Imperial Swordcraft Academy, March 380 HE

Hopefully we won't have to worry about fighting girls until the

Four-Empire Holy Unification Tournament.

I once said something like this to Eugeo, just before the Zakkaria Tournament. That was a year and a half ago.

It was two years ago that we'd felled the Gigas Cedar blocking

our way out of Rulid Village. Six months later, we joined the Zakkaria garrison, then ascended to Centoria six months after that,

making it one year since we'd knocked on the door of the academy.

They were long, long days that happened in a blink, but thinking back on them made my head spin. Two years was the same

amount of time that I had spent in Aincrad, after all.

Fortunately (if you could call it that), this virtual realm called

the Underworld, which I was diving into through circumstances

unknown, worked on some nearly unimaginable super-tech.

By my estimation, the Fluctlight Acceleration function, which

sped up the user's mind and shrank perceived time to a fraction

of its regular speed, was working at a factor of around a thousand

to one. That meant that for all this time I'd experienced, only

eighteen hours had passed for Kazuto Kirigaya in the real world

since the start of the dive in the Soul Translator.

The thought that the two years I'd spent—from waking up in

the forest near Rulid until reaching Norlangarth's Imperial

Swordcraft Academy in Centoria—had actually happened in less

than a day was a mind-bending concept but also a saving grace. It

meant that at worst, the amount of time I'd been missing wasn't

actually that long.

I didn't want my parents, Suguha, my friends, and certainly

not Yui nor Asuna to worry about me. On top of that, I knew that

they would never be content with just worrying, which was what

weighed on my mind.

At any rate, given the possibility that I would cause them distress by doing so, I had vowed to avoid unnecessary feminine

contact whenever possible here. I'd sworn it when I left Rulid—

thank goodness that Eugeo was male—and it was my intent to

honor the pledge that made me say those words in Zakkaria.

How could I have guessed that in the year since coming to

Centoria, I would be doing most of my swordfighting against a

woman?

"This is a recap of the entire year, so treat it that way."

That cool order came from an older student in a customized

uniform, mostly purple, with her dark-brown hair tied into a long

ponytail—my upperclassman.

"Understood, Miss Liena," I answered, and drew the wooden

practice sword from the leather holder on my left waist. Yes, it

was only a wooden sword, but it was made of polished platinum

oak, the very finest of materials, shining as though it were metal.

It had no edge, meaning that it wouldn't cause any life damage if

it brushed clothes, but in terms of item priority, it was far higher

than the crude metal swords we had received at the Zakkaria

Tournament.

Once I had readied my blade in a normal stance, my opponent

smoothly drew hers. Her stance was a bit unorthodox, a sideways

lean with her right side forward and the sword held diagonally so

that it hid her left arm. While it was strange, this was actually the

basic stance for her family's own sword school, the "Serlut Battle

Style."

"…Since it's the last time, you can even use your left hand," I

offered with a cheeky grin. She murmured in the affirmative, totally serious, and reached behind her back and under a large ornamental sash. I had no idea what she would pull out until the

duel started.

Despite my aforementioned oath about women, I couldn't

deny that the girl standing ten mels ahead was beautiful.

She was even a little bit taller than me, and I was currently five

foot six in real life. Her tied-up hair flowed in waves down her

back, and the long lilac ribbon that bound it up complemented

the dark-brown color well. Her beauty combined the fierceness of

a warrior with the pride of nobility. Her dark-blue eyes put me in

mind of an evening sky.

She wore a crisp, fitted jacket and a billowing long skirt, both

of which were glacial purple. It wasn't a flashy color but, mysteriously enough, on her the uniform looked more dazzling than any

dress. Of course, due to my position, I also knew full well how the

muscles underneath it were hard as steel.

"…This will be the last one," said Sortiliena Serlut, child of

Norlangarth nobility and second-seat elite disciple at the Imperial Swordcraft Academy.

As a primary trainee at the academy and her page, I nodded

silently and dropped my center of weight.

My everyday schedule of study and practical exercises lasted

from nine in the morning to three in the afternoon, when I began

my hour-long duties as her page. I was always mentally and physically exhausted by this point, but when I faced off against Sortiliena, all the fatigue vanished. As it was now after five o'clock, we

were the only two people in the training hall of the elite disciples'

dorm that stood on high ground within the academy campus.

Right about now, Eugeo would be fretting to himself about the

fact that I was breaking the curfew of the common room at the

primary trainees' dorm, but he was also serving as a page for another disciple, so he would understand.

I focused on the task at hand and let my sword become an extension of my mind. The color of Liena's eyes darkened, and the

air seemed to crackle with tension. The flame in the lamp that lit

the wide training hall flickered, unable to stand the pressure.

We moved in unison, our breathing unified, even without a

judge there to signal the start.

Liena was called the "Walking Tactics Manual"; tricks and

feints would not work on her. I crossed the span between us in a

straight line and thrust forward a vertical slash without any

warm-up.

If I tried this in the practical exercise portion of the day, the

instructor would give me an earful, but in this duel, using a

wimpy Norkia-style form was a surefire way to lose. As far as I

had experienced, Liena's Serlut style was the most practically

suited to battle in all of the Underworld.

She blocked my quick strike with the wooden sword in her

right hand. I hardly felt any impact; her wrist, shoulder, and back

curved gently to slide the blow along the surface of the blade and

disperse the shock. This secret art of the Serlut style was called

"Flowing Water," and while I'd been studying it under her tutelage for a year, I still hadn't mastered its use.

As an aside, the written language used in this world was

straightforward Japanese (with a few foreign loanwords), but the

number of kanji they used was rather small—about a third of the

JIS first-rank characters, or only about a thousand in total. Given

those limitations, the creativity that the Underworldians utilized

to name their skills was impressive. For now, they had only fairy

tales of the sort told to children, but in another century, they

could be writing full-blown novels. If those were pulled out to sell

in the real world and became a hit, how crazy would that be…?

I cast aside this mental detour and leaped forward and to the

right. I'd learned through hard experience that if I tried to fight

the direction of her Flowing Water, I would suffer a painful

counter.

I reversed in midair and landed near the wall of the training

hall, then launched my right foot off the gleaming black paneling

for another charge—when she finally moved her left hand.

Her fingers traced an arc of white light from behind her back

around to the front. Naturally, it was not a light element produced from sacred arts. It belonged to a whip of finely braided

white leather: her favorite weapon aside from the sword.

The practice whip made of soft uru goat leather did not cause

much life damage on a direct blow, but it was painful enough to

bring tears to the eyes. If I tried to parry with my sword, it would

wrap around the blade the moment it made contact and render

my weapon essentially useless. But if I stepped back, I would

have to continue retreating to avoid a second blow, then a third.

I twisted as hard as I could to the left to avoid the whip. It

grazed my right cheek and passed, and I hurtled forward. The end

of the whip snapped in midair behind me and curled like a snake

as it pulled back. I had to close the distance before her next attack. I determined that an ordinary dash wouldn't cut it, so I

pulled back instead, holding my sword parallel to my right leg. I

leaned low, low, low, and my blade began to glow a sky-blue.

Liena's eyes narrowed. Her left hand snapped open, tossing

the whip aside so she could brace the pommel of her sword.

My body shot forward as if struck by a giant invisible hand. It

was the Aincrad-style—which was, of course, just a name I had

given to the original sword skills of SAO—one-handed low-thrust

attack Rage Spike. I turned into a gust of wind, closing the twenty

feet between us.

For her part, Liena pulled her sword behind her right side and

stepped forward with her left foot. The wooden sword glowed a

jade-green—the Serlut-style secret technique Ring Vortex.

My sword jumped up from the right, while hers rotated on a

level plane, until they connected with a tremendous clash, briefly

illuminating the dim training hall with blue and green.

I pushed upward, jamming our swords at the hilt, so that

Liena's face was just inches away. Her expression was cool; there

wasn't a drop of sweat on her pale forehead. But if I let up on the

forward pressure just the tiniest bit, she would easily topple me

backward.

Human abilities in this world—our "character stats," if you will

—were a bit tricky.

On a Stacia Window, the only numbers listed were the current

and maximum life points, an object control (OC) authority level,

and a system control (SC) authority level.

My first working theory, which was admittedly simplistic, was

that OC level involved manipulating weapons, while SC level involved sacred arts—in other words, physical strength and magic

intelligence. But actual physical strength did not correspond directly to OC level. A number of variables affected it, such as age,

physique, health status, and long-term experience.

Upon reflection, if OC authority was really all there was to

strength, then if a young child's level rose abnormally through

some particular event or circumstance, he or she would suddenly

be an extremely hardy youth. Based on the reason for this world's

existence, such an irregular occurrence would be undesirable.

