But she didn’t have much of a choice. If she’d taken off the cape and let her luscious brown hair and elven beauty catch the sun, she’d never escape the attention of the crowds again.
I took a deep breath to calm my head and responded to this person I might actually call a “friend” … one of the very few I had in this world.
“Well, the guy with the horned helmet wanted the other one to power up his …”
At this point I realized that I, like her, was in disguise. I didn’t want to believe that my nondescript costume of plain leather armor and a yellow-and-blue striped bandanna was that easy to see through. Perhaps I ought to pretend that I did not know her.
“Er, well … have we met before?”
The look I got in response was like twin rapier thrusts burning holes through the center of my face.
“Met? Why, I believe we’ve shared meals and been in a party together.”
“… Oh … Now I remember, of course. I believe I lent you the use of my bath—”
Thunk. The sharp heel of her Hornet Boots slammed down on the top of my right foot. A piece of my memory disintegrated.
I cleared my throat, pinched the edge of her hood, and walked her a few yards away from the crowd so we could have a proper conversation.
“H-hi, Asuna. Long time no see … if two days counts.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Kirito.”
Two days ago, when I’d met her on the front line, I claimed that there was no need for formality between avatars. But as this was her first VR game, she seemed to have difficulty getting over that. And when I’d offered to call her “Miss Asuna” in return, she said it was a pain in the neck and totally unnecessary. I didn’t understand women.
At any rate, once the pleasantries had been peacefully exchanged, I turned back to the unpleasantness with the blacksmith and gave her a brief explanation.
“It seems the guy in the three-horned helmet asked the blacksmith to strengthen his weapon, but the process failed four times in a row, returning it back to a plus-zero state. So he’s furious about it—which I can understand. I mean, four in a row …”
Asuna the fencer, the fastest and most coolheaded player I knew in Aincrad (I’d add “most beautiful,” but I didn’t want to cross the line of my personal harassment code) shrugged her shoulders and said, “The one who asked the other had to be aware of the possibility of failure. And doesn’t the blacksmith have the rates of success for different weapons posted? Plus, it says that if he fails, he’ll only charge the cost of the upgrade materials, and not the labor.”
“Uh, really? That’s quite considerate,” I muttered, recalling the image of the short blacksmith bowing and scraping repeatedly. Forty percent of my sympathy had been for the three-horned man whose weapon had been ruined, but now it dropped to closer to twenty.
“I’m guessing that after the first failure, the blood rushed to his head, so he kept demanding another attempt to make it up. Losing your self-control and paying a terrible price for it is a constant feature of any form of gambling…”
“That almost sounded like it had personal experience behind it.”
“N-no, just a common-sense observation.”
I avoided looking at her, sensing that telling her I’d lost all of my money at the seventh-floor monster coliseum during the beta test was not going to win me any points. Asuna gave me a piercing look for several seconds before mercifully returning to the topic at hand.
“Well … I can’t say I don’t feel a little sorry for him, but that kind of rage doesn’t seem necessary. He can just save up the money for another attempt.”
“Um…well, it’s not that simple.”
“What do you mean?” she asked. I jabbed a thumb at the Anneal Blade +6 strapped over my back.
“The three-horned guy’s sword is an Anneal Blade, just like mine. He must have gone through that terrible quest on the first floor to get it, too. On top of that, he’d gone to the trouble of having an NPC bump it up to plus four. That’s not too hard to reach. But once you get to plus five, the odds really start to drop—that’s why he had a player blacksmith try it. But the first attempt failed, so now it’s back to plus three. He asks for another attempt, hoping to get it back to where he started, but it fails again, down to plus two. Then the process repeats. The third and fourth attempts fail, so now he ends back at zero.”
“But … there’s no way to fall further from zero. Can’t he just try to get it up to plus five again…?”
At this point, Asuna seemed to understand where I was going with this. Her hazel eyes widened in the shade of her hood. “Oh… there’s a maximum limit to attempts. And what’s the limit for an Anneal Blade?”
