And surrounding the fires sat grouped figures, humanoid in shape but clearly neither human nor animal. There were over thirty of them.
Individually, they were not that big. Standing at full height, their heads might reach my chest. But their hunched frames were stout and stocky, and their abnormally long arms and gleaming claws looked strong enough to tear anything to shreds. They sported gleaming leather armor on their wide chests and dangled small furs, bones, and pouches from their waists. In addition, some held crude but deadly machetes.
Their skin was a dull grayish-green with patches of bristling hair. Each head was clean and bald; the only hair there proved to be needlelike clumps protruding from their ears. They had no eyebrows, either, just jutting foreheads hanging over bizarrely large eyes that threw off a cloudy yellow light.
The creatures were alien in appearance and yet completely familiar to me from over the years.
They were undeniably goblins, those low-level monsters that appeared in nearly every single fantasy RPG. My recognition brought a certain amount of relief, too: Goblins were usually designed for novice players to practice their skills on and earn experience, and they were almost always weak pushovers.
But my relief lasted for only the brief moment until the nearest one to me and Eugeo noticed us.
The look I caught in its yellow eyes froze me down to the marrow. I saw a bit of suspicion and surprise, then cruel delight, and, lastly, boundless hunger. There was enough malice there to make me feel as helpless as a fly trapped in a spiderweb.
The goblins weren’t programs, either.
This realization hit me with an overwhelming terror.
They had souls, too. Just like Eugeo and me—up to a point—they had the same kind of intelligence shaped by fluctlights.
But why…? How could such a thing be?
In the two days I’d been in this world, I had come to a rough estimation of exactly what Eugeo, Selka, and the other people who lived here were—artificial fluctlights controlled not by the brains of flesh-and-blood people but by saved images of such, stored on man-made media. I couldn’t begin to imagine what sort of media it was that could record a human soul, but if the STL could read one, it stood to reason that it could also copy it.
Chillingly, I similarly surmised that the source of the copies was an infant’s fluctlight; that archetype soul was then copied countless times so they could be raised in this world as babies. This was the only hypothesis that could explain the contradiction inherent in the Underworld’s residents: They possessed true intelligence, and yet there were far more of them than actual STL units. Rath’s true goal, their blasphemous attempt at playing God, was to create true AI—actual human intelligence. And they were doing it by using the human soul as a mold.
That goal seemed to be 90 percent complete by now. The depth of Eugeo’s thoughts surpassed mine, and the complexity of his emotional urges was profound. In other words, Rath’s vast, arrogant experiment might as well be complete.
But if the simulation was still running, that meant Rath was still unhappy about something in the project. I couldn’t begin to guess what that would be, but perhaps it had something to do with that Taboo Index, the set of rules that these people were fundamentally incapable of breaking.
At any rate, this theory did put a rough explanation to Eugeo’s existence. He and his kind were just as human as us, with their own souls and everything—they simply existed on a different physical plane.
But then…what were these goblins? What was the stinging malice that sprayed from those yellow eyes…?
I couldn’t believe—didn’t want to believe—that their souls were based on a human’s. Perhaps Rath had caught real goblins in the real world and put them in the STL seat, I thought bizarrely.
The goblin and I shared a look for not even a second, but it was enough to terrify me to my core. I stood stock-still, unsure of what to do, and then it unleashed a screech that might have been a laugh. It got to its feet.
And then the goblin spoke.
“Hey, look! What’s going on today? It’s another two fresh little White Ium younglings!”
Instantly, the dome was full of high-pitched screeching. One after another, the goblins got to their feet, brandishing machetes and looking at us hungrily.
“What now? Shall we capture them, too?” the first goblin cried. From the back came a ferocious roar, and all the goblins stopped laughing. They spread apart in two directions to clear a path for a much larger individual, one who seemed to be some level of leader.