I hadn't actually checked for myself, but I was pretty certain

that my OC level was well above Liena's. The fact that we were at

a total standstill spoke to the tremendous amount of training

she'd undergone. Eugeo and I hadn't missed our morning practice once in two years, but the word possessed didn't even begin

to describe her level of self-discipline. That hard work both increased her physical prowess statistic and gave her a different

kind of "strength" that could not be expressed with numbers.

But most frightening of all was that out of the twelve elite disciples at the academy, she was still the second seat—meaning

there was someone else even greater.

Next month, Eugeo and I would take the test to be secondary

trainees. The twelve who scored highest would be placed in the

ranks of elite disciples—what you might call "scholarship students." We wanted to join their ranks, of course, but ultimately

we needed to occupy the first and second seats (essentially the

top two ranks of the yearly class). Otherwise, we wouldn't get to

participate in the post-graduation tournament in the presence of

the emperor—the Norlangarth Imperial Battle Tournament.

In the two-year Swordcraft Academy, there were exactly 120

students in the first year. That meant we had to exceed all 118

other classmates—but the thought that even nearly invincible

Liena wasn't the top of her class was honestly making me nervous, if not downright frightened…

"You've grown, Kirito," she said, right next to my ear. It was as

though she had read my mind. Pushing back to counter the unrelenting pressure, I managed to shake my head.

"No…I've still got a long way to go."

"Don't be modest. You've at least figured out how to handle

my whip."

"And no idea how to use one, myself."

Her shining lips formed a little smile. "You don't need to. And

here at the very end, I have a question…There's more to your Aincrad style than what you've shown me, isn't there?"

Words caught in my throat. The distraction caused my sword

to falter just an inch or two, so that she was looking down at me.

The lady swordsman's dusk-blue eyes stared into me as she

said, "The reason I chose you as page a year ago was because I

sensed something like a fresh breeze within your sword. Something fundamentally different from the official Norkia style the

academy teaches…A type of swordfighting meant to win, not for

show. I believe that the Serlut style is also practical, but the last

year has taught me that it's still quite stiff compared to yours."

My eyes bulged; I had no response to this confession.

It was only natural that we used our swords differently. I was

not from the Underworld. As the name suggested, my Aincrad

style of swordsmanship was brought here from that floating castle. From a game of death, where every battle risked the ultimate

price.

Here in the Underworld, there was essentially no battle. All

fights were competitive "matches"—in the regional tournaments,

they ended short of impact, while the higher events in Centoria

were finished after the first solid blow. If there was no risk to the

combatant's life, it was only natural that their swordplay tended

toward the demonstrative.

But that did not mean that the skill of the Underworld's

swordsmen was in any way inferior. I had most definitely learned

that lesson over the last two years. They practiced their forms infinitely to produce a single perfect technique that could easily

overpower a more practically minded fighter who lacked their

level of discipline.

It all came down to the power of imagination.

The Underworld was a virtual world, but its fundamental nature was completely different from Aincrad's. Here, the strength

of the mental image emitted by the soul, or fluctlight, could

sometimes have an influence on events.

The imagination of a swordfighter who had been practicing

the same move since childhood, for a decade or two, could be so

powerful that it overrode a higher OC authority level—as in this

situation, where Liena was overpowering me. The power of the

mental image was the true hidden power of this world that

couldn't be expressed numerically. And given that I had been in

this world for only two years—and Eugeo had started practicing

the sword at the same time—we just didn't have that skill yet.

Most of the students at the Swordcraft Academy were born

from noble stock, social elites who had received special sword

training from the age of three or four. Only a handful of them had

gone through truly bloodcurdling training, but we had to surpass

them, too, in order to be at the top of the class.

The only weapon I had to my benefit was the Aincrad style.

Sword skills.

I still wasn't sure exactly how sword skills had come to be in

the Underworld. But for whatever reason, the people here either

knew only singular skills or were incapable of doing more than

that.

When Egome, the apprentice sentinel, had used the "Bluewind

Slash" of the Zakkarite style in the tournament a year and a half

ago, it would have been called "Slant" back in SAO. Liena's Serlut-style "Ring Vortex" was just the two-handed spinning attack

Cyclone. There were others, of course; the Norkia-style "Lightning Slash" was just Vertical, and the High-Norkian "MountainSplitting Wave" was the double-handed Avalanche.

These were the secret techniques of the masters of their respective styles, and there were no supersecret or ultrasecret

moves beyond that. That meant the two-part and three-part skills

I knew were one of the few weapons that could actually counter

the tremendous skills of the elites at the school. Yes, it felt a little

cheap and sneaky, but we weren't trying to become the most venerable people of this world. All we needed to do was pass through

the gate to the Central Cathedral, the Axiom Church's massive

tower just a few miles from the academy.

For Eugeo, to reunite with Alice, after she had been taken

away as a child.

For me, to find the administrator of this world.

We would do any cheap and cowardly thing we could in every

single duel if it meant achieving those goals. I would use the

higher sword skills I knew, one match at a time, to continue winning. Whatever it took to win the Unification Tournament and

earn the title of Integrity Knight.

That was why I hadn't used any multi-strike skills over the last

year. And even if I had, it was always a charge attack like Rage

Spike.

But somehow, my sneaky, underhanded secrecy was no match

for my beautiful upperclassman. Liena leaned in even closer and

whispered into my ear conspiratorially.

"Our distant Serlut ancestors earned the displeasure of the

emperor at the time and were banished from the official HighNorkia style. For that reason, we had to compensate with whips,

knives, and other irregular tools, crafting a style that relied more

on softness than strength. That is the Serlut way…Do not get me

wrong. I am not unhappy about this. In fact, I am proud to be the

only one to carry on our style. It's what I've spent my life studying…"

Despite her strong words, her hands were trembling, causing

our wooden swords to creak with pressure. It could have been my

chance to push back, but I didn't. I stood my ground, waiting for

her to continue.

"But my father hopes that I will graduate this academy as first

seat, win the imperial event, and restore the honor of the Serlut

family. But don't you find that a contradiction? Even if I fulfill his

desires and earn us the right to practice the High-Norkia style

again…would our family then abandon the Serlut style? If so…

then what is the meaning of the pride I have felt in our style since

childhood…?"

I had no immediate answer to that question.

I hardly even thought about it anymore, but it was an undeniable fact that Liena, Eugeo, the students and teachers at the academy—all the people who lived in the Underworld—were not actual human beings. This place was a virtual world, and they were

just human units populating it.

And yet, they were not like the NPCs of ordinary VRMMO

games. They were artificial fluctlights, copies of human souls

saved to a special media format. A totally new form of AI created

by someone in the real world, probably the mysterious venture

capital project Rath…

Yet somehow, their emotive capability sometimes appeared

much richer than that of real humans. They sensed, worried over,

accepted, and occasionally defied this world and their fates within

it. Every time I saw this happen, I couldn't help but be amazed.

Their existence, the existence of Sortiliena as she ground her

wooden blade against mine, felt like an astonishing miracle.

"…Miss Liena," I mumbled. She was wearing the tiniest bit of a

sardonic smile.

"I've been carrying that question around with me since long

before I came to this school. Not once in these two years did I

ever succeed in beating him. Perhaps it's because of that hesitation…"

She was referring to the first-seat elite disciple, the indisputable top student at the school: Volo Levantein. He was the

heir of a second-rank noble family that had served as the sword

instructors for the Norlangarth Imperial Knights for generations,

and he was an appropriately tremendous swordsman. The power

of his overhead smashes was far and away the greatest in the

academy, and I had witnessed him split a practice log with a

wooden sword before.

The top elite students of the academy were ranked, from first

seat to twelfth seat. Those ranks were determined based on the

results of test matches held four times a year.

Naturally, I had witnessed the three matches so far from the

fancy close-up VIP seats. Like the Zakkaria Tournament, the

event was put into a bracket. The twelve disciples played through

two rounds to produce three finalists, with the highest-ranked of

the three according to pre-tournament rankings getting seeded

before the other two. All three times, the final of each ended up

being Liena versus first-seat Volo. All three times, she was unable

to overcome his ability.

As far as I could see, their skills as swordsmen were equal.

Volo was strength, and Liena was softness. He struck with incredibly fierce slashes, which she handled with the grace of flowing

water, occasionally striking back with acute skill. The matches

would continue without a clean hit until time was nearly up—at

which point Volo would attempt the High-Norkian secret overhead slash technique, which Liena always failed to block. Twice

her wooden sword had been knocked aside, and once it actually

broke.

All three matches had to go to judgment, but given these final

moments, it was no wonder that the judgment would go to Volo's

corner in each case. Thus, for the entire year, Volo had been first

seat and Liena had been second seat.

