Sword Art Online Progressive 1

  Suddenly, I remembered something Nezha had said just minutes before.

  I finally got to be what I’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 back 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’s 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 by 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 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 life, 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 be
en 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, avoiding 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.

  His gauntleted hand gripped the hilt of his sword and pulled.

  Orlando’s weapon was, like mine, an Anneal Blade. It appeared to be powered up to a similar level. If he was going to strike Nezha’s unprotected back, it would only take three or four hits to finish the job.

  “Orlando …”

  I called out the name of the paladin who had just helped defeat the boss monster minutes ago.

  You spent far more time with Nezha than I ever did. But I can’t stand here and watch you kill him—no matter what that does to my reputation.

  I put all of my weight into my right foot, preparing to dart forward the instant he raised his blade. At the same time, I sensed Asuna shifting position as well.

  “Don’t do anything, Asuna.”

  “No,” she said flatly.

  “Don’t you get it? If you interfere with this, you won’t be allowed among this group anymore. You might even be labeled a criminal.”

  “I still won’t stop. Don’t you remember what I said the first time we met? I left the Town of Beginnings so that I could be myself.”

  “…”

  I didn’t have any time or arguments with which to convince her. Instead, I merely sighed in resignation and nodded.

  Somehow, the angry shouting that filled the coliseum had turned to silence again. Everyone watched wide-eyed, waiting with bated breath for the fateful moment.

  And perhaps because I was concentrating so hard… I picked out the quiet voice from Orlando’s helmet, even though I was nowhere near close enough to hear it.

  “I’m sorry … I’m so sorry, Nezuo.”

  The paladin laid down his sword next to the chakram on the ground. He took a few steps and got down on his knees next to Nezha, facing the same direction, removed his helmet, and put his hands flat on the tile.

  Beowulf, Cuchulainn, Gilgamesh, and Enkidu followed his lead, setting down their weapons and helmets and getting into a line with Nezha at the center.

  Amid dead silence, the five—no, six Legend Braves bowed in apology to the rest of the raid.

  Eventually, Orlando spoke up, his trembling voice the only sound in the coliseum.

  “Nezuo… Nezha is our partner. We’re the ones who forced him to commit that fraud.”

  14

  “SO WHY DO WE HAVE TO BE THE ERRAND-RUNNERS here?” Asuna grumbled as she trudged along.

  I shrugged and answered, “What can you do? It’s just the way it is.”

  “No, not that! We were a party of two during the first boss fight, but this time we had a full six!”

  “Only because Agil was considerate enough to let us join him. We’ll need to thank him when this all blows over.”

  Asuna raised an eyebrow at me.

  “W-what?”

  “Nothing. I’m just wondering if your skill at getting along is earning a few proficiency points.”

  “That’s …” my line, I wanted to say, but I held it in. “That should be clear, since I have a gift for him, too.”

  “Oh? What’s that, the Mighty Straps you found in the labyrinth?”

  “… Ooh, good idea. I’ll have to give those to him, too.” I patted my fist into my palm.

  Asuna looked at me doubtfully, then her eyes went wide with understanding.

  “Oh, I know! You’re going to foist that thing you’ve been keeping in the inn chest off on Agil!”

  “Indeed.”

  She was referring to the large Vendor’s Carpet that Nezha left with me when he abandoned his blacksmithing and went off to learn the Martial Arts skill. It was an expensive and useful item, but offered little benefit to a combat-focused character. Plus, it couldn’t be placed in one’s inventory, so it had to be rolled up and hoisted around by hand.

  “Agil might be a warrior, but he seems likely to know some promising future blacksmiths, wouldn’t you suspect? I’m sure Nezha would be happy knowing that it went to good use.”

  “But what if Agil himself wakes up to the lures of running his own business?”

  “… Then I’ll be his first customer,” I answered glibly.

  Asuna sighed and glanced ahead. We were walking up the spiral staircase between the second and third floors. But for some unknown design purpose, the stairs spiraled around the entire eight-hundred-foot-wide tower, meaning that we actually had to walk a distance of over 2,500 feet … plus height.

  But because there were no monsters on the staircase, it was still a much easier exit from the tower than going from the boss chamber all the way down to the front entrance.

  As the roving strikers (or, if you prefer, leftovers) of the raid, Asuna and I had been given our orders by Lind: to leave the labyrinth, which was shut off from all instant messages, and deliver the news of our victory to all the players who were eagerly awaiting an update.

  Normally this would be the job—no, privilege—of Lind or Kibaou. But the main raid force could not leave the boss chamber for another hour or so. Not because they were locked inside but because they were too busy talking. The debate raged on about how to deal with Nezha and the Legend Braves.

  But I no longer had any concerns about the outcome of that discussion. The instant that Orlando and his partners had laid down their weapons and admitted their sins, the conclusion wa
s foretold. No matter how heated up the group was, they weren’t so bloodthirsty that they would execute a group of six players, and the addition of the Braves to the guilty side changed the equation: Now Shivata and the others could realistically be repaid for their lost weapons.

  Orlando explained every last detail of the deception and removed all of his equipment, not just the sword and helm. The other four followed his lead, and produced a small mountain of high-level gear that would fetch a price beyond my estimation.

  He told the group that if they turned all of these items into cash, it would surpass the value of the lost weapons—they’d sunk their own honestly earned money into the armor as well—and serve as a repayment for all the victims of their scheme. If there was col left over, it could be used as a potion fund for the next boss battle.

  Now that the damages were able to be repaid, the remaining problem was the player who died because his weapon was stolen.

  Under the current configuration of SAO, no amount of money could make up for a lost life. The Legend Braves offered to go find the fellow’s companions and apologize in person, if that would help in any way. When they asked the dagger user who’d brought this story up, he backed down on his assertion, saying that it was just a rumor and he didn’t know the name.

  In the end, the group decided to ask the information agent to discover the truth of the matter. The first controversy over player-swindling in Aincrad was about to reach a close without bloodshed, but there was one problem remaining: how to convert the dozens of pieces of high-powered equipment into cash.

  There was always the option of selling them to NPC merchants in town. But the NPC’s prices were always kept below the market rate by the “invisible hand” of the system in order to combat inflation. If we were going to get the maximum value, the transactions had to be with other players.

  The people with the most col and the largest need for good equipment were the front-line players. So Lind and Kibaou considered the possibility of selling that equipment to the few dozen players present in the boss chamber and donating the money to Shivata’s group of three. Of course, there were more victims of the scheme than just the people present here, so proper payment would need to be made once everyone went back to town.