Imperial Swordcraft Academy, March 380 HE Part 2

The sensation of holding the Anneal Blade when I got it for my

first quest on the first floor of Aincrad.

The sensation of holding the Queen's Nightblade the dark elf

queen bequeathed me on the ninth floor.

The sensation of holding the black Elucidator longsword that

dropped from the fiftieth-floor boss.

The sensation of holding the pale Dark Repulser longsword

that Lisbeth forged for me.

Even the sensation of the legendary Excalibur that I earned at

great cost in the fairy realm of Alfheim…

A thrill ran through me equal to—perhaps even greater than—

the moments I first encountered my various companions

throughout my adventures. I was rooted to the spot. When the

trembling left, I tensed and yanked the sword out of the black

leather sheath.

Jriiiing! The ringing sound was a bit deeper than the Blue

Rose Sword's. It was heavy, but without the stiffness of a metallic

blade. Yet it was also completely different from a wooden sword.

It sounded unbelievably tough and yet fierce. I flipped my wrist

up straight, and the end of the sword hummed.

"Hrmm," Sadore grunted.

"Whoaaa," Eugeo marveled.

I held my breath and gazed at the blade.

It looked to be about exactly as long as my old Elucidator. That

only made sense, as I was the one who had snapped off the

branch at that length and instructed Sadore how long it should

be.

The blade was the same deep black as the handle that it was

connected to, a single piece of wood. It still had that slight

translucence, taking in the light that shone through the window,

and occasionally glowing with hints of gold, depending on the

angle. It was shaped like an orthodox one-handed longsword, but

the flat was a bit wider than the Blue Rose Sword's.

The edge of the bevel slope along the flat had a sharp angle to

it and seemed likely to break the skin if you brushed it. The blade

itself did not reflect light from any angle; it was as though it cut

the light itself.

"…Can you swing it?" Sadore finally rumbled.

By way of answer, I glanced around the shop, making sure

there were no other customers present. The young apprentice was

in the back workshop, out of sight.

I turned to face parallel to the long counter. There was an

empty space at least five mels long ahead of me, plenty enough

for a test swing. With my left hand on the sheath, I spread my

legs forward and back and crouched. I didn't need to try a sword

skill; just a one-handed vertical slice would do.

There was a buckler carved from a steel sheet hanging on the

wall. I slowly raised the sword up high, setting my sights on the

shield.

After training with nothing but wooden swords for the past

year, the black sword was mercilessly heavy in my hand, but it

wasn't altogether unpleasant. It was a comforting weight—a challenge to me, a demand that I wield it with skill.

As the tip reached a vertical tilt, I slid my right leg forward,

imagining the vector of my weight shifting and the moment of

torsion. All the energy stored in that sword tip descending unleashed with a powerful step forward.

"Shaaa!"

Black light ran in a straight line, followed by the sound of air

being cloven in two. The tip of the sword stopped just short of the

floorboard, but the expanding force of the swing caused the board

to creak.

I stood up again. Eugeo beamed and applauded, while Sadore

snorted ferociously.

"Hmph! So the skinny little academy trainee can swing that

thing, eh?"

"It's a good sword," I said, judging that no more needed to be

said. The craftsman finally broke into a snarling grin and tugged

his beard again.

"Bet your ass it is. Six black-brick grindstones! But…a promise

is a promise. No charge for my services—just tell 'em it was the

master craftsman Sadore's work, once you get famous! The

sword's yours now."

"…Thank you. Thank you very much," I said, bowing deeply.

Eugeo joined in. Then I straightened up and sheathed the sword

again.

Sadore gazed at the black blade for two seconds, then grinned

again. "You've got to think of a name now. And remember, my

place is associated with it, so don't go givin' it some weird title."

"Uhh…"

I had no quick answer. Until this point, all the virtual worlds

I'd been through were the kind where objects had preset names

when you got them. Coming up with names wasn't my strong

suit.

"I…I'll think about it," I suggested. "Anyway, if its life starts to

drop, I'll be back to get it sharpened again…"

"Sure thing. And it won't be free, I'll tell you that!"

"I—I wouldn't dream of it."

We gave him one last round of bows and took a few steps toward the door.

Suddenly, a loud clanging erupted behind us, and we jumped.

Over my shoulder, Sadore was staring at the west wall in shock.

I followed his line of sight to the buckler on the wall, now split

into two, with one half clattering on the floor.

It would be a violation of the Taboo Index to intentionally destroy shop merchandise.

It would be a violation of the Taboo Index to accidentally

destroy merchandise and fail to pay for it.

In the case of , one may escape punishment only if the

shopkeeper forgives the violator.

I rushed back to the academy, poring over these newly learned

bits of information. My teacher of all things taboo-related, Eugeo,

muttered and complained into my ear as we rushed along.

"…If you were just going to test it out, you didn't need to use

one of your top-secret techniques! You should have realized that

it was going to ruin some of the wares in there!"

"Er, well…I didn't think I was using a sword sk—er, a technique…"

"I saw what you did, Kirito. The moment you swung it down,

the blade glowed just a bit. I have to assume that it was some supersecret Aincrad technique you haven't taught me yet!"

"Er, well…I'm pretty sure there's no such technique in the Aincrad style…"

As we walked and bickered, a sweet scent hit my nostrils and

went straight to my brain.

North Centoria was split into ten districts. The farthest south

(and closest to Central Cathedral) was District One, home of the

imperial palace; then District Two and the imperial government;

while Districts Three and Four contained noble houses. The mansions in District Three would make Asuna jealous, but even more

surprising was that the nobles from first- to third-rank also

owned large private estates outside the city.

Some estates contained their own little villages, the residents

of which were essentially servile to the noble family. It was only

inevitable that noble children raised in those circumstances eventually went on to produce a few bad eggs like Raios and Humbert.

District Five was a cluster of imperial facilities and buildings:

the knighthood headquarters, the coliseum, and, of course, the

Imperial Swordcraft Academy.

Districts Six and Seven were commercial areas. Districts Eight,

Nine, and Ten at the north end of the city were civilian residential

areas. From what I had learned in geography lessons, this layout

was absolutely identical in the east, west, and south portions of

Centoria, too. That couldn't be by coincidence, and I doubted that

all four emperors had gotten their heads together to plan it out,

either. It had to be a unified design choice by someone powerful

within the Axiom Church. Being a student meant I was too busy

to think about them much, but it was a reminder of the absolute

power of the church.

