northern gate.
That vast stretch of land was where they had first learned to fight. At night, the Night Plains had been far more dangerous.
And beyond them lay the Poison Forest.
That was where he had indirectly caused the death of his first player, all over a quest item. He had long since forgotten the schemer's name. What stayed with him was the sick NPC girl tied to the quest, forever cycling between recovery and relapse under the system's control, and the mother who never stopped caring for her.
Satoru looked toward the distant forest as if he might still see their crumbling little house.
They had been freed when the floating castle fell.
Freed through death.
The mother and daughter who existed in this reborn world were not the two he had known, no matter how identical their models, voices, and dialogue might be.
He started walking again.
The Night Plains held another memory. During a late-night hunt, he had badly underestimated an elite boss. Unable to shake its aggro, he came across a party of three players. Old instincts made the decision for him in an instant: he led the boss straight into them and let the aggro transfer.
The three players killed the boss.
The boss killed all three of them.
Satoru alone survived because he had already learned its attack patterns.
In any ordinary game, it would have been a familiar tactic. Redirect the monster, let two enemies wear each other down, and take whatever remained. He had done things like it often enough that the motion came naturally.
Then he watched those three people shatter.
The ease vanished.
All that remained was cold.
"Killed them."
He looked over the green plains and delivered the verdict without emotion.
Then he raised his eyes to the underside of the Second Floor.
Kizmel.
The dark elf knight who had seemed so alive.
"Her too."
The sanctuary she guarded had been destroyed once. So had the hidden ruins, her sister's grave by the lake, and the violet water that had framed her figure. He would never again accept the flask of herbal wine from her waist when she offered it.
Higher still were Didos, Laughing Coffin, and Heathcliff.
All dead.
Even the world that had imprisoned ten thousand people had, in the end, been killed by him.
That was how Satoru remembered it. He had no idea how others judged him. To Kikuoka, he was almost certainly still a murder suspect. Kayaba might have considered him the ideal player, or perhaps the ideal reader of the world he had written. Agil, Klein, and Saki might have seen him as the hero who saved six thousand lives.
None of it mattered.
The only thing he had gained was one person's recognition, one person's mercy, and even now, he had yet to fulfill the promise he had made in return.
When he looked back, those two years of struggle felt strangely empty. He had fought constantly, slept lightly even in safe zones, explored new areas day and night, studied every Skill and every parameter, and assembled possible paths to victory in his head.
He had stayed busy until there was no room left to think.
Yet after that farewell beneath the evening sky, all of it felt hollow.
Perhaps the others saw the reborn Aincrad differently. This time they could truly enjoy it. This time they could clear every floor. This time they could settle the regrets they had carried out of the old castle.
Satoru did not care.
This newer, freer castle had been raised from a copy of the ruins he had destroyed. Looking at it stirred little in him beyond the quiet ache of being reminded of someone who was no longer there.
Grief did not always strike at full force when a cherished presence disappeared. Sometimes the real pain came later, spread thin across all the ordinary days that followed.
When his parents died, Satoru had watched their funeral in silence. He had not screamed himself hoarse or cried until he collapsed. He had knelt before the black mourning cloth and white drapery, breathing in the heavy scent of incense while tears slipped down his face without him noticing.
He accepted that they were gone.
Learning how to live with it took much longer.
The pain arrived without warning. It waited in the half-empty carton of milk in the refrigerator, the cigarettes his father had left behind, the television still tuned to the channel his mother had last watched. It lived in the shirts she had folded and sorted the way she always did.
Sometimes he would sit alone in that silent house and feel as though he could not breathe. Moving anything meant disturbing the traces of the family that had lived there. Crying would bring no one to comfort him. Hunger would no longer fill the kitchen with the quiet sounds of someone cooking.
It was only much later, after he had grown used to an unmade bed, a table covered in ash and instant noodle cups, and the steady routine of paying rent and utilities, that he finally understood he had accepted it.
