“You could say I was hiding. Or maybe I wasn’t,” I stammered. Asuna’s stare grew even more incredulous.
“Didn’t I tell you you’re being paranoid? We’ve passed by dozens of people so far, you’re not in disguise, and not a single one has bothered you in the least.”
She was correct: My awesome striped bandanna was not on display. My face and hair were just like normal, though the black coat was stashed away, too. But I had a feeling that it was not a case of players recognizing me as “Kirito the Beater” and choosing to leave me alone, but that they were simply too full of relief and anticipation of dinner to bother spending any time examining one gloomy-looking swordsman out of many.
I coughed lightly, subtly maneuvering myself to use Asuna as cover.
“Ahem … w-well, perhaps. Anyway, back to the topic—is this place always this lively at night? For no particular reason?”
“Oh, I’m sure there’s a reason.”
I shut my mouth. She shot me another look.
“… In fact, you’re responsible for about three-quarters of that reason.”
“Huh? M-me?!” I sputtered. She sighed in total exasperation.
“Look … Isn’t it obvious why everyone is smiling and laughing? It’s because we’re on the second floor.”
“… Which means?”
“It wasn’t a riddle. Everyone was much more nervous for the entire month we were trapped on the first floor. They were terrified that they might never see the real world again. I was one of them. But then the boss raid came together, we won on the first try, and opened up the second floor. Everyone realized that maybe we can beat this thing. That’s why they’re smiling. I’m just saying … we wouldn’t be seeing this phenomenon if a certain someone hadn’t stood strong during that battle.”
“… …”
Finally I understood the point Asuna was making, but I was no closer to knowing how to react to that. I coughed again and grasped for something to say.
“Uh, I g-guess. Well, if you ask me, that certain someone did a good enough job to deserve a free shortcake,” I finished hopefully.
“That was that; this is this!”
It was worth a shot.
We turned onto a narrow path leading north from the east-west main street, then made another right and a left to reach the restaurant.
I knew about this establishment (and its infamous shortcake) from my tireless exploration of Urbus during the beta test, so I was a bit surprised that Asuna knew about it after just a few days on the second floor. We took a table near the back and ordered our food, at which point I decide to ask her how she knew.
“So let me guess, Asuna: the smell of the sweet cream—”
Those brown eyes went sharp beneath her hood. I instantly changed course.
“—did not guide you here. So was it coincidence? It’s got a small storefront with a tiny sign. I think it would be difficult to pick this place out at random.”
There wasn’t anything to be lost by wandering into a business at random in Aincrad, as there were no rip-off bars that bullied you into paying up just for entering (as far as I knew), but there were some that automatically initiated an event-type quest when you walked in the door. There was no danger to one’s HP within town (again, as far as I knew), but such events might come off as a nasty surprise to someone not familiar with MMOs. I figured Asuna was not the type of person to appreciate or desire unexpected thrills, but her answer surprised me.
“I asked Argo if there were any low-traffic NPC restaurants in Urbus and bought the answer from her.”
Sure enough, there was no one else in the restaurant. Asuna opened her menu and unequipped the cape, letting her hair swing free with a sigh.
“Oh … I see. That makes sense …”
On the inside, I broke out into a cold sweat. I was the one who brought Asuna and Argo together. Technically, it was when Asuna borrowed the use of my bath at the farmhouse near Tolbana, and Argo had visited with perfect timing. Despite my best efforts, they ran into each other in the bathroom, much to Asuna’s shock. She screamed and ran out into the main room, where I was sitting—
“You’re not remembering something you shouldn’t, are you? If so, I might need two cakes instead of one.”
“No, not remembering a thing,” I replied instantly, vigorously shaking my head clear. “Anyway, Argo might be quick and accurate with your information, but be careful around her. There’s no entry for ‘client confidentiality’ in her dictionary.”
“Meaning … I could ask her to sell me all the information she has about you?”
It was too late to regret my slip of the tongue now.
“W-well, yeah … maybe … but it’ll cost you a lot. I’m sure the whole bundle would cost you at least three thousand col.”
“That’s actually not as much as I expected. I bet I could raise that amount without much trouble …”
“N-n-no! I’d buy all of yours in return! After all, she saw your—”
I shut my mouth so hard my teeth clicked. She grinned at me.
“My what?”
“Umm, er … what I meant to say is …”
At that moment, a miracle occurred and the NPC waiter returned with dishes of food, saving me from certain catastrophe.
The menu was simple salad, stew, and bread, but this was the finest to be found on the second floor. Asuna’s eyebrows emitted a threatening aura as we ate, but it disappeared by the time the long-awaited dessert arrived.
As we agreed, Asuna paid for the dinner, while the cost of the dessert came from my own wallet. The terrifying thing was the cost of that one dish easily exceeded the three-piece dinner for two. But given that I’d busted out my secret Martial Arts skill and still lost the bet, I wasn’t in any position to complain. My only option was to rue the lack of my own skill.
The triumphant winner, seemingly oblivious to my inner turmoil, looked at the green plate piled high with a mountain of cream, her eyes sparkling.