“Eight times. He got four successes and four failures, which put him at even and used up all his attempts. That sword can’t be smithed anymore.”
It was the trickiest part of SAO’s weapon upgrading system. Every piece of equipment that could be powered up had a preset number of possible attempts. It wasn’t the maximum level you could reach with the weapon, but the number of attempts. For example, a Small Sword, the starting weapon at the beginning of the game, only had a single potential attempt. If the process failed, that sword could never be a Small Sword +1.
Even worse, the success rate could actually be affected by the effort of the owner. Obviously, finding the best blacksmith possible was a major part of that—and ultimately, one could master the Blacksmithing skill themselves, though at this point in the game, it was an unrealistic option. One could also increase the chances of success through better materials, either in quality or quantity.
Most player blacksmiths set their upgrading fees based on a success rate of around 70 percent. If the client wanted a better chance, they could pay extra to have more crafting materials added, or simply provide them directly to the blacksmith.
Which meant the biggest fault of the three-horned man was that he’d gotten worked up and gambled on more attempts. He should have taken a deep breath after the first failure, then paid (or provided) extra to improve his chances the next time. That would likely have prevented his tragedy of an Anneal Blade +0 with no remaining attempts.
“I see … Well, I can understand why he’d be upset. Just a little.”
I nodded in agreement and offered a moment of silence to the fateful blade. Suddenly, the screaming man ceased his rage. Two of his friends had raced over and put their hands on his shoulders, offering support.
“C’mon, Rufiol, it’s gonna be okay. We’ll help you try the Anneal Blade quest again.”
“It’ll only take a week to get it back, then we can push it all the way up to plus eight.”
Wow, now it takes three players a week to get it? Glad I got mine early, I thought. And you guys … take care of your pal. Don’t let him gamble it away again.
Rufiol seemed to have recovered his cool. He trudged off out of the plaza, shoulders slumped.
The blacksmith, who’d withstood the insults in silence the entire time, finally spoke up.
“Um… I’m truly sorry about this. I’ll try much harder next time, I swear … I mean, not that you’d want to bring me again…”
Rufiol stopped and looked back at the blacksmith. When he spoke again, it was in an entirely different voice.
“… It’s not your fault. I’m …I’m sorry for ripping you apart.”
“No. I failed at my job …”
I looked closer at the blacksmith, who was still bowing, hands clasped in front of his leather apron. He was quite young, still in his teens. His slightly drooping eyes and plain parted bangs made him look, I hated to admit, like a perfectly typical crafter. A little shorter and thicker, and he’d be the perfect dwarf. Or perhaps a gnome—he didn’t have the beard.
The blacksmith stepped forward and bowed deeply yet again.
“Um, I know it’s nothing in return … but do you think I could buy back your spent plus zero Anneal Blade for 8,000 col?”
The onlookers murmured in surprise, a
nd even I grunted at the offer.
The current market price for a fresh new Anneal Blade +0 was about sixteen thousand col. So the offer was only half that, but Rufiol’s weapon was “spent,” fresh out of upgrade attempts. The market price for a weapon like that was probably halved again, down to four thousand col. It was an extremely generous offer.
Rufiol and his two friends were stunned, but after a moment’s conferral, they all nodded.
The incident was over. The three partners and the crowd of onlookers were gone, and the rhythmic clanging of the blacksmith’s hammer echoed through the plaza. The blacksmith—not dwarf—was producing a weapon on his anvil.
Asuna and I took a seat on the bench across the circular plaza, listening to the hammering.
Normally, I wouldn’t spend this much time here—I’d get my business done and zip back outside of the Urbus town limits. There were two reasons my plans had changed. For one, the presence of Asuna, one of the few people in Aincrad who wouldn’t call me a dirty beater, meant that I could actually have a conversation and practice my increasingly rusty Japanese. The other reason was on my back: I’d come to power up my Anneal Blade +6.