At any rate—in order to get from Sadore's metalworking shop

in District Seven to the academy in District Five, we had to pass

through District Six, which was packed with tempting food markets and restaurants. Essentially all the money that had fled my

wallet over the past year had gone into District Six.

The most dangerous time was around two o'clock on a day of

rest. This was right around the time that the Jumping Deer

restaurant on East Third Street baked up its famous honey pies

and sent the smell wafting out into the street. Every time I caught

that smell, I needed to make a high-difficulty saving throw

against temptation—and most times, I lost.

"…Hey, Eugeo. It's a good thing we didn't have to pay for the

broken shield or the sword itself, isn't it?" I noted, slowing down.

My partner nodded, but with suspicion. "True…After we

joined the academy, I found out that Sadore's got certification as

a first-class crafts-master. If he'd forced us to pay, our entire savings wouldn't have covered it."

"Ohh…Hey, maybe this is a pointless question, but what

would've happened if we didn't have enough? Would they arrest

us on the spot?"

"No, that wouldn't happen. It would get put on a tab that we'd

have to pay down in monthly amounts."

"Oh, I see…"

Unlike Aincrad, where the Cardinal control system regimented

the in-game economy to fix the value of col, the shia of the Underworld had a more free-flowing value dictated by the residents'

activities. Therefore, it was important for even starving students

to do their part and stimulate the economy.

Empowered by this noble motive, I suggested, "Well, since

we've saved ourselves some extra cash, why don't we swing by

and get three each?"

My partner sighed, having seen all of this coming a mile away,

and said, "Make it two."

I grinned and nodded, then shifted directions to lead us over

toward the left, where a young lady was setting some fresh-baked

honey pies at the sales window of the restaurant.

At some point, the weight of the sword package slung over my

back had vanished into familiarity, and I didn't even notice it was

there. As if it had been there for years.

4

When I returned to the academy, savoring the harmonious aftertaste of melting honey and butter, Eugeo split off to visit Golgorosso, while I headed for the primary trainee dorm's office. I

needed to apply to Miss Azurica to bring in the sword as a personal item.

Bringing any blade three feet long into a real-world school

would get you not only scolded by the teacher but possibly arrested. Still, given that the goal of this virtual academy was

swordsmanship, students were allowed to possess their own personal weapon.

The number was limited to one, because each sword would periodically absorb trace amounts of sacred power—of spatial resources. In practice, this meant that a weapon damaged in a duel,

once polished and returned to its sheath, would gradually regain

life—in other words, suck sacred power out of the air. If a blade

went so dull that it couldn't automatically repair itself, it needed

the help of a professional sharpener. If the damage was bad

enough to break or chip the weapon, only a blacksmith could repair it.

If there were no limits on weapon possession, and a particularly obsessed student brought in a hundred, the buildup would

cause sacred-power anomalies around the room. So theory said

that one was the only safe number.

Azurica wasn't working the counter, due to it being a day of

rest, but she had left the office door open while she did paperwork. Her blue-gray eyes looked up in surprise when I rapped on

the door.

"What is it, Primary Trainee Kirito?"

"Pardon me, ma'am. I've come to get permission to bring in a

personal sword," I said with a little bow, stepping through the

doorway. Along the walls were a number of shelves stuffed with

leather-bound files, a desk, and a single chair. In other words,

this one woman managed the primary trainee dorm and its 120

students entirely.

She was a bit confused by my request but got up and immediately went straight to a specific file in the wall of shelves. She

pulled a piece of paper out of it and slid it over to me.

"Please fill out the necessary information."

"Er, of course."

I glanced down in apprehension, but all the form wanted was

name, student number, and sword priority. Relieved that it didn't

have a field for "parent/guardian" or anything like that, I put

down the name Kirito and the number 7—then came to a stop.

Now that I thought of it, I'd even gone so far as to test out the

sword, and yet I had never once opened its window.

Miss Azurica watched as I lowered the cloth bundle from my

back onto the table and undid the rope tying it up. I could open

the window just with the hilt exposed, so I peeled back a corner of

the cloth.

"…!"

There was a sharp intake of breath, and I looked up. The normally calm and frank Miss Azurica was staring, wide-eyed.

"Umm…is something wrong?" I asked. She blinked a few

times, then shook her head. She did not elaborate any further, so

I returned to the sword, made the two-fingered motion command, and tapped the pommel. The properties window appeared

with a little bell chime.

It read: Class 46.

That was actually one class higher than the divine Blue Rose

Sword. No wonder it was so heavy. I wrote down the number on

the third line, returned the cloth, and handed her the completed

form.

Azurica's gaze slid from the sword to the paper. She stared at

the information; she already knew my name and number, so it

had to be that priority number she was looking at.

I began to get nervous, wondering if perhaps there was an

upper limit to the object priority of any weapon being brought

into the dorm, when…

"Trainee Kirito."

"Y-yes?"

"Do you have…that sword's memory…?"

She stopped there, closed her eyes for a bit, then opened them.

She was the normal, stern dorm manager again.

"…Never mind. Your form has been received. As I hardly need

mention, use of actual swords is limited to private training. It is

not to be used in tests or group practice under any circumstances.

Is that understood?"

"Yes, ma'am!" I replied. As I put the black sword's package

over my back again, I wondered if I should ask about her unfinished comment. Then I considered that she wasn't likely to give

me an answer, so I made the knight's salute and left the office.

As I walked back toward the front entrance, my mind pored

over those words.

That sword's…memory.

It was a strange phrase. True, the sword and everything else in

this world was stored in a format called mnemonic visual data.

But that was a technology invented by Rath in the real world, and

nobody who lived in the Underworld would be aware of it.

So Miss Azurica's comment was more of a literal one. That this

black blade held some kind of memory.

But what did that actually mean? What did she see in this

black sword…?

I left the building, thoughts and questions swirling in my head,

as the bell tower overhead rang out the three o'clock melody. The

bells here were far deeper and louder than those in Rulid, but the

tune itself was exactly the same.

My meeting with Liena was at five.