This one wore metal scale armor and a headpiece around its forehead sporting bright feathers. Under that, its reddened eyes were full of an overwhelmingly evil and icy intelligence. Ugly yellow teeth jutted from its leering mouth. The goblin captain rasped, “You can’t sell the male Iums for beans. Just kill them for their meat.”
For a moment, I wasn’t sure at which level the word kill should be taken.
I ought to be able to rule out actual death: a fatal wound to my real-life physical body. My body was sitting in an STL in real life, far from the danger posed by these goblins.
But I couldn’t assume that death here was just a bad outcome, a minor setback like in any other VRMMO. Outside of the exception of the Axiom Church elites, there was no resurrection magic or items here. If they killed me here, that was probably game over for this Kirito.
So if I died, what happened to my consciousness?
Would I wake up in Rath’s Roppongi office to a greeting from Takeru Higa, the operator, and a fresh cup of water? Would I just wake up in another forest, all alone, to start from scratch? Or would I float through the world as an immaterial ghost, fated to watch its outcome?
And if that happened, what fate awaited Eugeo and Selka, who were sure to be killed with me?
Unlike the self-owned storage media that was my physical brain, their fluctlights were probably stored on some kind of massively high-capacity memory system. Was it possible that when they died…they were simply deleted?
Though…Selka. Where is Selka?
I shut off my existential line of thought and focused on the scene before me.
At the goblin captain’s orders, four followers began to walk toward us, machetes in hand. Their steady pace and toothy, sadistic smiles said that they meant to kill us long and slow.
The twenty-something goblins left around the pond screeched the others on, excitement in their eyes. In the back, I finally spotted what I sought: Hard to see against the gloom was the black nun’s habit of Selka’s, lying on a crude cart. She was tied down with rough ropes and her eyes were shut, but from the color of her face, she was only unconscious, not dead.
I thought back to what the captain said: the male “Iums”—that probably meant “human” to them—couldn’t be sold, so kill them here.
That meant that the women could be sold. They were going to take Selka with them back to the land of darkness and sell her. And if we didn’t do anything about the state of affairs, Eugeo and I would die. But in a way, Selka’s fate was crueler than death. I couldn’t just chalk this up to being part of the simulation. I just couldn’t. She was a person just like me. A girl, only twelve years old.
That meant…
“There’s only one thing to do,” I muttered. Next to me, Eugeo’s frozen body twitched.
I would save Selka, even if it meant paying the price of this temporary life.
It wouldn’t be easy. They far outnumbered us, thirty goblins with machetes and armor, and we didn’t even have sticks. But I had no other choice. It was my careless comment that had brought about this situation.
“Eugeo,” I said under my breath, keeping my gaze forward, “we have to save Selka. Can you do this?”
I heard him murmur in the affirmative. As I expected, reserved and gentle Eugeo had a strong core.
“When I count to three, we’ll rush the front four with a body slam. We’re bigger than them, so we can win as long as we don’t falter. Then I’ll knock the left f
ire into the pond, and you do the right. Don’t lose your glowing grass. When the fires are out, pick up a sword and guard my back. You don’t have to beat them if you don’t need to. I’ll work on taking out the big guy.”
“…I’ve never swung a sword.”
“It’s just like an ax. Here goes…one, two, three!”
We got a perfect start, racing down the ice without slipping. I could only pray that luck held out to the very end of this maneuver.
“Raaaaah!!” I bellowed.
A moment later, I heard Eugeo echo, “Waaah!” It was a bit more like a scream, but it did the trick. The four goblins stopped, their yellow eyes bulging. Then again, their surprise may have had more to do with the “Ium younglings” engaging in a suicide charge, rather than the ferocity of our yelling.
At the tenth step, I sank down, lowered my right shoulder, and charged like a football tackler for the gap between the leftmost goblin and the one next to him. Thanks to the size difference and element of surprise, I knocked both onto their backs, where they slid across the ice, arms wheeling. To the right, Eugeo’s tackle was equally effective, sending the other two spinning like turtles in their shells.