The third seat was also unchanged; the semifinalist who consistently lost against Liena was a large fellow known as Golgorosso Balto. Incidentally, Golgorosso's page was my very good

friend Eugeo.

When Liena said this was the last time, just before our duel,

she was referring to the fact that her fourth and final "graduation

match" was coming up in two days. That would determine the

final ranking, and the day after that, the twelve elite disciples and

all the secondary trainees would graduate from the academy.

In other words, the match in two days would be Liena's last

chance to finally overcome Volo. Technically, since the top two

ranks could appear in the post-graduation Imperial Battle Tournament, she had the opportunity to face off against Volo again,

but she didn't seem to feel that she had a chance against him then

if she never beat him once at school.

"I'll be honest," she murmured, our swords still pressed

against each other, "when I see his Mountain-Splitting Wave

stance…I falter. No matter how hard I train and prepare, I cannot

convince my body that it is capable of withstanding that blow. It's

been that way ever since I was a primary trainee…since the first

time I ever saw him fight, in the entrance test…"

I was surprised at this revelation, but I also completely understood her point. There really wasn't a difference in skill between

them. The only gap was in the strength of the mind—the amount

of confidence.

If my theory was correct and this virtual world was built on

mnemonic visual data, then the strength of the mind would be a

huge factor in determining the outcome of events. The things that

we saw and touched were not polygonal data and textures but

memory images extracted from our fluctlights.

How could this mental data, which must surely have fine differences from individual to individual, be shared like this? There

was probably something like a "main memory device" that

buffered all the fluctlight output data and averaged it. In that

case, if a particular fluctlight had a powerful enough mental

image to affect that buffer data overall, that would essentially

mean that the willpower of an individual could rewrite events.

That was the secret to the overpowering strength of Volo Levantein and others like him. Their absolute confidence in their

skills and sword styles led to an unshakeable mental image that

manifested in those unstoppable attacks.

On the other hand, Liena had a tiny sliver of self-doubt about

her style. The source of that doubt was in the founding and backdrop of the Serlut style, as she had just mentioned. The understanding that her style came about due to her ancestors being forbidden from using the High-Norkia style created something negative, some little element of shame in her heart. Perhaps it was inevitable that she would fall to Volo's absolute confidence.

But this time, I really wanted her to win. Not because of anything to do with the workings of this world or theories about

imagination power, but simply because I wanted her to be able to

graduate with pride. She had the qualifications and the right to

do that. She'd undertaken more training over the last year than

any of the other disciples…

"Well…you've been training longer and harder than anyone,

even Volo. Is that fact not enough for you to feel confident…?" I

asked. She thought for a few moments, then shook her head.

"No…I suppose it isn't. The further I study the Serlut style, the

more I think of it. What if this were a true steel fight, not with

wooden swords? What if I were allowed to use my whip or knife?

Then I would surely be a match for the High-Norkia style. But

that's just an excuse. Within the human realm, there is no combat…no true battle. As long as I use that as an excuse, I will never

be able to stop Volo's blade…"

Before I could find some response, she smiled and continued,

"But you're different, Kirito. You have your own unique style, too,

but you don't feel any sense of inferiority toward those of the orthodox styles. I've been watching you for a year now, and I think I

finally understand why. Like I brought up earlier…there's much

more to your Aincrad style, isn't there? That's why you have such

an unshakeable core. Just like that tree from your home forest…

the Gigas Cedar."

"Oh…you mean the one I cut down with my own hands," I

noted ironically. That one actually got a little laugh out of her.

At some point, the consistent tension had gone out of our

arms, and our wooden swords were simply resting against each

other. Still, she placed her weight forward, pushing on me. Her

voice was deep and smooth for a girl's.

"Then that tree stands within you now, firm against any storm,

looking up only to Solus overhead. Kirito…I want to see your hidden inner strength."

"…"

"It has nothing to do with the fight with Volo. I just want to see

it…to know it. I want to know everything that makes you the

swordsman you are before I graduate."

Inside those evening-blue eyes, floating just in front of my

face, little stars twinkled.

Without realizing it, my face tilted a fraction of an inch closer

to that soul-absorbing beauty. Suddenly, there was a sharp little

prick of pain at my hairline, jolting me back to my senses. I

blinked and restarted my train of thought.

The fact that I hadn't shown Liena the "next step" of the Aincrad style had nothing to do with any frugal ideas about keeping

an ace up my sleeve.

It was as simple as this: The class-15 wooden swords we used

in duels and sparring could not execute it. The best I could manage was two-part skills like Snakebite and Vertical Arc; no matter

how hard I tried, I couldn't pull off three-parters or better. I'd

tried it with steel swords of the same class, to no success.

Only when I had used the holy class-45 Blue Rose Sword that

had managed to cut down the Gigas Cedar was I able to pull off

four-part sword skills. I had no idea why. At the very least, there

were no restrictions like that in SAO.

At any rate, she wanted to see "everything" I could do, so I

didn't want to throw her a bone with an ordinary two-part attack

and pretend that was it. It left only one option: to borrow the Blue

Rose Sword from Eugeo and execute a five-part attack, the most

powerful I could currently use.

Eugeo would probably happily lend it to me, but I felt a bit

hesitant about his doing so. The sword belonged to him, and I believed that a sword was the swordsman's soul. I couldn't shake

the feeling that as long as I knew I was using another's sword, I

couldn't actually deliver the greatest possible attack. And I

couldn't just take the highest-priority sword found in the school

armory, either; even that wouldn't be my sword.

Realizing that there was no option and that I would have to

borrow the Blue Rose Sword, I resigned myself to the inevitable

choice and said, "All right. But can you give me a day, please? I

promise you, at this time tomorrow…I will show you the greatest

move I know."

Liena's mouth briefly curled into a smile, which disappeared

in favor of a quizzical look. "But tomorrow is our day of rest.

Training is forbidden, and this hall will be off-limits."

"…It's not training," I replied.

This intrigued her for some reason. "Oh? What is it, then?"

"W-well…" I started, trying to come up with the right words.

Off the top of my head, I said, "It's a thank-you. You've taught me

so much over the last year. I've heard that there's a custom at this

school, that the day before a disciple graduates, their trainee page

gives them some kind of present. I'll make my present a sword attack. That can be given on a day of rest, can't it?"

She smirked. "You'll never change, will you? I've never heard

of a sword technique being given as a graduation present. But I

suppose this is a good time to make a confession…"

"Uh…what's that?"

"As a matter of fact, I broke with tradition in a way just by

choosing you for my page—although the custom is admittedly

stupid to begin with. When a noble girl chooses her trainee page,

she should choose one from another noble house, but one lower

than her own. When I singled you out, the representatives of the

higher nobles came to my dorm room in person to complain."

She chuckled at this memory, but I grimaced in horror.

In the privileged classes of the Norlangarth Empire, there

were six ranks of nobility, above which was the imperial family.

Volo Levantein's family was a second-rank noble house, while the

Serluts were third-rank—both multiple levels above the fifth-rank

lord of Zakkaria.

I, meanwhile, was as common as common gets (same as the

real world), the lowest of social classes. Even without nobility, if

you held a certain amount of power within a community or

owned significant land—such as Gasfut Zuberg, the Rulid elder,

or the farmer Vanot Walde—you earned a last name. The people

lower than that didn't even have that right.

What I didn't realize until I had wormed my way into the Imperial Swordcraft Academy was that nearly all the students here

were from noble or merchant families; only one in five was of

common stock. For one thing, the requirements were completely

different. Eugeo and I had had to work our butts off for six

months to earn the Zakkarian garrison commander's recommendation just to take the academy entrance test, while nobles had

that right by default. When I found that out, I was so angry I

could have written a letter of protest to the Ministry of Education.

Once I got in, I learned that the school treated you no differently, whether you were noble or common…but there was still

discrimination in various forms. I had withstood all that nonsense over the course of the year without blinking an eye (and so

had Eugeo, I expected), but I had no idea they'd gone after Liena

as well, just for choosing me as her page.

"If…if that's the custom, then why pick me…? There were six

students who scored higher than me on the entrance test. They

were all nobles, so you wouldn't have gotten flack for choosing

them…"

"But those six scored their points on presentation. I have no

interest in the beauty of the form. From what I saw, you were the

one who put up the best fight against the testing instructor. In

fact, it was more like…"

She paused but did not finish her sentence. Instead, Liena

grinned and started over. "No, it's been a year. Don't force me to

say why I picked you now. I'm about to graduate. Tomorrow is

more important. If you're going to present me with a demonstration of the Aincrad style's secret technique, I would be glad to receive it."

"Ah, uh, g-great."