The wounds left by gentle people could be gentle too.
They did not break you all at once.
They simply stayed, aching softly for so long that you sometimes mistook the pain for remembrance.
"What a miserable thing."
He stood on the hill where he had first met the blonde girl. A stubborn solo player had been captured by one beautiful smile, and he had remained her captive ever since.
"Just standing here brings it all back."
With a tired smile, he reached automatically for a cigarette that did not exist in his virtual inventory, then let his hand fall.
He still wondered, sometimes, whether he had chosen correctly. What would have happened if he had become the boss of the Ninety-Ninth Floor, clad in the Blood Sword Demon Armor with only her beside him?
He could have killed every raiding party that came for them, over and over, until their bodies in the real world finally gave out.
It might not have been so bad.
But it would still have been a prison.
Only smaller.
The road he had chosen instead was wider and far less certain. Perhaps he would never see her again. Perhaps he would somehow seize a future for both of them.
"What am I supposed to do with that?" Satoru murmured. "I suppose all I can do is whatever remains within my reach."
He touched the corner of his eye, though the eye itself belonged to nothing more than a body built from numbers and software.
"I've rested long enough. If waiting won't bring me anything..."
The haze of memory slowly cleared. His expression changed.
"Then I'll carve a path out myself."
Alone on a hill that belonged only to his memories, the Salamander looked a little more like the solo player who had once hunted down every enemy in his path.
...
The Twenty-Fourth Floor of New Aincrad was a land of lakes and marshes. Its design resembled the old Sixty-First Floor and the lakeside city of Selmburg: one vast artificial island at the center of a lake, with long bridges reaching out to countless smaller islands.
Satoru flew low over the treetops, red wings spread behind him. He had experienced flight during the assault on the World Tree, but it had never become natural. In both SAO and GGO, he had been a straightforward assault fighter, whether armed with a sword or a gun. After a year away from flying, it took him some time to recover the feel for it.
A great deal had changed. The lower floors might have been copied almost exactly, but the differences grew more obvious the higher he went.
He did not mind.
Ruins were ruins. Let something new rise over them.
The memories were enough.
He accelerated, leaving a red trail behind him as he burst from the forest. A broad hill appeared ahead, crowned by an enormous tree whose branches spread in every direction. Beneath it, a crowd erupted into enthusiastic cheers.
Satoru slowed.
They were having fun. More fun than anyone in the old Aincrad could have dreamed of. Most gatherings he remembered had involved frontliners shouting at one another over strategy.
He checked the time.
It was probably around four in the afternoon outside. Too early to start dinner, while transferring back to GGO would mean at least half an hour of waiting and processing. It was an awkward stretch of time, and he had no habit of watching afternoon comedy shows by himself.
A festival, perhaps?
Some kind of performance?
He decided to stay until five, then log out and make dinner.
As he descended toward the crowd, a player came hurtling out of the sky with a scream. He struck the ground hard enough to throw up a cloud of dust and lay there stunned for several seconds before jerking upright.
"I surrender! I give up!"
So it was a duel.
A trumpet fanfare announced the end of the match, and another wave of applause rolled through the crowd.
"That's sixty-seven wins in a row! Is nobody going to stop her?"
Sixty-seven?
Curious despite himself, Satoru looked toward the winner.
A small figure drifted down through the sunlight filtering between the tree's branches. She seemed far too slight for someone who had just won sixty-seven consecutive duels. As she came closer, the details of her avatar emerged from the glare.
She was an Imp, with milky skin touched by violet and long, glossy hair that shone purple-black in the light. Obsidian-colored armor covered her chest, adorned with a small pendant, while a blue-violet blouse and skirt completed the outfit. A narrow black scabbard hung at her waist.
She spun once before landing neatly on her toes, lifted the edge of her skirt with one hand, and bowed like an actress at the end of a play. The male players answered with cheers and whistles.