Based on my test swing at Sadore's shop, the new sword felt

perfectly natural to me—so familiar that it might as well have

been my sword from the old SAO coming back. But I still needed

to confirm that I could actually pull off the high-level sword skills

of the Aincrad style first.

On the day of rest, which was the only day of the week we were

allowed to leave the academy, most of the Centoria-based students went back home, while the few from farther north went

around to visit various spots in the city, leaving the campus

rather barren. There was even a small woods and a brook running

through the school, creating plenty of places to practice tech-

niques—but I wanted to be absolutely certain that no one would

see me. After all, I was about to attempt combination skills,

something that no sword school in this entire world possessed.

Why were there sword skills in the Underworld? And why

weren't there any combination skills?

I'd been here for two years now and was no closer to finding

the answer to these questions. The only potential theory I had at

the moment was that the Rath engineers had made use of The

Seed creation package to construct the Underworld…but even

that wasn't a complete explanation.

The freely distributed Seed—a shrunken-down version of the

Cardinal system—did not contain sword skills. Out of all the VRMMOs in existence in 2026, the only one with sword skills was

ALfheim Online, which contained a full copy of the former SAO

server. But there was no way that ALO's management company,

Ymir, was involved with Rath's experiment.

Anything beyond this point was just baseless speculation. If I

wanted to know the truth, I had to get to the top of Central Cathedral and make contact with a system manager.

At any rate, the swordsmen of the Underworld could use

sword skills as the ultimate techniques of their respective styles,

but they were all single-attack skills like Vertical or Avalanche.

I had a guess as to why this was the case: because there was

essentially no battle here. The absolute law of the Taboo Index

and the invincible Integrity Knights protected the Underworld.

Therefore, all "battle" within its borders came in the form of

duels. All they sought was clean, beautiful victory. For centuries,

the swordsmen of this world had pursued an ideal form—that of

the bold pose from a distance, closing the gap, and finishing with

one big, decisive blow.

It also served the purpose of defending against the possibility

of spontaneous accidents, perhaps. All the regional dueling tournaments used the "stop-short" method, while the higher events in

Centoria were ruled over on the first clean hit. That made it

somewhat inevitable that they would avoid any combination attacks that were difficult to stop after the first blow.

Under these circumstances, it was no wonder that fighters like

Volo Levantein rose to prominence: blessed with size and

strength and absolutely confident in the power of their single

strike. If I'd been forbidden from using multipart skills in SAO, I

would never have been able to beat players of the same level who

used double-handed weapons.

No doubt that was the reason that Sortiliena had been unable

to overcome Volo for the past two years.

She wasn't going to be able to use a multipart attack just because I showed it to her today. Even Eugeo, who hadn't undergone any training in existing styles before he met me, took

months to master the two-part Vertical Arc.

But perhaps I could show her that massive overhead swings

were not all there was to swordplay. The Serlut style was similar

to my Aincrad style, so if I could help erase her preconception of

High-Norkia style being more powerful, she might stand a chance

in the graduation match.

I headed east through the campus until I was at the edge of the

grounds. The walls around the school were fan-shaped and contained a central school building, main practice hall, library, two

trainee dorms and instructor housing, and the elite disciple dorm,

with plenty of space to spare after that. There were large gates on

the north and south walls, a steep little hill to the west, and a spacious forest to the east, neither of which featured any students on

a day off.

I chose the forest anyway, thanks to the ample visual cover,

and walked until I found a nice little opening. The short, fine

grass was as thick as a soccer pitch, the perfect ground to avoid

tripping on. I glanced about me again, making sure there was

nothing around except for a few floating butterflies, and reached

over my back.

I loosened the cloth by feel and grabbed the exposed hilt, savoring the sensation of the wrapped leather sinking into my palm,

and yanked.

The pitch-black longsword caught the sun shining through the

branches. As it was carved out of the Gigas Cedar branch, I supposed it was technically a wooden sword. But the reflection of the

light off the blade was so sharp and tough that it looked like nothing but metal. One glance was all it took to recognize the high priority of the item fashioned over a very long year by Sadore the

master craftsman. Yet no matter how I looked at it, I couldn't see

how such an object would contain "memories."

I decided to save that question for later and took a normal

stance, raising the sword with one hand. Unlike my last practice

swing, this time I envisioned a technique—Slant, a diagonal

slashing sword skill that I'd used countless times before.

After a brief pause and hold, a vivid light-blue glow rippled

across the blade. Pushed and guided by unseen hands, I accelerated the effect with my push-off leg and right arm.

Shwa! The slash rocketed through space. A diagonal line

quickly erupted and trickled away into the air like heat haze. The

force of the gust flattened all the grass in the clearing to one direction.

I watched the trunk of a tree about fifteen feet ahead from my

follow-through pose. But while the skill's effects wore off, no

damage appeared on the bark.

That made sense; the range of Slant was maybe eight feet at

best. The effect of the move shouldn't last twice that distance.

But if that was the case…why did the buckler in the shop split,

if it was the same distance away? Surely it didn't naturally reach

the end of its life at that very coincidental second. And I did not

use a sword skill then. Eugeo claimed the sword had shone…but I

didn't know why.

It just didn't make sense. This world was full of mysteries.

I sighed, straightened up, collected my breathing, and started

the motion for my next skill.

A direct overhead slash. Just before the tip touched the

ground, it bounced back upward. That was the two-part skill Vertical Arc. A more powerful gust of wind arose this time, rustling

the grass violently.

So far, these were moves I could still achieve with a wooden

sword. This time, I shifted my legs, held the blade at my waist,

and twisted right.

"…!"

With a silent cry, I slashed horizontally left. The blade stopped

straight ahead, as though colliding with something invisible, then

leaped up and to the right. A step forward, and then a shortrange, high-powered slash. The three-part Savage Fulcrum.

The move left a crimson trail like a closed numeral 4 in the air

that quickly trailed away. Satisfied, I continued to the next move,

holding my sword directly along the median line, then backswinging up over my head.

High. Low. A connecting forward slash, then a pull all the way

over my back for a full-power vertical smash. A blue square

floated forward through the air, rotating and spreading apart.

That four-part attack had been one of my favorites in SAO, due to

its wide range and lack of easy exploits—Vertical Square.

All four sword skills went off without a failure or a single hitch.