"But…something bothers me. Based on how you brought it up,

I could interpret your gift to be something you forgot about and

just improvised on the spot…"

"N-no, not at all! I've always meant to give you this, I swear," I

claimed.

Liena smugly decided she would take me at face value, then

added, "But that aside, we ought to wrap up this sparring session

now."

"Huh…? Ah!"

It was only then that I recalled we were in the middle of a

practice fight. Before I could react, a powerful shock ran through

the wooden sword that I'd just been holding in place. Still Water,

a forceful forward step from a locked position, was not a sword

skill, but it was one of the few power moves in the Serlut arsenal.

I leaped back rather than fight the flow of force. Unlike Flowing Water earlier, Still Water placed great strain on the legs, so

she would be briefly vulnerable after using it. And the whip was

not in her free hand anymore.

I whirled my sword back as I landed, hoping to finish the fight

with a direct lunge.

Instantly, I felt a chill run down my backbone.

Liena was still holding her wooden sword in both hands—but I

couldn't see the whip behind her, where she should have discarded it. Where had it gone?! But there was no stopping the

move now. My body activated the overhead lunge Sonic Leap,

lighting my weapon a pale blue…

At that exact same moment, Liena removed her left hand from

her sword and stretched upward. She grabbed something and

swung it down. White light stretched from her hand like a snake,

wrapping itself several times around my body just before I could

bolt forward.

I had assumed the whip was lying on the floor, but its end had

been wrapped around a ceiling beam so that it had dangled overhead the entire time we were locked together.

But I didn't put that all together until after I had toppled sideways and smacked the back of my head against the floor.

As stars burst in front of my eyes, I almost imagined that

somebody was sighing in disappointment and exasperation, right

around my forehead.

2

Centoria was the biggest city in the Norlangarth Empire—the

biggest in the entire human realm, in fact. It was a perfect circle

surrounded by walls, measuring ten "kilors" across, in the measurement of this world.

That was just about the length across the very first floor of

Aincrad, meaning this city was as large as that massive wilderness map all on its own. It was almost impossibly huge for a virtual city and boasted a population of over twenty thousand, from

what I had heard.

On top of that, the city was constructed in a very special way.

The circular expanse was split into four by large walls forming an

X shape. In essence, it was separated into four wedge-shaped

pieces that narrowed down to a ninety-degree point. Even more

surprising was that these were known as North Centoria, East

Centoria, South Centoria, and West Centoria, and they acted as

separate capital cities to the four empires that divided the human

realm into cardinal directions.

In other words, the capital cities of the four empires, which

mimicked the shape of those larger territories, were all adjacent

and separated from one another by a simple wall, at the very center of humanity.

I couldn't help but be shocked when I learned this. The emperors' residences and the headquarters for the knights' brigades

that served as the military force of each empire were all located in

the capital. If a war ever broke out, the city would immediately

explode into chaos. I started to suggest this possibility to Eugeo

but realized my mistake in time: There weren't even robberies in

this world, much less murders, so war could never break out

among the empires.

Of course, in order to pass the giant marble walls—known as

Everlasting Walls—that separated the capitals, one needed a special pass. That made sense, given that you were crossing national

borders. So the visiting traders and tourists from afar in North

Centoria tended to attract a bit of attention: black-haired Easterners, tanned Southerners, and slender Westerners. They were

technically foreigners, but since we all spoke the same language

(with different accents), there was no real trouble with the locals.

Not only was there no war, there was essentially no friction

among the countries at all, and that surely had to do with what

sat in the middle of the city—the giant pure-white tower that occupied the center of the human world as a whole.

The Axiom Church's Central Cathedral.

It was so tall that the tip was always indistinct up in the sky. I

couldn't begin to guess how many hundreds, if not thousands of

feet tall it was. It must have been a tremendous sight looking up

from the base, but high walls surrounded the square grounds of

the Church, making it impossible. The four Everlasting Walls that

split Centoria each intersected with a corner of the Cathedral's

white walls…Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that

they flowed outward from this center of the realm.

The Everlasting Walls were quite stunning artifacts in their

own right, as they ran not just through the city of Centoria but

over fields, forests, and deserts, all the way until they ran into the

End Mountains nearly five hundred miles away. There were no

power shovels or cranes in this world, so it was terrifying to imagine how much time and manpower it had taken to construct the

walls by hand.

There could be no better symbol of the absolute authority of

the Axiom Church.

The tower in the center of humanity was so grand and vast,

looming high over even the palaces of the four emperors, that it

was easy to rationalize the way the people of this world overlooked the differences among the empires. It was probably no different than the way I viewed residents of Tokyo versus nearby

Saitama.

That raised another question. In this world of less than one

hundred thousand residents, why did they need to split up into

four empires at all? I hadn't yet found an answer. The rationale

for an ultimate church authority presiding over the empires was

also a mystery still.

The Axiom Church had civil posts such as priests and senators,

along with the Integrity Knights who served as its military rank,

but according to what Liena told me, it was not a large organization, consisting of less than a hundred in total. If you totaled up

the knights and garrisons of the four empires, they made over two

thousand. So the fact that there were no recorded rebellions of

the empires against the Church meant that either the emperors

themselves could not defy the Church and its Taboo Index, or

that those few dozen Integrity Knights were more powerful than

an army of two thousand. Possibly both were true.

The glory of the skyscraping Central Cathedral could be

viewed from any spot at the Swordcraft Academy. As I left the

elite disciples' dorm following my final practice with Liena, hurrying through the chilly spring evening, I glanced up at the chalkwhite tower overhead, bathed in orange and blue.

Was whoever stood at the very top of that tower gazing down

upon humanity just an onlooker from the real world like me, or

yet another Underworldian fluctlight? Even if I continued to clear

every single hurdle, it would take another year and a half to find

that answer. Yes, in the real world that amounted to only another

ten hours and change, but that meant nothing to how I would

perceive it.

In the two years since I had woken up in the forest near Rulid,

I had spent many nights trembling with the fear of not knowing

my situation and the powerful desire to see Asuna, Suguha, my

parents, and my friends again.

But on the other hand, there was a part of me, deep down, that

feared finding the exit at the top of the Cathedral. Logging out

would also mean a parting from all the people I'd met here in this

world. That included Selka and the other children of Rulid I

hadn't seen in months and months; the few friends I'd met at the

academy; Sortiliena, who had tutored me and cared for me as her

page for the past year; and most of all, my partner, Eugeo.

I hadn't thought of them as AIs in quite a while. They were just

as human as me, only with their souls stored in a different place.

The two years I'd spent in Rulid, Zakkaria, and Centoria had

taught me this.

In fact, my love wasn't just for them. I felt it for this mysterious, vast, and beautiful world, too…

I summoned a deep breath to stop these thoughts from going

any further.

Up ahead was an aging building, a two-story stone structure

with green shingle roofing: the North Centoria Swordcraft Academy dorm building housing 120 primary trainees.

I would have preferred to climb straight into my room through

the second-story window, but dorm regulations forbade that. Unlike the level of freedom granted to the elite disciples at their

dorm, the primary trainee dorm and the secondary trainee dorm

on a nearby hill were regimented by rules so strict, even the old

Knights of the Blood headquarters would be stunned.

I summoned my courage and climbed the stone steps to the

entrance, then carefully pushed the double doors. One silent step

inside, then two—and I heard a quiet cough from my right. I

turned fearfully to catch sight of a woman sitting across the entrance counter. Her brown hair was neatly arranged, and her features were nothing if not strict and stern. She was likely in her

late twenties.

Promptly, I put my left hand to my waist and pounded my

right fist over my chest in what they called the "knight's salute"

and announced crisply, "Primary Trainee Kirito, returning to

dorm!"

"…You are thirty-eight minutes after curfew."

There were no clocks in this world, only special "Bells of TimeTolling" in every town and major location (including this academy) that played melodies every half hour. The only way to know

the precise time would be some special limited-use higher sacred

arts, but Azurica, the dorm manager, had to be using some extrasensory skill to determine that it was exactly 5:38 in the evening.

I held my knight's salute and, quieter this time, said, "My instructor, Elite Disciple Serlut, issued an extension of my instruction time."

Azurica stared at me with her blue-gray eyes. Between her

stern disposition and the sound of her name, I couldn't help but

be reminded of another person I knew. Before I left this dorm, I

wanted the chance to ask her if she had a relative up north named

Sister Azalia, but it didn't look like that opportunity would come.

Most of our interactions came in the form of scolding—just like

this.

"It is the duty of any trainee page to accept the teaching of a

disciple. Very well. But Primary Trainee Kirito, I have suspected

that you see this not as a duty but a kind of free pass to escape

curfew. And after an entire year, I still cannot dispel this suspicion."