The swordswoman straightened, beamed at the crowd, and flashed a triumphant V sign. With her dimples, small nose, and bright amethyst eyes, she was undeniably adorable.
A very cute avatar, Satoru judged with professional detachment.
Professional habit also made him wonder what the player behind it looked like, and whether the person was really a girl. He had yet to learn that ALO did not allow players to choose a different sex for their avatar.
The defeated swordsman got up, dusted himself off, and shook her hand before retreating into the audience.
The girl immediately turned back to the crowd.
"All right! Who's next?"
Her lively voice carried easily across the hill.
The crowd went silent.
"Anyone?"
Still no answer.
"Come on. Nobody?"
After sixty-seven consecutive victories, enthusiasm apparently had limits.
A few players at the front exchanged looks. Then, as if guided by the same survival instinct, the entire crowd took one step backward.
Satoru, who had been standing at the rear, did not move.
He was busy wondering whether the supermarket would still have discounted steak at this hour. He had already missed the lunch sale. Then there was the price of gasoline. Maybe a bicycle would be cheaper. An electric bicycle would be more practical, though at that point perhaps a small motorcycle made more sense...
The retreating crowd left him standing alone in the open.
The girl pointed at him.
"You there! The man in red!"
Satoru continued comparing fuel and maintenance costs in his head.
"Hey! Red armor!"
No response.
"Mister!"
The girl marched over until she stood directly in front of him.
Satoru finally blinked.
"Were you talking to me?"
"Who else would I be talking to?"
She looked up at him, then noticed his dark red armor. Her cheerful expression immediately tightened.
"Wait. That uniform... You're with one of those resource-farming guilds, aren't you?"
Satoru glanced down at the light armor Souji had given him. It was clearly a matched set rather than equipment assembled piece by piece, and a skilled player had put considerable work into it. He had already assumed it was standard guild gear.
"So one of the guild bosses finally decided to step in," the girl said, folding her arms.
She was trying to look hostile, but having to tilt her head so far back ruined most of the effect.
"Want to give it a try?"
Before Satoru could answer, the crowd found its courage.
"That's right! He must be strong if he gets to wear their uniform!"
"Go on, challenge her!"
"Or are you only brave when you've got numbers on your side?"
"There's another fight on the Twenty-Sixth Floor!"
"And somebody's been driving up the price of linen!"
The accusations quickly wandered away from anything that involved him.
Satoru pressed a hand to his forehead. Apparently, the farming guilds had made themselves obnoxious enough to sour everyone else's experience.
"You've got the wrong person. I'm not one of their officers. I'm not even..."
The girl turned toward the crowd with a bright smile.
"He says he doesn't want to fight."
"You've got two choices!" someone shouted. "Challenge her, or we'll challenge you!"
Satoru looked at the dense wall of eager faces around him and sighed.
"By challenge, you mean a duel?"
"Yep."
"And if I win, is there a prize?"
"My Original Sword Skill."
"I see."
Satoru lifted a hand before she could explain further.
He already knew what an Original Sword Skill was.
The OSS system allowed players to create and register Sword Skills of their own rather than relying entirely on the preset techniques inherited from SAO. To register one, however, the player first had to perform the full combination without system assistance and at a speed that seemed to require system assistance. Very few ever succeeded.
A registered technique could also be passed to another player through a Skill Tome. At present, tomes containing an OSS with more than five hits were said to be among the most valuable items in ALO.
None of that interested Satoru very much. Asking about the prize had been reflexive. Other people's Sword Skills were their business.
Still, anyone capable of creating an OSS was no amateur. The girl in front of him might be every bit as strong as the crowd claimed.
"Do we really have to do this?"
He scratched his head.
"It's been a while since I used a sword."
"You heard them. You absolutely have to."
She folded her arms again and put on a solemn face.
So he was taking the blame for Souji and the rest of the guild.
"All right. Let's fight."
His mild surrender delighted the crowd. Everyone hurried to claim a better view, though most of the cheering was still for the small, pretty swordswoman.