We continued toward the goblin force, picking up momentum. Fortunately, their reaction time was poor, and most of them, including the captain, were still staring at us in shock.
That’s right, keep gaping, I thought savagely, racing through the goblin ranks toward the final few yards.
Just then, the goblin captain showed off the intelligence that separated him from the others and snarled, “Don’t let them near the—”
But he was just a bit too late. Eugeo and I leaped onto the fire braziers, kicking them over toward the water. The flames plunged into the black water, shooting up a cloud of sparks and emitting white steam where they fell.
For a moment, the dome was totally dark—until a faint white light pushed back the blackness. It was coming from the cattail in Eugeo’s left hand.
Then the second stroke of luck occurred.
The crowd of goblins all around erupted into shrieks. Some covered their faces, while others turned away and cowered. Across the pond, even the goblin leader was leaning back, holding out his hand to shield his eyes.
“Kirito…What is this…?” Eugeo gasped, stunned.
“I think…they’re weak to that light. Now’s our chance!”
From the piles strewn around the pond, I picked up a crude longsword that was more like a flat sheet of metal, as well as a scimitar with a heavy tip. I pressed the latter of the two into Eugeo’s free hand.
“That weapon should work the same way as an ax. Use the light to push them back, and swing that sword at any that venture too close.”
“Wh-what about you?”
“I’ve got him.”
I plunged forward at the goblin captain, who glared furiously through the slits of the fingers he held out to block the light. I tested the sword in my hands with a quick swing back and forth. It felt less sturdy than the appearance suggested, but it was certainly much easier to use than the Blue Rose Sword.
“Grurah! Filthy Ium brats…You think to challenge the great Ugachi the Lizard Killer?!” he roared, watching me close the distance toward him with one baleful eye. He drew an enormous machete from his waist with his other hand. The blackened blade was covered in menacing stains of blood and rust.
Can I win this fight?!
Although we were of equal height, he was clearly heavier and stronger than I was. But the next moment, I gritted my teeth and plunged onward. If I didn’t defeat him and failed to save Selka, that would mean that all I’d accomplished in this world was setting her up for the most gruesome of fates. Size wasn’t an issue. I had killed countless foes three or four times my size in the old Aincrad. And back then, I knew for a fact that death was permanent.
“I’m not going to challenge you—I’m going to beat you!” I yelled, half to him and half to myself as I closed the last stretch of distance.
My left foot plunged forward, and I swung the sword diagonally at his left shoulder.
I wasn’t taking the foe lightly, but even then, his reaction was quicker than I had expected. He ignored my strike and swiped sideways with the machete, which I just barely evaded by hunching down. I felt a few hairs rip out as it passed. My own swing had struck true, but all it did was crush his metal shoulder pauldron.
Sensing that if my momentum died, he would overpower me, I stayed low and spun around the enemy, swinging horizontally at his exposed side. The feedback was solid again, but this time it merely broke five or six metal scales free without even piercing the crude armor.
I hissed a silent insult at the sword’s owner to polish his weapon properly, as the counterattack just barely hurtled past my head. The heavy end of the machete drove deep into the ice underfoot, and another chill ran down my back as I was forced to know the goblin’s strength.
Single attacks weren’t going to do the trick. I strode in hard, intending to counter before the goblin captain recovered. My body moved largely on its own, repeating the movements I’d performed countless times in a different world: the special attacks known as sword skills.
The result was not in the least what I expected.
My sword took on a very faint red light. My body darted at a speed beyond the physical laws of the world. It was as if an unseen hand had just pushed me on the back.
The first slash rose from the lower right, clipping the enemy’s left leg and arresting his movement.
The second swipe from left to right dug into the target’s breastplate and lightly gouged his flesh.
The third slice from the upper right hit the enemy’s left arm, raised in defense, and loudly severed it just below the elbow.
The spray of blood from the arm stump looked pitch-black in the pale glow. The severed limb spun through the air and landed in the pond on the left, splashing loudly.