That was enough to confirm that the sword was at least the

same priority level as Eugeo's Blue Rose Sword. Of course, I could

have anticipated this back in the dorm office the moment I saw it

was a class-46 object.

It looked like I would be able to show Liena a higher sword

skill. I was momentarily relieved, until a different emotion raised

its head.

The Blue Rose Sword could achieve four-part skills, but no

matter how hard I tried, five-parters would not work. What about

this new sword? If I was going to test that out, this private moment was the time to do it.

I squeezed the handle and slid my right foot forward, pulling

the sword back to my left shoulder and imagining power building

up inside it.

Something at the root of my bangs itched, like a warning sign.

I shrugged it off, trying to focus.

Chik. Chik. I caught sight of orange sparks along the blade out

of the corner of my eye.

This was a totally new and less impressive style of sword-skill

flash, compared to the usual dazzling light effects. I concentrated

on the mental image of the technique and held the preliminary

motion. The sparks continued to blink uncertainly.

I was running out of stamina to continue the unstable stance,

and when my strength finally reached its peak, I unleashed it.

"Whoa!" I mumbled as the ground trembled under my extended right foot. The sword went from upper left to lower right,

and the system assistance should have shot it back up just before

bottom dead center—except that instead, it drove straight into the

ground.

A tremendous impact ran through my right wrist. Instantly, I

recognized that I would suffer serious injury if I tried to force the

sword. Instead, I gritted my teeth, turned my body, and pulled

straight back on the sword, which was sunk about eight inches

into the ground.

There was a terrific, heavy boom, and I toppled backward onto

the grass as my body turned.

Didn't work. What am I missing? Was it my level? The

sword's priority? Perhaps both…?

I lay spread-eagled on the ground, my thoughts racing. Overhead, I saw dirt and grass floating in the air, thrown by the impact of the sword—

And beyond them, a man standing silently at the edge of the

clearing.

He was very tall, dressed in a school uniform, though not the

academy's normal gray. His was a pearly-white color with brilliant cobalt-blue lines. The right to color-coordinate one's uniform was a privilege allowed only to the school's twelve elite disciples.

Liena's was a dark, grayish purple. Golgorosso's was deep

green. And this pearl-white with blue accents belonged to none

other than first-seat Volo Levantein.

The dull blond, close-cropped hair and steel-blue eyes stared

down impassively, clearly belonging to the unquestioned champion of all students at the academy.

As he watched me lie there, a blob of dirt dislodged by my

sword's impact splattered against his pristine white jacket, sending dark flecks out in a circular pattern.

I'd be lying if I said I never considered fleeing the scene.

If this were Aincrad and he was a senior member of the Divine

Dragon Alliance guild, I would have scampered off at once. But

running after committing an action was the worst possible choice

in this world. Crime piled upon crime, certain to eventually grow

into a violation of the terrifying Taboo Index.

So a second later, when I recovered, I quickly took a knee and

placed my sword on the ground—the sign of absolute deference—

and bowed. "Pardon me, Disciple Levantein! Please forgive my

rudeness!"

I hadn't made such an impassioned apology since the time

Asuna smacked me in her private room on the sixty-first floor of

Aincrad. I held my head down, hoping against hope.

"You are Disciple Serlut's page, correct?" he said calmly.

I slowly lifted my head and stared into those blue eyes for an

instant, then nodded. "Yes. Primary Trainee Kirito, sir."

"I see," the disciple said, glancing at the black sword laid atop

the grass. In his rich tenor, he continued, "According to school

rules, throwing mud upon the uniform of a senior student is a

grave offense worthy of disciplinary punishment…"

At that point, I groaned on the inside.

Disciplinary punishment was the term for a privilege only the

elite disciples had, a stand-in for instructor authority. In other

words, when students accidentally committed minor violations of

school rules, disciples were allowed to punish them. On a number

of occasions, I'd been commanded to do a hundred swings for the

crime of showing up late to Liena's room.

As for what happened to students who committed serious offenses—such things did not happen in the Underworld. Major violations did not happen by accident, and artificial fluctlights were

incapable of intentionally breaking any law or rule. The only danger of that happening was with me, the natural fluctlight—and I'd

made it through a year so far without committing any major

faults.

Until now. Splattering mud on the top student's uniform was a

critical mistake.

"…However, I am not critical of your dedication to practicing

with the sword in secret on our day of rest. Even if such an act is a

violation of the academy's rules."

Euuugh. Another silent groan.

In fact, he was right. But if I admitted that, it made disciplinary punishment only more likely. I had to at least try some minimal resistance, whether it worked or not.

"N-no, First Seat. This is not practice. I was, er…trying out my

new sword. A weapon I had commissioned in District Seven finally arrived today, and I wasn't able to wait until tomorrow to

swing it…"

At that point, I realized something much more important.

How long had the crew-cut blond been watching me? And

what was he even doing here in the first place?

I was here in the woods only to practice combination attacks

that did not exist in the Underworld's sword teachings, and that

was so I could show them off to Liena in an attempt to help her

defeat Volo. Now things were completely backward—he was the

one witnessing them first.

The strongest student in the academy smirked faintly, as

though he had understood my entire thought process.

"I heard some very enthusiastic shouts for a simple test swing.

But all that I witnessed was you striking the ground with that

sword. Let's say that your feet slipped from using an unfamiliar

weapon. I will agree that you were not breaking the rules and

practicing on the day of rest, as my reasons for being here are

similar."

This both relieved and confused me. "S-similar…you say?"

"I mean that you are not the only one who tries to find a reason to swing his sword on a day of rest," he said, shapely lips curling into an invincible grin. Volo looked around the clearing I'd

chosen for a swing test. "But in truth, I found this place first. I

promised my page that he would be allowed to use it after my

graduation, so you'll need to find a new location."

That explained things for me. He, too, would come up with

some non-practice justification to come out here and train on his

off days…and I had the sheer bad luck to be using his secret spot

right as he was about to show up. No doubt that the pristinely

short condition of the grass here was a consequence of him stepping on it every day, resetting its life value.

I made a mental note to find a wilder-looking clearing next

time and bowed to him again. "Of course. I will do that, sir.

Thank you for your generous understandi—"

"It is too early to be thanking me, Trainee Kirito."

"S-sir?"

"I said I would overlook your use of the sword on a day of rest.

I did not say anything about this."