“Oh my gosh! Argo’s info said you just have to try the Tremble Shortcake once. I can’t believe the moment has finally come!”
The “tremble” in the name was clearly derived from the Trembling Cows, the female versions of the terrifyingly huge oxen that roamed the second floor. The cows were nearly twice the size of the oxen, practically bosses in their own right. The cream piled atop the shortcake came from their milk (supposedly), but now was not the time to mention that.
There was another angle to the “trembling” moniker, however: the cream was piled so high atop the dish that it shook on its own. The piece was a triangular slice from a full-size round cake, seven inches to a side, three inches tall, about sixty degrees of the whole.
That meant the total volume of the cake was (7 x 7 x 3.14 x 3) / 6 … totaling seventy-seven cubic inches of pure heaven. There had to be almost an entire quart of cream on that thing.
“So … what about this cake qualifies as ‘short’?” I whined.
Asuna picked up the large fork that came with the cake and said, “You don’t know? It’s not called shortcake because it’s short in stature.”
“Why, then? Was it invented by a legendary big-league shortstop?”
She effortlessly ignored my killer joke. “It’s because the crispy texture of the cake is achieved through shortening. In America, they use a tough, crispy biscuit-like cake as the base, but we have soft sponge cake in Japan, so it’s not really accurate to the original meaning. Let’s see which kind this is …”
She put her fork to the top of the triangular wedge and carved out a good five cubic inches, exposing golden sponge cake. It was a four-layer cake, going sponge, strawberries and cream, sponge, strawberries and cream. The top of the cake, of course, was covered in a stunning amount of strawberries—or more accurately, some kind of in-game fruit that resembled strawberries.
“So it’s sponge cake. I like this style more, anyway,” Asuna said. Her smile was so radiant that it was almost worth losing the bet and being for
ced to pay a massive dessert bill just to see it.
In truth, it didn’t matter whether I came out ahead or behind. The fact that she’d gone from pale-faced despair in the depths of the labyrinth to a full-faced smile under these warm oil lamps was a very good thing, indeed.
If there was one very bad thing here, it was that there was only a single slice of cake on the table. I’d been planning to live dangerously and order two servings outright, but the price on the menu was like a bucket of ice water dumped over my enthusiasm.
I summoned up every last point of my Gentleman statistic and waved a magnanimous hand, smiling as naturally as I could. “Please, dig in. Don’t mind me.”
She smiled back. “Oh, I won’t. Here goes.”
Two seconds later, she cracked with laughter, then reached into the cutlery basket at the side of the table and handed me a fork. “I’m just kidding—I’m not that mean. You can have up to a third of it.”
“… Um, thanks,” I replied, a relieved smile on my face. On the inside, my brain was doing rapid calculations.
One-third means I can eat … twenty-seven and a half cubic inches of cake!
When we left the restaurant, the town was wreathed in the dark of night. Asuna sucked in a deep breath and let out a deep sigh of contentment.
“… That was good …”
I knew how she felt. That cake was probably the first honest dessert she’d tasted since we’d been trapped in this place. It was the same for me. I sighed happily as well and murmured, “It feels like that tasted even better than in the beta test … The way the cream melted in your mouth, the perfect level of sweetness that wasn’t too heavy, but still satisfying …”
“Don’t you think that’s just your imagination? Would they really bother with such fine-tuning between the beta and the retail release?” she asked. I answered her skepticism with all seriousness.
“It wouldn’t be that hard to update the data in the taste engine. Besides, even ignoring the difference in flavor, we didn’t have this in the beta.”
I pointed just below my HP bar, in the upper left portion of my view. There was a buff icon displayed that hadn’t been there before, a four-leaf clover that signified an increased luck bonus. That effect could only be gained by making an expensive offering at a church, equipping an accessory with that particular bonus, or consuming a special food item.
SAO kept its main stats exceedingly minimal, showing only values for strength and agility. However, there were a number of hidden stats affected by equipment properties, buffs and debuffs, even terrain effects. Luck was one of those stats, and a pretty important one—it affected resistance to poison and paralysis, the probability of weapon fumbling or tripping, even potentially the drop rate of rare items.
No doubt someone on the Argus development team had taken a look at the exorbitant price of the shortcake and decided that it was enough to warrant a bonus effect when the retail game launched. The effect would last for fifteen minutes. That would be a handy amount if eaten as a snack in the middle of a dungeon, but …
“Unfortunately, it’s not enough time for us to make good use of it out in the fields,” Asuna said, clearly following my line of thought. Even if we ran out searching for monsters, we’d barely find a handful before the buff wore off. Plus, the monsters around the outskirts of the town didn’t drop any decent loot.
“Too bad … What a waste of a good buff.”
I stared at the icon timer ticking away precious seconds, wracking my brain for a way to make good use of the bonus while it lasted.
We could get down on hands and knees in the street—coins and fragments of gems could be found on very rare occasions—but I didn’t think Asuna would like that. We could gamble big at a casino, except that they didn’t start showing up until the seventh floor. The more I pondered, the less of the effect remained. Wasn’t there anything we could do to test our luck? I supposed I could turn to the fencer and ask if she’d go out with me, but I had a feeling the system’s luck bonus had no bearing on my chances there …
Just as the steam was about to pour from my ears in frustration, I heard a sound.