I’d overhead someone talking about a talented player blacksmith setting up shop in the east plaza of Urbus over in the small town of Marome just yesterday. I’d been thinking it was about time to give that +7 a shot, so I got the crafting materials in order and changed into my disguise for a trip into Urbus. The previous scene had given me pause, however.
In truth, it would be as easy as standing up and walking over to the dwa—er, blacksmith, and asking him for an upgrade. We’d never met before, and I doubted he would say, “My hammer isn’t meant to work on the swords of a dirty beater!”
But the prior squabble had put some pressure onto my decision. Another Anneal Blade had gone from +4 to +0 despite a 70 percent success rate. It was mathematically possible, but a tragedy of the highest order for such a fine weapon. If the same fate befell my attempt, I might not lose my cool the same way, but I’d definitely be sulking in my inn room for a good three days.
Something told me that embarking upon my attempt with this pessimistic view would ensure that I wound up with an Anneal Blade +5. Then I’d panic, try again without providing more materials, and finish with a +4. There was no logical reason for my suspicion, but the gamble of attempted upgrades in MMOs was a topic that often defied logic …
“…Well?”
I looked over at the questioning voice, still lost in thought. “Huh? What?”
“Don’t play dumb with me. Why did you force me to sit here?” Asuna glared at me.
“Er, um, oh, right. Sorry, just thinking…”
“Thinking? Weren’t you coming here to have that blacksmith work on your weapon, Kirito?”
“Um, h-how can you tell?” I asked, startled. She shot me an exasperated look.
“When we were in Marome two nights ago, you said you were hunting Red Spotted Beetles in the rocky mountains to the east. That must have been for one-handed sword upgrading materials.”
“Oh… yeah,” I sighed.
“What was that reaction for?”
“Um… I just can’t believe I’m hearing this from the girl who didn’t know how to read her party companions’ names just four days ago… in a good way! I’m not being sarcastic.”
“…”
Apparently Asuna believed my sincerity, as her expression softened and she murmured, “I have been studying a lot.”
For some reason, this admission made me happy. I nodded excitedly. “That’s great, really. In an MMO, knowledge makes all the difference when it comes to getting results. Anything you want to know, just ask. I was a former tester, after all, so I know everything from the items sold in towns up to the tenth floor to the different sounds of all the mobs …”
At this point, I realized the terrible mistake I was making.
Just as I said, I was a former beta tester. But at the same time, I’d taken on the persona of a dirty beater who hoarded information and used it solely for his own benefit. Many other high-level players despised me for this, not least of whom were the party members of the fallen knight Diavel. Even with the leather armor and bandanna, someone who knew me would recognize my face close up, and they would assume that Asuna, sitting on the bench next to me, must be my partner. It was incredibly reckless of me to be talking about this in a crowded public place.
“Uh… s-sorry, just remembered something I need to do,” I excused myself clumsily, preparing to stand and rush off.
The fencer stopped my shoulder with the lightest tap of her index finger and spoke in a low but firm voice.
“It’s crazy and arrogant of you to think you can bear the burden of all the hatred and jealousy toward the former testers … but that was your choice, so I won’t say anything more on the subject. But I also wish you’d respect my decision as well. I don’t care what other people think. If I didn’t want people to think that I was your friend… your companion, I wouldn’t have spoken to you.”
“… … Aw, geez. You can see right through me,” I muttered and sat back down on the bench.
She had identified all my motives, from calling myself a beater at the boss chamber to my attempt to get up and flee just seconds ago. No use trying to hide now. I raised my hands in brief surrender and she grinned slightly beneath her deep hood.
“If you’re a pro at Aincrad, then my all-girls’ academy upbringing makes me a pro at mental battles. As if I couldn’t read your avatar’s face like a page in a book.”
“W-well … I’m sorry to have doubted you …”
“So be honest. Why are you hesitating on upgrading your weapon? I was coming here to do the very same thing, in fact.”