I undid my salute, moved my hand behind my head, and put

on an awkward smile. "Wh-why, Miss Azurica, my only desire has

ever been to improve my skill with the sword. Breaking curfew is

simply an unfortunate byproduct of the process and most definitely not its intended purpose. Honest."

"I see. If you've been late all year long to train your skill, you

must have made great leaps and bounds. If you wish to determine

your level of success, I would be more than happy to serve as a

sparring partner."

I froze in place again.

Miss Azurica's calling was being the primary trainee dorm

manager at the North Centoria Imperial Swordcraft Academy and

not an actual swordcraft instructor. But as a general rule, all

adults working at the academy were former graduates. That

meant she had greater skill than the average person. Her expertise in the Norkia style and fearsome "one-on-one lessons" for

any student caught bending (but never breaking) the dorm rules

were well-known by one and all.

That was bad enough, but then what would happen to a student who actually broke the dorm rules? Thankfully, I would

never find out—because it was impossible. The artificial fluctlights who lived in this world had a peculiar feature that made

them incapable of disobeying higher regulations. All except for

me, thanks to my different fluctlight vessel.

In a sense, it was really a minor miracle that I had made it an

entire year without ever breaking one of the dorm rules. Impressed despite myself, I shook my head in protest. "N-no, Miss

Azurica, that won't be necessary. I've only just finished my first

year here."

"I see. Then when you have completed your second year's

training, I will be ready to judge it."

"…Yes…I would…love that," I said, backing away and praying

with all my might that she would not remember this promise for

an entire year.

She finally returned to the document in her hands and said,

"Dinner is in seventeen minutes. Please try not to be as late this

time."

"Y-yes, ma'am! Pardon me!"

I saluted again, spun around, and headed up the main stairs at

the maximum allowed speed. Room 206 was where Eugeo and I

stayed. It was actually a ten-person room, but the other eight

were good guys. Of course, everyone in 206 (and 106 down on the

first floor, which was just for the girls) was of common birth, surrounded by nobles and merchant children—so we couldn't afford

to squabble among ourselves.

In the upstairs hallway, I made my way through the groups of

students chatting and laughing gently on the way to the cafeteria

and finally through the door at the very west end, when—

"You're late, Kirito!"

Naturally, that came from a boy—if you could still call him that

—with flaxen blond hair, sitting on the bed second from the end

on the right. My partner, Eugeo.

He stood up and put his hands on his hips. He'd grown an inch

or two since we'd first met two years ago and was more firmly

built now. It only made sense, as he would be nineteen this year.

Yet his gentle features and sparkling green eyes hadn't changed a

bit. The six months at the Zakkaria garrison and this year at the

academy had put us through serious challenges, but his honest,

hardy soul had never once wavered through all of it.

For my part, I didn't feel like my personality had changed

much, either, but the amount of height and muscle I'd put on was

startling. I was seventeen when I fell into this world, which meant

I felt a two-year gap between my body in the real world and my

body in the Underworld. I had felt plenty weird after escaping the

two years in SAO, but at this rate it was going to be more like

three or four this time…

I approached my partner, holding up the sideways hand of

apology and saying, "Sorry about the delay. It was a 'special' sparring session with Miss Liena…"

"Well…I get that. It's the last time," Eugeo said with a mild

glare. He smiled and continued, "To be honest, I was late by

twenty minutes, too. We got to talking in Golgorosso's room."

"Oh, sheesh. I'm surprised, though…I would have figured that

Rosso was the type to let his sword do the talking."

I walked past Eugeo to the desk-bed placed against the wall

and tossed my practice gloves, elbow pads, and kneepads into the

drawer. In the real world, doing this with used kendo gear would

quickly produce a very fragrant bouquet, but that wouldn't happen here due to a lack of simulated microorganisms. My uniform

had been soaked with sweat at the end of our duel, but now it was

completely dry. Liena, of course, had not sweat a single drop the

entire time.

I straightened up, feeling much lighter now, and Eugeo

smirked and said, "Rosso's actually pretty analytical, if you'd believe it. Well, let me rephrase that. He considers the state of the

mind to be just as important as one's skills…"

"Yeah, I'd believe that. His Baltio style is more focused on the

one-hit victory than the Norkia style, even."

"Yeah. And our Aincrad style is more about adapting to the

moment. But there are times when a swordsman must be unshakeable and place all his life into a single blow! …Or so he says

all the time. Today was just putting a period at the end of that lesson."

"I see. He's got a point. And I feel like your strikes have had

extra weight to them recently…But where does that leave my

adaptive Aincrad style, now that it's getting mixed in with the

Serlut style's constant shifting?"

We left the room as we chatted. Our other eight dorm-mates

had gone to the mess hall, and the hallway was empty. Meals at

the dorm were on a strict time limit, with dinner starting at six

o'clock and ending promptly at seven. Showing up after six wasn't

against the rules, but we tried not to miss the pre-meal prayer.

Anything to avoid trouble—from the noble students' perspective,

Eugeo and I were not only commoners in their midst but also taking up two of the twelve valuable page slots.

We headed for the mess hall at maximum battle speed. It

couldn't be a coincidence that the dorm rooms reserved for students of common birth were the farthest away. Apparently, the

secondary trainee dorm was arranged the same way—but we

wouldn't need to worry about that come April. If all went according to plan, we'd score within the top twelve on the advancement

test at the end of the month and earn our places within the elite

disciples.

Eugeo, thinking about the same thing, muttered, "No more

power walking down the hallway after this."

"Yep. The disciples' dorm is way more relaxed about this stuff.

But Eugeo…there's one thing that really bothers me about being a

disciple…"

"Say no more. It's about the pages, right?"

"Exactly. It was fun having Miss Liena help and instruct me…

but I don't know about being in that position myself…"

"Bingo…I don't know what I'll do if I end up with a noble for a

page…"

We sighed in unison.

The long hallway came to an end. We pushed through the door

and entered a buzzing, lively atmosphere. The mess hall opened

up to both floors, and it was the only coed space in the building.

The majority of the 120 students were grouped in all-male or allfemale tables, but here and there were individuals with the remarkable skill of chatting with mixed company. Just like school

in real life, in fact.

Eugeo and I rushed down the stairs and went to the counter to

get meal trays. There was an empty table back in the corner that

we slid into. Moments later, the six o'clock bells rang, meaning

that we had made it in time.

A male student (noble, of course) who served as dorm leader

stood up, offered a prayer to the Axiom Church, then led the

group in a chant of "Avi Admina." I had no idea what that holy

phrase was supposed to mean. With those formalities out of the

way, it was time to eat.

Tonight's dinner menu was fried whitefish doused with a fra-

grant herb sauce, salad, root vegetable soup, and two bread rolls.

It wasn't that much different from the food served at the church

in Rulid and the farm near Zakkaria, which surprised me, given

how many noble students attended this academy. But they

treated it as completely normal, with no complaints.

It took me a while to figure out why this would be—and it

wasn't because the nobles lived simple, humble lives, too. It had

to do with the Underworld's peculiar concept of spatial resources.

There was a limit to the quantity and volume of objects generated

within a certain range of space and time, which meant that there

were only so many crops, livestock, animals, and fish to harvest

or hunt at a time.

If the nobles were to monopolize this limited food source,

there wouldn't be enough for everyone, and some disadvantaged

residents would go hungry. That would cause their life to drop,

which was against the Taboo Index law about causing damage to

others' lives without justifiable reason—and even nobles and emperors could not defy the Index. Therefore, given its direct link to

maintaining life, food was not the subject of fixation and monopolization that it was in real life…Or at least, that was how I interpreted it.

Of course, just because they weren't snooty about food didn't

mean that all the nobles were automatically of exemplary character.

"Why, I'm positively jealous, Raios!" someone boomed from

right behind us. We both made sour faces.

"We poured our own sweat into cleaning this mess hall, and

yet some people just get to waltz in afterward and eat! Truly jealous!" the voice continued accusingly.

Another voice chimed in. "Oh, don't be spoiled, Humbert. No

doubt the pages are subject to rigors that the rest of us could

never understand!"

"Hah! I bet you're right. From what I hear, a page has no

choice but to do as their tutoring disciple commands."

"Boy, what if you wound up stuck with a tutor who was of low

birth or banned? You never know what they might put you

through."

I just sat there, eating my food, understanding that they were

just trying to get a rise out of me and responding would be giving

them exactly what they wanted. Still, that didn't stop the anger.

Not only were they taking it out on us, they also referred to "low

birth" to mean Eugeo's tutor, Golgorosso, while the "ban" was referring to Liena's style having come about due to her family's

banishment from its original sword style.

That wasn't the only sarcastic needling contained in their

statements. The bit about coming in "afterward" was a reference

to the fact that there were twelve pages in total, but Eugeo and I

were the only ones who showed up just before the dinner bells,

identifying us as their targets.