I won! I thought, equal parts triumphant and shocked.
That attack wasn’t just a mimicry of the three-part longsword combo Sharp Nail. It was the real thing. The blade took on a red light as it flew through the air, and an invisible force accelerated my movements. They were visual effects and system assistance by any other name.
Sword skills existed in the Underworld. They were written into the system that controlled the world. You couldn’t explain this as a recreation based on the mind’s imagination. I was barely even conscious of the movements as I executed them. The system read my first motion, activated the skill, and adjusted my movement accordingly. It couldn’t happen any other way.
But that just led to a new question.
The day before, I’d tried to use the Horizontal skill on the Gigas Cedar with the Blue Rose Sword. That was an easier skill than Sharp Nail; it was nothing more than a flat swipe. But the system hadn’t helped me then. The sword didn’t shine, my body didn’t speed up, and the weapon clumsily struck far from my intended target.
So why did it work now? Because this was a real battle? If so, how would the system determine if it was a “real” fight or not…?
All these thoughts ran through my head in the blink of an eye. In the old SAO, there would be no true window of opportunity. I’d be hit with my own post-skill delay, while the enemy suffered from a knock-back effect following huge damage.
But even with sword skills, the Underworld was not a VRMMO. I had very nearly forgotten that basic truth already.
Unlike a 3-D-modeled monster, the goblin captain did not stop moving whatsoever after I cut off his arm. The gleaming yellow eyes swam with no fear, no hesitation—just pure hatred. Black blood streamed from his wound as a roar shot from his mouth.
“Garruaah!!”
The machete in his other hand swept forward.
I wasn’t able to cleanly evade the horizontal swipe of heavy metal. The end of it merely brushed my left shoulder, but it was enough force to knock me over six feet backward to slam onto the ice.
At last, the captain crouched, p
ut the machete in his mouth, and squeezed the stump of his left arm with his remaining hand. A horrendous creaking emerged. He was stopping the flow of blood with sheer pressure. That was not the action of a straightforward AI. I should’ve realized this the moment he’d introduced himself with the name of Ugachi. This wasn’t a battle between player and monster—it was a fight to the death between two armed warriors.
“Kirito! Are you down?!” Eugeo called from a distance, keeping the goblins at bay with the scimitar in one hand and the lit cattail in the other.
I tried to tell him that it was just a scratch, but my tongue was too stubborn to comply. I merely wheezed and nodded. I put my hand to the ice, trying to get up.
Instantly, a burning sensation like all the nerves in my left shoulder catching fire shot through my upper half, causing sparks to fly before my eyes. Unstoppable tears flooded from my eyes, and a groan tumbled from my throat.
What tremendous pain!
It was far beyond what I could stand. All I could do was curl up on the ice, panting quickly. Somehow, I managed to turn my head to look at the shoulder. The sleeve of the tunic was ripped, and an ugly wound gaped in the exposed skin. It looked more like I’d been gouged than sliced. The skin and the flesh beneath it was torn right out, replaced by gushing blood. My arm was equal parts numbness and burning, and my fingers were as immobile and unfeeling as if they belonged to someone else.
This can’t be a virtual world, I wailed to myself.
A virtual world was supposed to eliminate all the pain, suffering, ugliness, and dirtiness of reality, providing an environment of sheer cleanliness and ease. What was the meaning of so thoroughly simulating pain this awful? In fact, it seemed worse than real life. In the real world, my brain would produce chemicals to knock me out as a defense mechanism against shock, right? No human being could withstand pain like this…
Maybe that’s not quite right, I thought wryly to myself, trying to avert my eyes from the carnage.
Kazuto Kirigaya was completely unfamiliar with real pain. I’d never suffered a major injury in my life, and when Grandfather forced me to start kendo, I quit before long. The physical rehab after SAO was tough, but thanks to the high-tech training machines and supplemental drugs, I hardly had to deal with any pain.