That’s when I noticed that three players from the raid were coming this way. At first, I assumed they were coming to thank and congratulate Nezha, but their faces were hard. After examining the tall man in front with the broadsword, I finally realized why. This man, now wearing a breastplate over the blue doubly of Lind’s group, was none other than Shivata, the man who’d asked Nezha to upgrade his sword five days ago. Next to him was another man in blue, and the third wore the green of Kibaou’s team. They were all scowling.
Shivata pulled up in front of the Nezha and growled, “You re the blacksmith who was working in Urbus and Taran just a few days ago, aren’t you?”
“...Yes,” Nezha replied.
“Why did you switch to a fighter? And how’d you get that rare weapon? It’s a drop-only item, isn’t it? Did you make that much money from smithing?”
Oh, no.
Shivata’s tone of voice said that he already suspected Nezha of shady dealing. Even if he didn’t have a clue about the weapon switching trick, he was clearly guessing that some kind of foul play had occurred.
In truth, Nezha’s chakram was a rare weapon, but not particularly valuable. After all, it required both the Throwing Knives supplementary skill and the Martial Arts extra skill to use. But explaining all of that wouldn’t remove the suspicion from Shivata’s mind.
Eventually, all of the celebrating players fell silent, including Lind, Kibaou, and the Legend Braves, watching this new turn of events. Most had looks of grave concern, but even at a distance, the panic and tension on the faces of the Legend Braves was written plain as day.
In the moment, neither I nor Asuna knew what to do.
It would be easy to speak up and say that I gave him that chakram. But was deflecting the brunt of Shivata’s anger and forcing him to back down really the right choice? It was undeniable truth that Nezha had seized Shivata’s precious, treasured Stout Blade and broken a spent weapon in exchange.
Shivata used all of his willpower to control himself at that moment. He left without insulting or blaming Nezha. The broadsword he wore now was two ranks below his old Stout Blade. Shivata had done his best to power it up in the five days between then and now, and had managed to survive through this terrible battle. Did we really have the right to trick him again, to lead him way from the truth?
Nezha sidestepped my indecision entirely. He laid his chakram on the ground and got down on his knees, then pressed his hands to the ground and lowered his head.
“I deceived you, Shivata, and the two others with you. I switched out your swords before attempting to upgrade them, replacing them with spent weapons that I broke instead.”
The coliseum was full of a silence even heavier than the one before the battle, ear-piercing and thick.
Sword Art Online had an astonishing system of recreating players’ emotions on their virtual avatars, but if there was one glaring weakness, it was a tendency to exaggerate for effect. I hadn’t seen it for myself, but from what others said, it took very little time for sadness to manifest as tears. A happy feeling translated to a wide smile, and anger was represented by a reddened face and a bulging vein on the forehead.
So the fact that Shivata’s only response was a furrowed brow was a true testament to his self-control. By contrast, the two men at his sides looked as though they were ready to explode, but they held it in as well.
I looked over at Asuna and saw that she was trying to suppress her feelings as well, but her face was visibly paler than usual. I must have looked the same way.
Shivata’s hoarse voice finally broke the painful silence.
“Do you still have the weapons you stole?” Nezha shook his head, hands still firmly on the floor.
“No...I already sold them for money,” he rasped.
Shivata clenched his eyes shut at the answer, but he knew it was coming. He only grunted and then asked, “Can you pay me back the value?”
This time, Nezha had no immediate answer, Asuna and I held our breath. Far behind Shivata, standing at the left edge of the raid, Orlando’s group was visibly uncomfortable.
In terms of simple feasibility, the sum of money that he’d taken from them was far from impossible to raise again.
Only ten days had passed since Nezha and the Legend Braves had started their fraud. The market prices for those items couldn’t have changed that much, so if they sold off the assets they’d bought with the money they received, it should turn back into roughly the same amount.
But that was where the problem lay.
It wasn’t just Nezha who had spent the money they’d unfairly earned, but the entire Legend Braves. The brightly gleaming armor covering their bodies was that very sum of money in physical form. In order to pay back their victims in col, Orlando and his group would have to sell off their equipment. After they’d just played a major role in this boss battle, would they really just give up the source of their power? And more fundamentally, how did Nezha plan to get out of this situation?
As I watched, holding my breath, the short ex-blacksmith answered, forehead still scraped against the floor tiles.
“No...I cannot repay you now. I used all of the money on all-you-can-eat meals at expensive restaurants, and high-priced inns.” Asuna sucked in a sharp breath.
Nezha wasn’t trying to weasel his way out of anything. He was going to take responsibility for all of the crimes, and force Shivata and the others to focus their anger and hatred solely on him. He was covering for his companions, the ones who treated him like a nuisance and egged him into committing those acts.
The large member of Lind’s team to Shivata’s right finally snapped.
“You...why, you filthy–!!” He raised a clenched fist and stomped his right foot on the ground multiple times. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to see your favorite, beloved sword smashed to pieces?! And you sold it off...to have yourself a feast?! To stay in deluxe hotels?! Then you use the rest to buy yourself a valuable weapon, barge into the boss battle, and fancy yourself a hero?!”