There were creeps like this in Zakkaria, too. Egome Zakkarite had

displayed some truly wicked smarts during our tournament duel.

But the twisted way that some people had gone after us once we

joined the academy was almost impressive. In fact, their totally

natural harassment was one of the factors that caused me to forget that all these people were just artificial fluctlights, AIs.

"…We're almost there, Kirito," Eugeo muttered, tearing off a

bite of his bread.

He was referring to the fact that we would be disciples soon

and live in a different dorm from them. It was a bold statement

from Eugeo, to be sure, but it wasn't just idle boasting.

The twelve pages were chosen out of the 120 primary trainees

based on their results in the academy's entrance test, meaning

that the twelve elite disciples from the second year of the academy got to pick out one page each.

When you were a page, you didn't have to clean the dorm or

take care of the practice tools like the other students. Instead, you

would clean up the chambers of your tutor disciple, help them

with their tasks, and act as their sparring partner.

The two who kept offering up snarky comments hadn't been

selected as pages, meaning that their test results were lower than

ours. They'd been hovering around the twenties and thirties in

rank through the periodic progress tests, so Eugeo was justified

in assuming that they would not reach the elite disciple boundary.

But I wasn't so sure about that…

I held up the knife in my right hand and used the reflective flat

of the silver blade to see behind my back.

At a nearby table, two male students were continuing their insulting innuendo, throwing occasional glances our way. The one

on the left with the slicked-back gray hair was Humbert Zizek,

who came from a fourth-rank noble family. The one on the right

with flowing blond hair down to his back was Raios Antinous, the

eldest son of a third-rank noble line. There were no first-rank nobles at this school—they were prestigious enough to have their

own private instruction—and only a few were second-rank, such

as Volo Levantein, so third was quite high.

But of course, not all the noble children were like these two.

Volo the first seat was the quiet, stoic warrior type—not that I'd

interacted with him much. Liena was a third-rank noble like

Raios, and she was the very picture of grace.

In that sense, Humbert and Raios fit the mold of the stereotypical pampered rich boys who talked a bigger game than they

were actually worth…but I wasn't sure if that told the entire story.

Through either good or bad luck, I'd never faced either in a duel,

but I couldn't help but wonder if they were slacking off in the seasonal testing periods—perhaps even the original entrance tests,

too.

The reason for this was that the top twelve students were automatically thrust into the page's role for the elite disciples. This

was treated as an honor within the academy, but given that Raios

and Humbert were easily the proudest nobles in the school, they

might have gone out of their way to avoid having to take orders

from a fellow student.

I had no proof of this, of course. But when I saw their forms

during sword practice, I would feel a kind of pressure, a very foreboding chill. It was that sense of mental power again, the absolute

self-confidence they possessed by being noble.

"Hey, Kirito, your dish is empty," Eugeo said, nudging me. I

looked down and realized that my fork was simply poking an

empty salad bowl. To cover up my embarrassment, I lowered the

knife to my fried fish, only to see that it was gone, too. I'd been so

focused on Raios and Humbert that I had eaten my dinner, the

second-best part of the day, without enjoying any of it. So much

for not letting them get to me.

Worst of all, the best part of my day—the sparring sessions

with Liena—was coming to an end today…

Actually, that wasn't quite right. My official duty as page was

over, but I did have a big promise to fulfill tomorrow, on our day

of rest. I was going to show her everything my style could do.

That reminded me of a very important fact. I set down my

knife and fork and leaned over to Eugeo.

"Hey, I need to ask you something. Will you come out to the

courtyard after dinner?"

"Yeah, sure. I was just wondering how your little 'garden' was

coming along, Kirito."

"Heh! Believe me, it's doing great. Should be ready just in time

for graduation."

"I'm looking forward to it."

We finished whispering and stood up with our empty trays. As

we passed Raios and Humbert, still prattling on about us, I

caught a pungent whiff of the animal-oil perfume they put on

their uniforms and rushed past to get away from it.

Once we had returned our dishes to the counter and left the

mess hall, we both exhaled mightily. The bells had rung once, just

a few minutes ago, which meant it was past six thirty now. That

meant we had free time until lights-out at ten, but it really wasn't

that free—we couldn't leave the dorm building, and we had to be

back in our rooms by eight. There wasn't much else to do but

some self-training or studying. I, however, had just one activity

after dinner.

On the west wall of the dorm (opposite the mess hall) there

was a small door that led to a little yard. High walls without a roof

surrounded it, but it was treated as part of the dormitory building.

The square yard was split up into four beds, each sprouting

buds of different plants and flowers. There were designated students to tend to the beds, but they weren't just for show. The four

different plant species were all materials used as catalysts in sacred arts classes. The plants flowered three months apart, so materials could be harvested year-round. If you crushed a dried-up

fruit in your fingers, it would release sacred power into the air,

providing the resources necessary for students to practice the

arts.

Of course, the earth and sun provided regular resources on

their own, but the earth power was diminished in the city, and the

sun's strength was affected by weather. In order for 120 students

to practice the sacred arts all at once, they needed a more substantial material than spatial power.

Since it was spring, the northeast bed was full of blue

anemones in bloom. In summer it would be marigolds, followed

by dahlias in the fall and cattleyas in the winter. These were all

high-priority, resource-rich flowers.

The Underworld's plant species had evolved in peculiar ways

over 380 years of history, but the fact that these flowers still

shared the same name and appearance as their real-world counterparts spoke to their importance. I was not as certain that the

rest of their biology was so heavily based on reality.

For one thing, once the petals were gone, all the flowers left

behind similar rounded fruit. If you plucked and peeled it, you'd

wind up with a glass-like ball about an inch across. Pinch it with

your fingers, and it would break and release sparkling green light,

indicating sacred power…That part was clearly unique to this virtual world.

From what the teacher in sacred arts class said, outside of

these Four Holy Flowers, there was one other miraculous species

that could bloom throughout the year and grow a particularly

lush fruit called the rose. But commoners, nobles, and even emperors were forbidden to cultivate it. If you wanted to see one,

you'd have to seek out the rare, secluded locations where it actually bloomed in the wild. That reminded me that I hadn't seen a

rose since coming here. Given this description, it made sense that

they were reserved for the crafting of divine objects.

We headed west down the little path that split the garden, gazing at the beautiful anemones along the way. Just before the

fence, there was a large metal stand laden with gardening tools

like shovels and watering cans.

Eugeo and I crouched down around a small, unassuming

planter located at the side of the stand.

"It's really growing now. Look, the buds are actually swelling,"

he noted.

"Well, we've failed at this three times now. I hope that we actually get somewhere this time…"

Growing in the planter was something known as a "zephilia,"

which had sharply angled leaves that were nearly blue in color. It

was probably unique to the Underworld. It apparently did not

generate much magical resource…but it was very beautiful. The

reason it "apparently" didn't have much magic was that neither I,

nor Eugeo, nor just about anyone else in Norlangarth had ever

seen one before.

The zephilia plants were exclusive to the empire of Wesdarath,

beyond the Everlasting Wall. They did not grow in the northern

empire; they were not even cultivated.

There was a small but brisk trade among the empires, so you'd

think they would sell the flowers or put them in pots, but that was

not the case—because there was no calling for "flower traders."

They considered it a waste of sacred power to grow inedible flowers for the purpose of commerce. There were herb traders who

grew their products in their own fields, but they were limited to

the Four Holy Flowers. Everything in this world came down to effective use of resources.

So where had the seeds for this zephilia plant come from?

"Did you use up all the seeds you got to produce this seedling,

Kirito?" Eugeo asked. I nodded.

"Yeah…this is our last chance. The spice trader said that the

next shipment of them wouldn't come until this fall."

They didn't sell the flowers, but they did sell the seeds.

Zephilia seeds would produce a vanilla-like scent when crushed

into a powder. Therefore, a small amount was imported from

Wesdarath as a spice for sweets—a fact I had learned last fall.

I had taken all the shia I had—basically, all the salary from the

Zakkaria garrison—and bought as much as I could get from a

spice trader. All they had in stock was a small bag of seeds, but it

was enough for me to try growing them on my own.

There were two reasons that I had suddenly gotten into gardening.

For one, I wanted to do a little experiment about a core nature

of this world: what I called the "Imaging System."

The spice trader had told me that zephilias wouldn't grow in

Norlangarth soil. I had dug up dirt as close to the western empire's wall as possible to use in the planter, but the first batch of

seeds ran out of life without even budding. They simply vanished

from the planter.

But that couldn't be a conscious design decision on the part of

whichever real-world people (probably Rath's staff) built and

managed the Underworld. Unlike anemones and cattleyas,

zephilias weren't a real flower.