It was the distant, rhythmic clanging of metal. Clank, clank, went the hammer.
“Ah …”
I snapped my fingers, finally having spotted a use for the twelve remaining minutes of good luck.
4
FIVE HOURS AFTER OUR LAST VISIT TO THE EASTERN plaza of Urbus, there were virtually no people wandering around. The only souls left were a few players standing around the NPC shop stalls that opened only at night, and two or three couples seated on benches. Of course, I hadn’t brought Asuna here to sit on a bench and stare up at the bottom of the floor above in lieu of stargazing.
The short player was still there in the northeast corner, his small anvil and display case sitting atop the vendor’s carpet. This was who I came to see: the blacksmith, likely the very first committed crafter since the start of SAO.
“Asuna, you met your quota of upgrading materials for your Wind Fleuret during our hunt, right?” I asked. She gave me a brief nod, her hooded cape back on.
“Yes. I’m a bit over, in fact, so I was planning to sell the rest and split the money with you.”
“We can do that tomorrow. Why don’t you try getting it to plus five right now?”
She looked upward, thinking it over. “I see. But does the good luck bonus affect weapon augmentation attempts? Isn’t it the blacksmith who does the attempt, not me?”
“True. But we can’t give the blacksmith some of that cake, for obvious reasons …”
Obvious meaning financial reasons. I shrugged and continued, “So I can’t claim that the effect will work, but you are the weapon’s owner, so maybe there’s a boost to the chance of success. I’m certain it won’t have a negative effect, so you might as well give it a shot.”
The explanation had wound the buff timer down to seven minutes. Asuna nodded again and said, “All right. I was going to do it today, anyway.”
She pulled the rapier from her waist and strode directly over to the blacksmith’s display. I followed her without comment.
Up close, the diminutive blacksmith reminded me even more of a dwarf. He was short and squat, with a young, honest face. It really was a shame that he didn’t have any whiskers. Hairstyles and facial hair were easily customizable with cosmetic items from NPC shops, so it seemed like he could draw in more customers by going with the classic look.
Asuna’s voice broke me out of my pointless reverie.
“Good evening.”
The blacksmith looked up from his anvil and gave a hasty bow.
“G-good evening. Welcome.”
His voice was young and boyish, a far cry from that dwarven baritone. Every avatar’s voice was sampled from the player’s real-life voice, so while it seemed slightly different from his face, it didn’t change his overall impression. As I suspected the first time I saw him, he might be a teenager close to my age.
Atop the signboard with his list of prices, it said Nezha’s Smith Shop. Under Japanese rules, I supposed that to be pronounced “Nezuha”—it must have been his name. Sometimes it was difficult to tell with the alphabetized display of Sword Art Online player names. In our first-floor raid party, there was a trident user with the handle Hokkaiikura. After much deliberation, I concluded that it must be “Hokka Iikura,” only to find out later that he called himself “Hokkai Ikura.” Nezha itself could have some different pronunciation, but it seemed rude to ask him that on our first meeting.
At any rate, Nezha the blacksmith got to his feet and bowed again nervously.
“A-are you looking for a new weapon or here for maintenance?”
Asuna held up the rapier in both hands and answered, “I’d like you to power up my weapon. I want this Wind Fleuret plus four boosted to plus five, bonus to accuracy. I’ve got my own materials.”
Nezha took one glance at the fleuret and his already-drooping brows looked even more troubled.
“A-all right … How many materials do you have …?”
“The upper limit. Four Steel Plates and twenty Windwasp Needles,” she answered promptly. I recalculated everything in my head.
Equipment upgrade materials came in two categories: base materials and additional materials. Every attempt had a fixed, mandatory cost of base materials, but the additional materials were optional. The type and number of additional mats would have a wide effect on the chance of success.
Windwasp Needles were an accuracy-boosting additional material, which meant that they would increase her critical hit chance even more. If my memory was correct, a full twenty needles would max out the success rate of the upgrade attempt at 95 percent.
In other words, this should have been a very good thing for the player actually performing the upgrade attempt. The best customers of all would pay the blacksmith for the materials themselves, but it still had to be much better than failing with no additional mats.
And yet, Nezha looked terrified after hearing her answer. He was clearly unsettled by the request, but he couldn’t find a reason to turn her down.
“All right. I’ll take your weapon and materials.” He bowed again.
Asuna thanked him and handed over the Wind Fleuret first. She then opened her window and materialized a sack in which she had placed all of the goods. She handed them over to the blacksmith through a trade window. Finally, she paid him the cost of the upgrading attempt.
At this point, the luck bonus effect had only four minutes left. That would not be much help in battle, but it was more than enough for a single weapon upgrade. Whether or not it actually worked in the way we hoped was another question, but that was one expensive piece of cake. Surely they could afford to bump us from 95 percent to 97.
I said a silent prayer to the god of the game system. Asuna took two steps back and sidled right next to me. She muttered, “Finger.”
“Huh?”
“Stick out your finger.”