My head shot up. He was gesturing with a finger at his uniform breast with a deadly serious expression. At the dark mud

stain on the pearl-white fabric.

"B-but, First Seat, you said you weren't critical of my dedication…"

"Indeed, I am not. So I will not discipline you by commanding

you to clean the entire disciples' dorm or copy a thousand lines of

sacred arts."

Briefly, very briefly, I was relieved.

Then he flicked off some mud and instead commanded, "Primary Trainee Kirito, your discipline shall be a duel with me. Not

with wooden swords—you may use that one. I will use this."

That was when I noticed that hanging at his left side was a real

sword, seemingly of quite high priority, with a dull-gold pommel

and deep-blue sheath.

"…A…a d-duel…sir?"

"I am referring to training in the form of a match, of course.

But this is too cramped a location. The main training hall will be

empty on a day of rest. We can go there."

And with that said, the first-seat disciple spun around on the

spot.

I stood there for two seconds, staring at that white jacket as it

slid away from the clearing. When my mind started running

properly again, I really did consider just scampering away. But

failing to complete a disciplinary punishment turned one's offense from minor into a serious rule-breaking. Given that I

wanted to be an elite disciple like Volo after this month's advancement test, I couldn't afford to get expelled now.

I lifted up the sword on the ground, returned it to its sheath,

and stood up. After a longing glance at the stone wall of the academy through the trees behind me, I followed after that shaved

blond head, resigned.

Volo did not trip on any of the varied weeds and grasses that

grew thick and clinging outside the clearing.

Belatedly, very belatedly, I realized, Gee…it would be the easiest thing in the world for a guy like him to step out of the way of

a flying glob of mud.

5

Right as I left the woods and rejoined the paved footpath, the

bells rang four o'clock.

The sky was looking darker now, and some students were

around, returning to campus from the city. As they caught sight

of the white-and-blue uniform just ahead of me, their eyes

bulged.

That was no surprise. Since being named disciple, Volo Levantein had hardly ever left the disciples' dorm. The only times that

anyone other than his page saw him were at the four periodic

tests throughout the year. Even I had seen him in the hall of the

disciples' dorm only a few times, and I went in and out of that

building every day to see Liena. This was the first time we had

ever spoken.

Now that legendary figure was walking with a common-born

primary trainee, apparently heading for the main training hall.

No wonder they stared.

More frightening to me was that more than a few of them,

upon noticing us walking together, started rushing off to the

school building and dorm. Pretty soon people all over the academy would be buzzing about something starting in the training

hall.

Curfew on a day of rest was seven o'clock, a bit later than

usual, so the majority of students would still be out at this hour.

But if I wasn't careful, a whole lot of people might gather to watch

us spar. I needed to end things as quickly as possible and escape

to Liena's room…

But wait. How was I going to "end things"?

As Volo had explained, in the academy, a duel was something

between practice and an official match. The rules stated that a

duel was of the "stop-short" variety, but if both parties agreed,

they could use the "first-strike" method that I remembered from

SAO. In other words, it was over after the first solid hit.

In that case, the loser would naturally suffer some damage. It

was one of the few exceptions to the Taboo Index's firm law

against intentionally damaging the life of another. The first-strike

method was forbidden at the Zakkaria garrison, but it was allowed here because they had plenty of expensive healing materials, as well as instructors who could cast powerful sacred arts. In

other words, any injury suffered in a duel could be healed.

But Volo had said this should be a duel of real swords, so the

stop-short method would have to be in play. That meant that if I

wanted to win, I'd have to not only find a way to block or evade

that tremendous overhead smash but deliver a counter that

stopped just short of landing.

That would be unbelievably tough. And beyond that—should I

even try to win?

Volo represented the ultimate goal for Liena's hard work of the

last two years. Was it right for me, her page and pupil, to beat

him? Would she be at all happy knowing that I had won…?

As I trudged along, lost in thought and staring at the ground,

two sets of footsteps raced into earshot.

I looked up and to the left. There was Sortiliena Serlut, her

skirt billowing as she ran, and behind her, my partner, Eugeo.

They crossed a grass hill, not the paved path, on a direct line to-

ward us.

I'd never seen Miss Liena running so hard that she panted like

this. I stopped in surprise, and Volo did, too, turning to watch

them.

In seconds, Liena had reached the path. She spared me a brief,

worried glance, then faced off with Volo. She straightened her

purple skirt and her back as she said, "Levantein…what is the

meaning of this?"

Liena was the only student in the school who did not use a deferential title toward Volo. The students gathered around the

scene began to buzz.

The foremost swordsman in the academy took in the piercing

navy gaze of her eyes without flinching. His close-cropped head

tilted, and he replied, "As you can see, Serlut, your page caused a

bit of offense. I didn't think it was proper to inflict a large disciplinary punishment on a day of rest…so I have challenged him to

a single duel."

A larger buzz than before erupted from the crowd.

Liena finally noticed the large, blotchy stain on Volo's uniform

jacket and bit her lip, a sign of understanding.

As the first seat and second seat faced off, I scooted sideways

over to my partner, who was standing at the lip of the crowd. On

his face was a familiar look: a blended expression of "What did

you do this time?" and "No…not again…"

"You sure showed up quick," I murmured, and Eugeo nodded.

"I was in the disciples' dorm mess hall when Zoban's page

rushed in. They said you were going to fight with the first seat,

and while I thought that sounded crazy, I went to tell Miss Ser-

lut…I guess it wasn't crazy after all."

"Er, yeah…Guess not," I said lamely. Eugeo sucked in a deep

breath, as though preparing to say something, then held it in for a

few seconds and expelled most of it in an exhausted sigh.

"You know…it's a miracle that you didn't cause any trouble

here until today. Please tell me you're going to get your year's

worth of troublemaking out today."

"Ah, you haven't known me all this time for nothing, partner."

I grinned and slapped Eugeo on the back.

Meanwhile, Liena was still staring fiercely at Volo. But even

with my poor recollection of all the school rules, I knew there

wasn't any evidence that could overturn my fate.

I left Eugeo and headed to my respected tutor's side. "I'm

sorry to worry you. I'll be fine, though. If anything…I consider

myself lucky to get to face the first seat."

I tried to read her feelings through those dark-blue eyes. What

would she think about her trainee page fighting her biggest rival?