So why would zephilias grow in the west empire but not the

north?

My suspicion was that the people of this world believed that to

be so. The mental image of their beliefs fixed the properties of the

zephilia flower within the buffer data of their main memory device.

If that was the case, could I laser-focus a mental image that

was stronger than the people's common knowledge into just a few

dozen seeds, causing a temporary overwrite of the buffer data…?

The idea of one person overturning the common sense of

thousands and thousands sounded ridiculously arrogant, but it

was worth trying out, in my opinion.

I was challenging a piece of ancient knowledge that had been

passed down for over a hundred years. In the present day of the

Underworld, there likely wasn't a single person bothering to

chant, "Zephilias only bloom in Wesdarath!" every single day. In

other words, it wasn't like the zephilia data in the main memory

device were completely locked from change.

So what if I used my imagination, my mental power, to will it

into being…to pray, every single day? Could I actually overturn

some ancient bit of common-sense knowledge?

With that idea in mind, I spent six months starting in the fall,

giving it water and mental images to feed on.

The first attempt was a failure. The second attempt was a failure. The third attempt had produced tiny little buds. They wilted

soon after, but I'd managed something they said was impossible.

I had used up the rest of my seeds in the fourth attempt, and now

I was going twice a day, in the morning before school and in the

evening after dinner, to focus on them like never before. Soil is

soil, and water is water. You're going to sprout, and grow, and

bloom.

At this point, when I silently spoke to it, I could even see the

sprout take on a faint glow at times. That was probably just a

trick of the eye (or the mind), but by now I was sure of it: the

twenty-three plants growing in the planter were going to bloom

beautiful flowers this time.

"Here, Kirito, I brought some water."

"…Ah, oh, thanks."

Eugeo had carried over a watering can full to the brim while

I'd been lost in thought in front of the planter. I took it from him,

and he grinned. "We've been together for two years, Kirito, but I'd

never have guessed you had an interest in gardening."

"Neither would I," I said idly. I didn't think much of it, but

Eugeo's face suddenly went serious.

"What if it's a sign that your memory's about to come back?

What if, before you showed up in Rulid, you had grown flowers

back home…? Maybe you had a gardener's calling."

I stared back at him in stunned disbelief, then quickly cleared

my throat. "Ah, ahem…I don't know about that. Remember, I

didn't know anything about plants. I needed all of Muhle's expertise to get this far."

I'd almost forgotten that I was technically a "lost child of

Vecta," a term that Underworldians used to describe people who

showed up far from their homes without any memory—which

they attributed to a prank of the god of darkness, Vecta. Eugeo

was the only one who knew this about me, since I was registered

with the academy as being from Rulid Village. And he'd stopped

bringing it up recently, so I figured he had essentially moved past

it. Apparently I was wrong.

Eugeo nodded slowly and refrained from further comment. Instead he looked at the plants. "Well, let's give them their water.

Don't you hear them begging for it?"

"Oh? Have you learned to hear their voices, too, young

Eugeo?"

"Well, I've been going along with this idea of yours for half a

year now, Kirito," he joked back. I straightened up and prayed

quietly before the planter.

I know it's small, but that's your country. There's nothing

there to threaten you. Take in the light, suck up the water, and

bloom your beautiful flowers.

Once I felt certain that this wish had permeated the water in

the can, I tilted my hand. A spray of droplets issued forth, wetting

the fragile bluish leaves and stems, trailing downward, seeping

into the black dirt…

I thought I sensed a gentle, warm light infusing the twentythree sprouts. Another illusion? Or…I glanced over at Eugeo, who

was praying with his eyes shut and hadn't noticed anything. By

the time I looked back to the plants, the light was gone.

As a matter of fact, I hadn't told Eugeo the truth about my little experiment (disguised as a hobby). He didn't know the flowers

were zephilias; I'd told him only that I'd picked out the seeds at

the market at random.

My expectation was that if I told Eugeo the truth, his common

sense might cancel out my efforts. The experiment wasn't to compare our willpower, and that wasn't what I wanted to do. I was already nervous enough about the possibility that in the testing

exams for elite disciples, he and I would end up forced to face

each other in a duel…

"…Hey, Kirito."

I spun toward him, surprised. Of course he hadn't really heard

my inner voice. But I still wasn't ready for what he asked next.

"What would you do if all your memory came back, Kirito…?"

"Uh…what would I do?"

"I mean, you're here trying to be a disciple…and, ultimately,

an Integrity Knight…because you're helping me with my goal, remember? We're trying to look for Alice, since the Axiom Church

took her away eight years ago. But…what if you remember everything—remember your true hometown…"

Would you go back? he finished, speaking with his eyes.

There could be no other answer than, Yes, I want to go back

home. But home wasn't anywhere in the Underworld. My home,

and the people waiting for me, was outside in a country called

Japan in the real world.

In order to log out voluntarily, I'd need to find either a system

manager or a system console. If I was going to find either of those

things anywhere, it would be in the Central Cathedral, the very

core of power. So both Eugeo and I needed to become Integrity

Knights—just for different reasons.

It hurt to keep a secret from my partner, my friend. I switched

the empty watering can to my other hand and patted Eugeo on

the back, then left my hand there.

"No…even if my memory does come back, I won't leave. I was

a swordsman in my old home. That's the one thing I'm sure of…

even if I did like flowers. And why wouldn't a swordsman want to

compete in the Four-Empire Unification Tournament?"

"…"

Eugeo's back trembled a little bit. His flaxen hair hung low

from his bowed head as he hunched. I could just barely hear him

say, "I'm…a weak person. If I hadn't met you at the Gigas Cedar,

I'd still be swinging my ax at it right now. I'd use that as my excuse, never leave the village…and eventually…I'd forget all about

Alice…"

He stared down at the bricks at his feet and continued, "The

fact that I got into the Zakkaria garrison…that I made it all the

way to Centoria and into the Swordcraft Academy…it was all

thanks to you pulling me along. So I've been telling myself…I

want to at least be as strong as you by the time we graduate from

here. And yet…hearing what you just said…made me so relieved…"

Eugeo trembled again under my palm. I willed strength into

my hand, wishing it would flow through my fingers like it had just

done for the plants. You are strong. You are. You're the one who

made the decision to leave your home, in this world bound by

laws and rules.

"Let me just say that I certainly couldn't have gotten all this

way by myself, either," I said, trying to keep my words lighter

than they felt. "I didn't know the way, my memory of Basic Imperial Law is rusty…and I didn't have a single shia to my name. The

only reason I'm here now is because there were two of us. And it's

going to stay that way. If we don't work together, we'll never overcome these elite nobles who have been swinging swords since

they learned how to walk. We'll never match the best and brightest of the imperial knights. You can save your thoughts about

striking out on our own for after we're Integrity Knights."

"…"

Eugeo didn't have any response to this for a while. When he

did speak, his voice was frail. "Yeah. Yeah…you're right. We came

this far together. And we'll climb that white tower together."

"That's right. And the next step in that process is placing

within the top twelve in this month's test. I might have the physical skill down…but I'm not as sure about the sacred arts. When

we get back to the room, teach me more about which catalyst is

best for which element."

"…Ha-ha, you got it. Calling in that 'working together' favor

early, huh?"

"Hey, why not?"

I slapped Eugeo on the back and got to my feet. When he

joined me, he wore his usual genial smile. Then his head tilted a

bit, as though he was remembering something.

"Hang on, didn't you have something to talk to me about?"

"Uh…oh, r-right. I completely forgot," I said. I turned to Eugeo

and asked formally, "Eugeo, can I borrow the Blue Rose Sword

for tomorrow?"

"Yeah, sure," he said, so easily it was almost a letdown. Then

he cocked his head again. "But why? Weren't you the one who

said we should use the practice swords as much as possible, so as

not to throw off our instincts on the test?"

"I did…but then I made a promise to Liena earlier. I said I'd

show her the best I can do. And I can only manage up to a twopart attack with the wooden sword."

"Oh, I get it. You want to show her the true power of the Aincrad style. You're free to use the Blue Rose Sword as much as you

want, but…"

He paused, looking confused. "But Kirito, have you forgotten?

Tomorrow's break is the big day!"

"Huh? What big day…?"

"Come on—the seventh day of the third month. The one you

were looking forward to!"

"…Oh, r-right, right. The day it's finally ready! Gosh, it's not

like I completely forgot…I just didn't think it would take an entire

year…"

"Meaning that you did forget." Eugeo laughed and asked,

"What's the plan? Will you use the Blue Rose Sword, or…"

"No, I'll use my sword. It's all according to Stacia's guidance or

whatever. Sorry—just after you said I could borrow yours and

everything."

"It's fine. More importantly, let's get back to the room so I can

tutor you until lights-out time."