She and Satoru walked to the center of the clearing.
"Mind explaining the rules?"
"Magic and items are both allowed," she said. "I'm sure an important guild officer like you has plenty of Healing Crystals, so use as many as you want. Your people seem very fond of winning through logistics."
Then she tapped the hilt at her waist.
"I'll only be using this."
"I'll stick to Sword Skills too."
That was less a concession than a necessity. Satoru knew almost nothing about ALO's magic.
He ran his fingers over the one-handed sword that had come with Souji's equipment. Its refinement level was respectable, and the grip felt suspiciously comfortable in his hand. He preferred katanas and curved blades, yet the length and balance of this weapon suited him almost perfectly.
Surely Souji had not planned that far ahead.
"Oh, right," the girl said. "Ground or air?"
"Either is allowed?"
Satoru gave the sword a few slow practice swings. To the crowd, the motion probably looked like a beginner testing the weight of a hammer.
The girl giggled. Her confidence seemed genuine. Perhaps she truly believed the choice would make no difference.
"Ground, then."
"Fine. You can jump and dodge, but no using your wings to move."
Her shadowy wings dissolved as she dismissed them. Satoru folded away his own.
He hesitated.
"Are you sure?"
"About what?"
"Only using swords and staying on the ground both favor me."
He spoke without a trace of mockery.
"You might want to give yourself some kind of advantage."
For a moment, the girl and the entire crowd stared at him.
Then their expressions all seemed to say the same thing:
He really knows how to put on an act.
The girl studied him with renewed interest before smiling.
"No need. We'll do it this way."
"All right."
The conversation ended there. Satoru let the sword settle at his side and took several measured steps, feeling the ground beneath his boots and locating his center of gravity. He turned his torso once, planted his feet, and gave the girl a silent nod.
He had not lied. It had been a long time since he had fought another person seriously with a sword. His clash with the Demon Warriors had barely counted as a warm-up.
But swordsmanship had been carved too deeply into him to fade. The moment his hand closed around the hilt, old battles returned to his body. He did not know every Sword Skill added to New Aincrad, but he knew almost every technique from the original SAO.
Across from him, the girl narrowed her eyes.
Something in the unremarkable man before her had changed. His stance remained loose, yet there was no opening in it.
A window appeared between them.
Yuuki has challenged you.
Mode: Full Loss.
A quiet laugh escaped Satoru.
Duels in the old Aincrad had almost always used First Strike Mode or Half Loss Mode. Full Loss Mode was unthinkable when losing all your HP meant dying.
"It really is a different world."
He pressed Accept.
Yuuki VS Samuro.
His transferred account had retained the name Samuro from GGO.
As for his opponent...
Yuuki.
It was a common name, but somehow it suited her.
The duel window vanished, and a ten-second countdown took its place.
Yuuki drew a slender double-edged sword. The blade had the same translucent obsidian sheen as her armor, and its finish marked it as one of the finest weapons currently available. It was unquestionably superior to the standard sword in Satoru's hand.
That did not matter.
His fingers tightened around the hilt.
The last trace of idleness left his eyes.
Yuuki extended her sword into a middle guard and lowered her center of gravity. The posture closely resembled the opening stance of Sonic Leap, a One-Handed Straight Sword Skill from the original SAO.
Eight counters came to mind.
The third.
Yuuki's smile vanished as she felt the pressure behind his gaze and saw the subtle change in his blade.
The crowd's murmurs faded from Satoru's awareness.
Three.
Two.
One.
DUEL!
The signal sounded.
Both of them drove off the ground at almost the same instant, accelerating straight toward each other. The gap vanished in a breath. With matching cries, their blades shot forward on the same line, each carrying the speed and momentum of Sonic Leap.
Almost perfect, Satoru thought.
Steel crashed against steel with a deafening clang.
Yuuki's eyes widened.
He had met her with the exact same technique.