A second later, I deeply regretted it. The only thing I saw in

those eyes was concern for my well-being.

"Kirito. What are the rules of your duel?" she asked, to my surprise.

"Uh…well, we're using real swords, so I assume it's stop-short

—"

"Oh, I forgot to mention," Volo interjected, his face as placid

as ever. "I do not engage in stop-short duels. I cannot help that

the academy's tests are stop-short as a rule, but in personal

matches, I only ever fight first-strike."

"Huh? Th-then…"

At last, the head swordsman at the academy changed expressions. It was a challenge…like a carnivore baring its fangs.

"Of course, a first-strike match requires consent on both sides.

So it is written in the Taboo Index and thus takes priority over

any disciple's ability to dictate punishment. If you refuse, I will

have to settle for a stop-short duel. The choice is yours, Trainee

Kirito."

Suddenly, the constant muttering of the crowd around us went

silent.

I could practically hear Eugeo behind me, willing, Go with

stop-short! Naturally, Liena would want the same thing. And

even I wasn't reckless enough to accept a first-strike duel against

the toughest man in the school using real blades.

Or so I thought.

"…I'll leave the choice up to you, First Seat Levantein. I will accept my punishment," I heard myself say.

Behind me, I sensed Eugeo hanging his head. Liena gasped

and held her breath.

And, somewhere atop my head, I got the impression of someone shaking their head in disbelief.

The Main Training Hall of Swordcraft Academy sounded very

grand, but behind the name, it was basically just a large gym. The

floor was polished white floorboards, with four square match arenas marked out with darker materials. Around them were stands

for seating, with enough capacity for all 260 students and faculty

during the largest event at the school: the disciple testing tournament.

We stopped near the lines of the southeast arena that Volo had

picked out, where at least fifty students had already gathered.

Given that it was still before curfew on a day of rest, this probably

represented all of the student body currently on campus. There

were even three staff members, including—to my surprise—Miss

Azurica.

There was another surprise waiting. Among the students were

Raios and Humbert, those nasty upper-class nobles. They were

probably back early because their mansions were close by. They

were seated in the front row, leering with anticipation. The desire

to see Volo cut me open was written right on their faces.

I had no regrets about boldly accepting his rules. In that situation, I couldn't possibly have brought myself to any other choice.

Instead, a different kind of indecision now plagued me.

Should I fight Volo or not?

There was definitely a part of me that yearned to challenge the

greatest swordsman at the school. In fact, the number-three reason that I'd journeyed from Rulid in the far north down to Centoria was the old-school-gaming desire to fight against mighty opponents.

But at this moment I had a different desire, much stronger

than the one to cross swords with Volo.

I wanted Miss Liena to beat him in her final match. I wanted

her to win and be free of all the tangles surrounding her family

name and style. In the entire year that I'd been serving her, she

had never once shown me a true, unburdened smile.

Volo was examining his sword at the other end of the arena

while I grappled with my inner dilemma. I heard Liena call my

name and snapped around to attention.

Her deep-blue eyes stared right into me. In her normal, firm

voice, the second seat said, "Kirito, I believe in your strength. It is

with this faith that I warn you: the Levantein family, sword instructors to the imperial knights, have a secret saying. 'Wet your

sword with the blood of the mighty, and their strength shall be

your own.'"

"B-blood, huh?" I mumbled.

"That is right. Volo has no doubt been through many firststrike duels with naked blades, dating back to before his days

here. It is that experience that creates his tremendous power. And

he intends to turn your own skill into blood to feed his blade as

well."

It was hard to grasp precisely what she meant by that, but I

was able to convert her metaphor into terms that were more familiar to me. It all came down to the power of the mental image.

Liena's skill was tied down to a mental image that said, "The Serlut style is an offshoot created because we were forbidden from

using orthodox styles." While in Volo's case, the Levantein family

message was, "The stronger a foe's blood you feed to the sword,

the stronger it becomes."

No doubt that when he saw a bit of my combination skill and

my high-priority blade in the forest clearing, he figured that he

had found a suitable target. If it weren't for the fact that he had

picked me out as an easy mark, I might have even been honored

by the attention.

In other words, if I took a direct blow from Volo in this duel

and shed blood, it would only further strengthen his mental

image. And this outcome was highly, highly probable.

I didn't want to give the enemy a morale boost just before

Liena's final match. I was just preparing myself to take back my

previous statement and beg to use the stop-short rules when her

hands patted me on the shoulders.

"I know I said this before, but I believe in you. You're better

than letting him demolish you. You…you haven't forgotten yesterday's promise, I trust?"

"Promise…" I mumbled, then nodded. "Right. I promised to

show you everything I can do."

"Then fulfill that promise, Kirito. Show it to me here. Unleash

all your strength and technique and best Volo Levantein," she

said.

Instantly, all the hesitation and fog around my head cleared.

Avoiding a straightforward battle with Volo because it might

make him stronger before his fight with her was the worst possible mix of arrogance and pessimistic lack of confidence. And I

was nearly about to serve my respected tutor that fatal cocktail.

Once the sword was in my grasp, I had no choice but to wield it

with all my life and spirit. That was how I had lived in every virtual world to this point.

I gave her a bold, confident look, then turned to my right to

glance at Eugeo, who was leaning over the railing of the stands to

watch. I shot him a confident grin, and despite his usual worried

look, my partner raised a fist in solidarity.

I returned the gesture, then told Liena, "I will fulfill my

promise."

She replied with a tip of the head and stepped back. Right on

cue, a voice from the other end of the arena asked, "Are you ready

now, Trainee Kirito?"

I turned, walked right up to the black floorboard that marked

the boundary of the arena, and said, "I'm ready." Volo made a

simplified knight's gesture, striking his left breast with his right

fist, the back of his hand horizontal. There was no instructor here

to serve as judge, but that wouldn't be a problem; whoever bled

first, lost.

A step forward into the arena. Two, three, four. I was at the

starting line indicated by a white floorboard.

We drew our swords—he from the left waist, I from over my

back. Volo's steel-gray sword with its polished golden-brown hilt

drew murmurs of appreciation from the crowd. But when they

saw mine, that admiration turned to hushed astonishment. None

of them had ever seen a sword that was entirely black all over, I

was certain.