Kibaou’s companion on the left shrieked, “When I lost my sword, I thought I’d never fight on the front line again! But my friends donated some funds to me and helped me gather materials...You didn’t just betray us, you stabbed everyone fighting to complete this game in the back!” And like a lit fuse, those shouts caused all the other players who’d been silently watching this scene to explode.
“Traitor!”
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?!”
“You caused our pace to slow down!”
“Apologizing isn’t going to fix anything!”
Dozens of voices overlapped into one mass of angry noise. Nezha’s lonely back shrank, as though succumbing to the pressure of all that rage.
When the crowd’s anger at beta testers threatened to explode during the planning for the first-floor boss battle, Agil had been the voice of reason. But there was nothing he could do here. He and his companions stood off at a distance, watching pensively.
Orlando’s group was equally quiet. The five of them were whispering to each other, but it was inaudible over all the angry bellowing.
I couldn’t do anything but watch, either. There was no magic word to solve the situation at this point. Now that the truth of Shivata’s weapon was open knowledge, the only thing that could mend the wrongdoing was an equal sum of col, or something similarly heavy...
Suddenly, I remembered something Nezha had said minutes before.
I finally got to be what’d always wanted. Really...thank you so much. Now I have...
...nothing left to regret.
Those were the final words he’d said, the ones I couldn’t hear.
“Nezha...you can’t mean...” I mumbled.
One of the two people who had the power to bring this scene to a close strode forward, his hand held high. Blue hair and blue cape. A shining silver scimitar at his waist. Lind, the leader of the raid.
Shivata’s trio stepped b
ack to give him the stage, and the furious shouts that filled the chamber gradually died down. When it was at least quiet enough to have a conversation, he spoke.
“Will you tell us your name?”
At that point, I realized that Nezha was never a part of the raid party as classified by the system. It was one thing for Argo, who passed on her info and split, but Nezha took on a crucial role in hitting the boss’s weak point. He deserved to be part of the raid, and we’d been one short of the limit, anyway. The only team with five members was G...the Legend Braves.
Something rubbed me wrong about the fact that Orlando hadn’t extended a party offer to Nezha, a friend since before the days of SAO. But more important than that was how Lind decided to rule on this situation.
“...It’s Nezha,” the ex-blacksmith said, still prostrate on the ground. Lind nodded a few times. His features were sharp by nature, but he looked more nervous now than he did in the midst of the battle. He cleared his throat.
“I see. Your cursor is still green, Nezha...but that speaks to the severity of your crime. If you’d committed a properly recognized crime and turned orange, it would be possible to return it to green through good karma quests. But no quest will wipe your sins clean now. If you cannot repay what you owe to others in the game...we will have to find a different means of punishment.”
He can’t, I thought to myself, teeth gritted. Lind’s thin lips grimaced, then opened again.
“It was not just swords that you stole from Shivata and others.
It was a great amount of time that they poured into those blades. Therefore...”
Some of the weight lifted off my shoulders. Lind was about to demand that Nezha pay back his crimes by contributing to the game’s advancement, and most likely regular payments over a long-term period. It was the same punishment that Diavel would have meted out if this had happened ten days earlier.
However...
Before Lind could finish, a high-pitched voice drowned him out. “No...it wasn’t just time that he stole!”
A green-clad member of Kibaou’s team ran forward. His skinny body shook left and right as he screeched–
“I...I know the truth! There are plenty more players he stole weapons from! One of them had to use a cheap store-bought weapon, and ended up getting killed by mobs he’d handled just fine before!!”
The vast, masterless chamber fell silent once more.
After a few seconds, the blue-clad man next to Shivata spoke again, his voice hoarse.
“If...if someone died because of this...then he’s not just a swindler anymore. He’s a puh...puh...”
The scrawny green man jabbed a finger forward and said what the other one couldn’t.
“That’s right! He’s a murderer! A PKer!!”
It was the first time I’d heard the term PK in the open since we’d been trapped in the flying castle.
It was one of the most well-known terms among all the many MMOs out there. It wasn’t short for “penalty kick,” or “psychokinesis,” or anything like that. It stood for “player kill,” or “player killer”–the act of killing another player, rather than a monster.
Unlike most MMORPGs made these days, PK-ing was possible in SAO. There was absolute safety within any town, thanks to a stringent anti-crime code, but that protection disappeared outside of town limits. The only things that protected players then were their own equipment, skills, and trusted companions.
In the month-long beta test, a thousand players cooperated and competed in a race upward, sometimes erupting into combat where players crossed swords with one another. But PK did not apply to honest duels between two willing combatants. A player killer was someone who set upon unsuspecting adventurers in the wilderness or dungeons, a pejorative term slapped on those who killed for fun and profit.
Several times during the beta, I’d been attacked by PKers, but not once since the full game launched. On the very first night, I was nearly killed by another former tester who formed a party with me, via MPK: a monster player kill, using monsters to do his dirty work. But that was a passive means of killing and done in an attempt to win a quest item to further his own survival.