“Wha…?”
I looked down at Asuna’s fragile blade in surprise. Her green-hilted rapier in its ivory scabbard was called the Wind Fleuret. I’d looted that sword from a monster and given it to her as an upgrade when we first formed our party, preparing for the first-floor boss fight. It was a fairly rare item, with the potential to serve admirably until midway through the third floor if it was upgraded properly.
“Is that plus four right now?” I asked. She nodded. “Did you bring your own upgrade mats? How many?”
“Umm… I have four Steel Planks and twelve Windwasp Needles.”
“Wow, nice work. But …” I did some mental calculation and groaned, “Hmm, but that means the chance of going to plus five is only a bit over eighty percent.”
“Aren’t those good odds to risk?”
“Normally, sure. But after what we just saw…”
I looked back across the plaza at the dwarfish blacksmith, rhythmically pounding away. Asuna looked at him as well and shrugged.
“The odds of a coin turning up heads is always fifty percent, no matter what happened the last time. What effect does the last person’s consecutive failure have on you or me trying our hand?”
“Well … nothing … but …”
I couldn’t come up with a good answer, but my mind was racing. Clearly, Asuna was a person of logic and reason, and she wouldn’t accept my assertion that there were streaks and mojo when it came to gambling. Even my left brain knew that there was no proof behind the “bad feeling” I was getting.
But on the other hand, my right brain was screaming danger. It claimed that whether Anneal Blade or Wind Fleuret, the next weapon to be given to that blacksmith, regardless of extra boosts and bonuses, would end in failure.
“Listen, Asuna.” I turned my body to face her directly and put the gravest possible tone in my voice.
“Wh-what?”
“You like ninety percent better than eighty percent, right?”
“…Well, sure, but—”
“You like ninety-five percent better than ninety percent, right?”
“…Well, sure, but—”
“Then don’t compromise. If you already put in the work to get these materials, why not give it one more round and get those o
dds up to ninety-five?”
“… …”
She gave me a very skeptical gaze for several long seconds, then beat her long eyelashes slowly, as though realizing something.
“Yes, it’s true that I hate compromising. But I hate people who are all talk and no walk just as much.”
“… Huh?”
“Since you’re so dead-set on me pursuing perfection, I assume you’re going to lend me a hand, Kirito. The drop rate on Windwasp Needles is only eight percent, after all.”
“… … Huh?”
“Now that that’s settled, let’s go hunting. I think the two of us together can take down about a hundred before nightfall.”
“… … … Huh?”
Asuna patted my shoulder and stood up, then squinted slightly, her shapely eyebrows knitting together, and delivered the finishing blow.
“Oh, and if we’re going to hunt together, you must take off that ugly bandanna. It looks absolutely hideous on you.”
2
BECAUSE OF THE “SWORD ARTS” THAT WERE THE greatest selling point of SAO, the game had far more humanoid monster types than any other MMORPG. This tendency didn’t come into focus until the next floor, however, so there was still a wide variety of nonhuman monsters on the first and second floors. The animal and plant mobs that couldn’t use sword skills were much easier for newbies to deal with, but there were exceptions, of course.
Most notable of those were monsters with dangerous side effects like paralyzing toxins and corrosive acid, but aside from that, flying mobs were surprisingly tricky. After all, there was no magic in SAO. The only means of attacking targets at a distance was throwing knives, and they were more like a complementary weapon, not a primary source of damage.
I had to admit there was something cool about the idea of sinking all my time into the Throwing Knife skill and terrorizing all the flying mobs, but I didn’t have the willpower to dedicate to such an extreme build now that the game was deadly. On top of that, SAO’s throwing weapons all had a finite amount, so if you ran out of knives in the midst of battle, tragedy awaited.
Therefore, when Asuna the fencer called upon—more like forced—me to help her hunt the flying Windwasps in the western zone of the second floor, with our very limited weapon range, there was only one thought on my mind.