"Well, well! I wonder if they practice spreading black ink on

their blades in the uncivilized regions, Raios!" Humbert said in a

stage whisper from the stands.

"Don't be cruel, Humbert. Pages are so busy that they simply

don't have time to polish their swords," Raios whispered back,

sending up a tizzy of chuckling from the nobles around them.

But as soon as Volo began to move his sword, the crowd went

still. It was a sign of respect for the first-seat disciple but also a

likely consequence of the vicious presence of his intimidating

blade.

To think that wooden and real swords could be so dif erent, I

marveled.

I'd seen Volo Levantein's High-Norkian style "Mountain-Splitting Wave" stance three times at close range during the disciple

testing matches that had occurred while I served as Liena's page.

But seeing Volo with a real sword, rather than a wooden one, and

facing off against me personally was a different kind of pressure

altogether.

With his shaved blond hair and slender frame, Volo had the

appearance of a monk, but I realized in this moment that it was a

mistake to judge him based on that. The look in those gray-blue

eyes belonged to a demon who sought nothing but to cleave the

bodies of his foes with hard steel.

Volo lifted his lengthy sword with both hands; the weapon

would be classified as a bastard sword in a video game. The rippling effect around the blade wasn't a hallucination. The sword's

high-priority level and the power of its wielder's imagination

were vibrating the very air around it.

With a heavy whoosh, the first seat lifted the sword high overhead to complete his stance. Just pulling his sword a tiny bit farther back would unleash Mountain-Splitting Wave—the alternate

name for the two-handed heavy charging slash attack Avalanche.

In the recent past (which felt like distant times of yore at this

point), I had faced off in many one-on-one duels in Aincrad. The

most memorable of these fights involving a two-handed-sword

wielder was against a man named Kuradeel, who was in charge of

Asuna's personal security when she was vice commander of the

Knights of the Blood.

When we had faced off, I had correctly predicted that

Avalanche would be his first move, and I'd used a different charging skill named Sonic Leap to strike the side of his sword and destroy it.

I briefly considered that stratagem again here but promptly

shelved it. I couldn't envision any success in the attempt, only my

own sword breaking—or, at the very least, rebounding and leaving my shoulder wide open to his blade's path.

Mountain-Splitting Wave was based on the Avalanche model,

but I needed to consider Volo's attack to be a different thing,

thanks to its increased weight and speed. His overwhelming confidence gave his skill absolute power. In other words, if I couldn't

create a competing mental image that infused my entire body

down to the tip of my sword, I had no business standing in the

arena with him.

Now was the time to put aside any personal issues and use my

combination skills.

So I started the motion for the four-part Vertical Square, the

highest attack I could reliably use at the moment. It would require precision control, but if I could strike his Avalanche with

the first three hits in order, it should negate his attack. Then the

fourth and final swing would finish him.

In contrast to Volo's style, I pulled back my blade in a tight,

compact stance. When it came to countering a sword skill with

another sword skill, timing was everything. I had to unleash my

skill at the exact right moment.

The tip of the black sword slowly passed vertical and began

bending backward.

"Kaaah!!" Volo screamed, the sound splitting the air.

The bastard sword glowed reddish-gold. With a ferocious rush

and the appearance of burning flames, the overhead smash that

had thrice beaten Miss Liena's Cyclone barreled toward me.

But I was already moving. I'd begun Vertical Square with the

minimum possible pre-movement and pushed into the first slash

to provide extra power.

Gyang! A high-pitched clash erupted at the same moment that

a tremendous shock ripped into my right hand—my first blow

was easily deflected downward. No doubt the students and in-

structors in the audience assumed that I was using Lightning

Slash, the Norkian version of Vertical. If that had been the case, it

would be all over already—but I was just getting started.

Even in a clash of skills, the combination would continue as

long as the motion itself wasn't completely knocked off alignment. Vertical Square's second attack was an upward slice from

down below—exactly where the first hit was deflected. I wasn't

done yet.

"Zeyaa!"

I spun myself to the left, hurtling the sword upward. Another

clash. The blue glow surrounding my sword and the orange

around Volo's mingled and flashed white, lighting up the dim

training hall.

Again, my sword was knocked backward. But this time, the

enemy's Avalanche slowed down. I gritted my teeth, unleashing a

vertical slice from top to bottom.

Grinngk! The two swords met with a duller crunch.

As I expected, the third attack didn't deflect his blade, but it

did stop the technique. If I pushed back here, it would cancel out

the Avalanche and leave me with a fourth and final attack to go.

"Rrrrah!"

"Hrrng!"

We grunted in unison, trying with all our might to push back

the other's attack. At this point, the little details like sword skill

attack values and system assistance meant nothing. It was mind

against mind, will against will. The connecting point of the

swords was white-hot, sizzling and sparking. The thick floorboards of the arena creaked with the incredible force being

pushed into them.

I envisioned a person observing the main memory device that

contained the entirety of the Underworld and noticing that a certain portion of the light quantum storage was turning a blinding

white. The signals being created in our fluctlights were in direct

competition, each trying to overwrite the other. There was no

more self-assured confidence in Volo's face now, just furrowed

brows and gnashing teeth. My face had to look the same to him.

The state of equilibrium lasted for two seconds, three, four…

Then I saw something I never imagined I would see.

Arrayed around the head of Volo Levantein, first-seat elite disciple, were the similar-looking faces of at least five other swordfighters.

Their bodies were vague and transparent, and the only thing I

could make out was that they were holding swords in the same

pose as Volo, but that was enough to provide instinctual enlightenment. They were the generational heads of the Levantein family, traditional masters of sword teaching for the Imperial Knighthood.

It was the true vision of what Volo the student carried on his

back…or was placed on his back for him. The true source of the

tremendous power in his swing.

I…cannot af ord to lose!! I thought I heard a voice say. The

next instant, I felt the weight against my arms grow to many

times its previous level.

The bastard sword, now glowing like the fires of hell, gritted

and creaked against my black sword. I pushed back as hard as I

could to withstand it, but I could feel my feet starting to slide

backward.

Another few inches…another inch and my skill would be

forced to a close. In that instant, it would throw my weapon aside

and leave me vulnerable to a deep, maiming blow.

The words three hundred and eighty years echoed in my

head.