Now that the chaos of that initial starting dash had died down, it was impossible to imagine someone committing a true PK for the purpose of sick pleasure.
With the linking of our virtual and physical fates, PK-ing was out-and-out murder. In a normal MMO, engaging in such behavior was a form of roleplay, but that excuse didn’t fly anymore. After all, killing players–in particular, players who showed enough willpower to venture into the wilderness and fight for themselves–only prolonged the possibility of our eventual freedom.
The day I met Asuna again in Urbus and we went Windwasp-hunting together, I said that wearing a burlap sack for a mask would make me look like a PKer. The only reason I made a joke like that was my belief that no one in Aincrad would actually stoop to such a thing. But here we were, and that ugly term was out in the open.
The skinny dagger user from Kibaou’s team kept shrieking, his finger still pointed at Nezha’s head.
“A few bows and scrapes can’t make up for a PK! No amount of apologizing or money is going to bring back the dead! What’s your plan? How are you gonna make this right? Well?!”
There was a painful edge to his voice, a screech like the point of a knife scraping against metal. Within a cold, sobered corner of my mind, I wondered where I’d heard it before. The memory came within an instant.
This dagger-wielding man had leveled a similar charge against me, right after we beat the first-floor boss. “I know the truth! He’s a beta tester!” rang the voice in my ears. I’d shut him up haughtily demanding that he not lump me in with the other testers, but that trick wouldn’t work here.
Nezha’s tiny back absorbed all of the accusations hurled at it. He clenched his fists atop the stones and spoke, his voice trembling.
“I will accept...whatever judgment you decide upon.”
Another silence.
I felt like every person present understood the meaning behind the word “judgment.” The air in the coliseum grew even colder and pricklier than before. That invisible energy reached a critical point, everyone waiting for the one person who would break the tension.
Eventually, I succumbed, ready to tell everyone e to just wait a moment, even though I didn’t have any ideas of how to follow it up.
But I was half a second too late. One of the dozens of raid members who’d been inching up on Nezha finally uttered a short burst.
“Then pay the price.”
It was just four words, a statement that didn’t hold any specific meaning of its own. But it was like a pin that burst an overinflated balloon.
Suddenly the chamber was full with a roar of noise. Dozens of players were shouting all at once: “Yeah, pay the price!”
“Go apologize to the ones who died!”
“Live by the PK, die by the PK!” Their cries grew more and more overt until spilling into direct threats.
“Pay with your, fraudster!”
“Settle your account by dying, you PK-ing bastard!”
“Kill him! Kill the filthy scheming scum!”
I couldn’t help but feel like the rage on their faces wasn’t entirely anger at his crime. There was fury and hatred for the game of Sword Art Online that had trapped them here, as well. It was the thirty-eighth day since we’d been locked in this flying fortress. Ninety-eight floors remained to conquer. The overwhelming, desperate pressure of those astronomical odds had finally found an outlet, a target ripe for punishment: a swindler and murderer among our ranks.
Neither Lind nor Kibaou had the means to resolve this situation now. Even I’d just been sitting on my heels the entire time, watching the scene unfold, since Nezha had admitted to his crimes. My eyes wandered until they happened across the five Legend Braves standing at the side of the raid. They weren’t shouting like the others but staring down at the ground, avo
iding looking at Nezha.
You should have known this could happen someday, Orlando...Didn’t you ever see it coming? I asked silently, but there was no answer. In fact, if I was making accusations, the same went for the man in the black poncho who’d taught them the trick. If he was generous enough to show them a fancy trick for free, why didn’t he explain the potential dangers to them?
Unless...
What if this situation–the group turning on Nezha, demanding his execution–was exactly what the black poncho was hoping for in return?
In that case, what he wanted was not the help of the Braves, but the opposite. He wanted Nezha to be killed at the express desire of all the top players in the game for his direct role in the scam. That would create a precedent for direct player-on-player killing and lower the mental hurdle to reaching the act of murder across Aincrad.
If my fears were correct, that man in the black poncho was the real PKer here. But rather than soil his own hands with the act, he set up other players to do the dirty work for him, dragging them down to his level.
This was bad. We couldn’t allow his devious plan to work. We couldn’t have Nezha publicly executed. After all, I was the one who recommended that Nezha switch to a combat role and make up for his crimes by helping advance the game. In effect, I brought him here to this situation. I had a responsibility to prevent his death.
Amidst the hail of jeers, someone finally moved into action. Not Lind, not Kibaou, not even Nezha–but the Legend Braves. They slowly crossed the vast room, metal armor clanking, toward the prostrate Nezha. Orlando’s bascinet visor was half-down, so I couldn’t see his face. The other four marched in step with him, their faces downcast.
The semicircle of Lind, the dagger user, and Shivata sensed that something was happening, and they stepped back to make room for the newcomers.
The group came to a halt with heavy footsteps. Nezha must have sensed the approach of his former comrades, but he did not look up. His fists were still balled on the floor, his forehead pressed to the tile. Orlando stopped directly across from Nezha, the chakram placed on the floor in between. His right hand moved to his left side. Asuna gasped.