"…Just…go easy on me, okay?" I said, putting the can back on

the shelf and following Eugeo back.

I turned for one last look at the planter, glancing at the glistening young buds stretching up to the night sky.

As for the second reason for my zephilia-growing experiment…

I didn't even like to acknowledge it. It was just slightly—no, considerably—embarrassing to admit.

3

The Underworld boasted an enormous variety of "callings," lifelong professions for its citizens, but almost none of them related

in any way to being a traveler.

The closest thing, perhaps, was a trader who would cross the

walls into other empires, but it was difficult to define this as

"traveling" in a true sense. For one thing, in the circular central

city, just carrying goods from North Centoria to East Centoria

and back was a trip of five kilometers, at best.

The rural villagers were almost entirely self-sufficient, with the

few outside valuables like herbs and fine metalwork coming from

the nearest large town (in Rulid's case, Zakkaria) via periodic carriages. There were no traveling artists, poets, or troubadours, and

travel for pleasure was impossible due to the "one day of rest per

week" system.

The only exception to this rule was the Integrity Knight, who

rode on a flying dragon from Centoria all the way to the End

Mountains 750 kilometers away—but that was too specialized to

be considered a "calling."

Therefore, long-distance travel was anathema to the Underworld, but that didn't mean it was actually forbidden in any way,

merely impractical. You just needed a calling that allowed for it—

say, a furniture maker in Centoria who traveled to sell wares far

up to the north in Zakkaria. I myself had managed to cross the

entire empire by following its rules.

In other words, traveling simply came down to the disposition

of the individual. And in the case of the Underworld, less than 1

percent of the residents had the disposition to attempt it.

That didn't mean that nobody in the world had a heart full of

curiosity and adventure. One of those very people was a craftsman in District Seven of North Centoria named Sadore.

"Just lookit this!"

A number of rectangular stone plates clattered before our eyes.

The fine black objects were grindstones from the eastern empire,

but they'd all been ground down to a thickness of less than two

cens, rendering them useless.

"These black-brick grindstones are supposed to last three

years each, and I'm out half a dozen in just a single year!"

"Ah…s-sorry about that," I said, feeling truly apologetic to the

red-faced store owner.

Sadore's metalworking business was crammed full of stuff,

from raw metal materials, to ornaments, to actual weapons and

armor. Most striking was the line of swords on the back wall.

Why would a craftsman sell actual swords, we wondered, so we

had asked the imposing fellow himself. His answer was simple:

He had actually wanted to be a blacksmith.

As a matter of fact, the only difference between blacksmiths

and craftsmen in the Underworld was the tools they used. Blacksmiths used furnaces, anvils, and hammers to fashion metal materials into goods. Craftsmen used chisels, drills, and files. In

other words, one pounded the metal, the other scraped at it.

In the real world, my mountain bike had different options for

the same part that were either forged aluminum or cut aluminum. Figuring this was about the same level of difference, I

had suggested that a craftsman could still make a sword. Sadore

glared at me furiously and groaned that even the same metal

parts would end up performing differently.

According to him, the same metal materials, if used to create a

sword through whittling or smithing on an anvil, would be of a

higher priority (the class-N object number) in the latter case.

Therefore, when he had started trying to make swords, a fellow

blacksmith in District Seven had called them "shameless knockoffs that are all look, no quality."

Young, adventurous Sadore had gotten fired up over this. He

had created and stocked up an entire year's worth of product, left

the management of the business to his wife and apprentice, then

gone on a long journey—in search of materials that would make a

good sword when cut, not forged.

Craftsmen couldn't get permission to cross borders, so his only

choice of destination was north, out of Centoria. For months he

walked from town to village, finding promising materials here

and there, but none of them satisfied his exacting standards.

Eventually he wound up in a forest near the very north, where he

met an enormous tree that split the heavens.

No fire could even singe its bark, and a single swing from a

metal ax would chip the blade. It simply withstood, tall, hard, and

black—the Gigas Cedar.

He had met the "carver" at the time, Old Man Garitta (who

was more like Young Man Garitta then), and, energized by his

discovery, tried to break off a narrow branch of the Gigas Cedar

for use in crafting a sword. Through Garitta's help, he had

climbed the trunk to a branch of appropriate size, but despite

working with his file for three days and nights, he couldn't create

even the tiniest groove in the wood.

Sadore had sadly descended the tree and told Garitta that if it

should one day be felled, to let him know, and that he would return to the forest to get that branch.

In the end, Garitta did fulfill Sadore's request, but not in the

way he imagined.

Last March, after a very long journey, Eugeo and I had finally

arrived in Centoria, and as Old Man Garitta had asked, we had

visited Sadore's shop in District Seven. I had handed over the

branch from the very tip of the Gigas Cedar. Sadore couldn't

speak for three whole minutes, and it took him another five to

fully examine the wood.

Give me a year, he had said. With a year, I can turn this

branch into one hell of a sword. A sword to surpass even an Integrity Knight's Divine Weapon.

Exactly one year later, on March 7th, 380 HE, Eugeo and I

were back at the red-faced craftsman's shop to pick up the

promised item.

"S-so…did you finish the sword?" I asked, cutting through

Sadore's grumbling so that it didn't continue forever. He clamped

his mouth shut and glared at me, tugging on his gray beard, then

snorted and crouched down. He reached with both hands under

the counter and pulled out a long, narrow cloth. It took all his

burly strength to lift it up.

Gwonk! It clattered heavily on the counter, but he did not let

go of it. One hand rested atop the cloth wrapper, while the other

returned to his beard.

"Young man. We haven't discussed the price yet."

"Urg."

The empire ran the Swordcraft Academy, so it had no tuition

cost, but for the last year, I'd spent my days off going into the city

to shop. Most of the shia I'd earned at the Zakkaria garrison were

gone now. I couldn't begin to guess how much it would cost for

the craftsman's fee (plus a year's worth of labor and six grindstones).

"It's all right, Kirito. I brought all my money, too," Eugeo muttered into my ear. That was both a relief and ominous at the same

time. What if our combined assets were still far short? Was that

against the Taboo Index? Would the police—er, Integrity Knights

—swoop in and imprison us…?

"…But I'm willing to waive the cost," Sadore finally finished

after a heart-stoppingly long pause. We were just about to exhale

when he dramatically continued, "However! I will only do so if

you can swing this monster, young man. The base material itself

was already tremendously heavy, and you carried it all the way

from the north to Centoria, so I have faith in you…but consider

this a warning. The moment the sword was completed, it got even

heavier. Blacksmiths and metal-crafters are able to carry around

their finest swords thanks to Terraria's blessing…but even I can't

move this thing farther than a mel."

"…Hence the 'monster,' eh?" I murmured, looking down at the

cloth.

Even through the heavy woven fabric, there was a powerful

sense of presence that practically warped the space around it. It

seemed to be inviting me closer…or drawing on some magnetized

part of my body to pull me in.

Eugeo and I had headed south on a stormy spring day two

years ago.

At Eugeo's waist was the Blue Rose Sword, now safely stashed

in the drawer beneath his bed in the primary trainees' dorm. On

my back was the freshly snapped black branch of the Gigas Cedar.

Old Man Garitta had told us to ask Sadore the craftsman to fashion it into a sword, but there was a part of me that sensed foreboding and urged me to bury it deep in the woods instead.

I still didn't know what it was that had come over me. Obviously it would be more natural and comfortable for two swordsmen to have two swords. Gaining a new weapon as powerful as

the Blue Rose Sword should be welcomed, not feared.

Reason overrode my premonition, and I had ultimately carried

the branch all the way to Centoria, where I left it with Sadore.

And here we were, one year later. The branch was now a

sword, waiting beneath the cloth layer for our first contact.

I took a deep breath, exhaled, and reached out. First I picked

up the whole bundle and stood it on the counter. It was indeed

quite dense and heavy, but no more so than the Blue Rose Sword.

The cloth was rolled lightly around the sword, not tied, so it

fell loose when I stood it up, exposing the hilt.

The pommel was a simple weighted design, and finely

trimmed leather was wrapped around the handle. The knuckle

guard was on the small side, apparently because it was carved

straight out of the wood, rather than being a separately attached

part. The exposed parts of the handle were the same semitranslucent black color that I remembered from the branch. The leather

was gleaming black, too.

The sheath that swallowed up the blade was also finished with

black leather. I reached out, tightening my fingers on the grip one

by one, and tensed.

I'd used plenty of swords before, and they were all VRMMO

objects, with the sole exception of the dusty old bamboo shinai at

home. But in spite of that—or perhaps because of it—I felt something when I squeezed the handle. A sensation that went from my

palm through my arm and shoulder, then shivered down my

back