Nearly four centuries of time had already passed since the creation of the Underworld. Even with the protection of its absolute

law system and the absence of any true battle, the swordsmen of

this world had created and passed on their swordcraft for all

those years. The result far surpassed any kind of mere VRMMO

attack skills.

My right foot slid, and the light infusing my black sword began

to blink.

But…

I wasn't fighting for the mere sake of experience points, either.

I fought for Eugeo, the friend who had been first to offer a

warm hand of help. I fought for Liena, who had spent a year

showering me with kindness, discipline, and many lessons. Most

of all, I fought for Asuna, Sugu, Klein, Liz, Sinon, Agil, Silica, and

all the others who waited for my return to the real world.

"I can't…afford to lose here…either!" I screamed to no one's

ears but my own.

In seeming response, the sword in my hand pulsed.

Within the dying blue light enveloping the black blade, a

golden point formed. More lights began to appear, until soon the

inside of the blade was covered in bright dots. In turn with this

phenomenon, the space around me grew darker, but I barely even

registered it.

I was more focused on the stunning change in my sword itself.

The blade was growing with little ringing noises. With all the

visual effects going on, and the fact that it was just a growth of a

few inches, I doubted that anyone noticed except for Volo and me

—but it definitely wasn't an illusion.

The hilt grew as well. Automatically, my left hand reached over

to squeeze the black leather handle and provide a full two-handed

grip.

In the old Aincrad, my sword skill would have automatically

ended due to an irregular equipment state. But when I added my

left hand, the dying blue Vertical Square glow immediately regained its power, fusing with the golden light within the sword

and swirling violently.

Something about the fierce change in the sword put me in

mind of the black blade's true form—the Gigas Cedar that loomed

over the forest south of Rulid. The obsidian mammoth that had

refused to be cut down for over three centuries, sucking up the

valuable resources of earth and sun.

…The sword's…memory.

The words barely flashed into my mind before my howl overrode them.

"Raaaahhhhh!!"

With all the muscle and willpower I could summon, I stepped

—forward.

The moment my foot landed, all the energy packed into that

intersection point of the two swords expanded, unable to handle

its own density.

Volo and I were both blasted backward, as though by some

higher flame-element sacred arts explosion. But we held firm in

our forward posture, refusing to fly off our feet. The soles of my

hardened boots scraped against the arena floorboards, bringing

up smoke. Even with our trails of burned leather, both Volo and I

managed to stop just short of the boundary lines.

Our swords were hurled backward with the force of their repulsion. Volo's Avalanche was over, its orange light fading.

But my Vertical Square was still active, even with two hands

on it now.

"Seyaa!!" I belted, and leaped. The fourth and final attack, a

high slice from a pulled-back position, activated. The sword

carved a brilliant blue arc through the air as it approached Volo's

defenseless chest…

It nicked his jacket and stopped just short of the floor. Vertical

Square was not a charging attack. I did all I could to boost the

range, but it wasn't enough to reach to the opposite end of the dueling arena.

Volo and I stared into each other's eyes at close range, and

after the briefest of intervals, a voice called out, "That's enough!!"

Immediately, I leaped backward to a safe distance and lowered

my sword. Up ahead, Volo had similarly disengaged his battle

footing.

Once I was sure that it was over, I turned toward the voice,

wondering who would step in to play referee in a duel that needed

none. The fact that it turned out to be none other than Miss

Azurica, the manager of the primary trainee dorm, left me

speechless.

Why would a dorm manager—not even an instructor—act like

a judge? And why did Volo obey her? These two questions kept

me rooted to the spot.

The first seat, meanwhile, walked closer with his sword hanging at his side and murmured, "We cannot disobey her judgment."

"Err…why is that…?"

"Because she was the Norlangarth Empire's first sword after

the Four-Empire Unification Tournament of seven years ago."

Whaaaaaat?!

My eyes nearly bulged out of my head. Volo Levantein inclined

his monk-like head, displaying none of his earlier ferocity. "Your

punishment is hereby concluded. Be more careful not to throw

mud onto others from this point onward."

He put his sword back in his sheath and turned around. The

white-and-blue uniform crossed the floor and vanished through

the door.

Instantly, a roar of shouts and applause erupted, filling the

training hall. To my surprise, there were now nearly a hundred

students, and even faculty members, clapping and cheering

wildly. In the front row, next to the calmly clapping Azurica, I

found my partner, Eugeo, tears streaming from his eyes. I raised

my left fist. Next to him was the imposing bulk of his tutor, Golgorosso.

Lastly, I glanced at the sword in my hand to make sure that it was

back to its proper size, then slid it into the sheath affixed to my

back.

Whap! Someone instantly smacked my shoulders from behind, causing me to jump. Pale hands turned me around, until I

was facing Miss Sortiliena, her face even more tear-streaked than

Eugeo's.

"…I thought…he'd cut you apart," she whispered, just loud

enough for me to hear.

"Yeah…so did I."

"And yet…you didn't surrender…You…you enormous fool."

Her eyes squeezed shut, the long lashes trembling. But she

won the saving roll against tears, took a deep breath, and opened

them. Those deep-blue eyes were full of a warmth I'd never seen

before.

"It was…an incredible battle, Kirito. I want to thank you. I'm

sad that it wasn't just for me…but you showed me everything your

sword can do, as you promised. Thank you."

"Uh…b-but it was a draw…"

"You're upset about taking Levantein to a draw?"

"I—I didn't mean it that way," I complained, shaking my head.

She favored me with a rare chuckle and leaned close to my ear

to whisper, "The outcome of the bout does not matter. I've

learned something…something very valuable from your fight. I

am now filled with pride at being the heir to the Serlut style…and

joy. At being your tutor, as well."

She patted my shoulders again and pulled away, the corners of

her mouth still very slightly upturned. "There is still some time

until curfew. Come to my room so we can celebrate. Call Eugeo,

too…Just this once, I'll allow his tutor to come as well."

I broke into a smile, nodded, and gestured to Eugeo in the

stands, pointing to the exit. Once he and Golgorosso got up to

leave, I began to walk with Liena across the floor of the stillbuzzing training hall.

All the while, the majority of my brain was preoccupied not

with visions of Liena's special wine collection, or Golgorosso's

endless lectures on the history of sword strategy, but…

You have the option of surrendering in a punishment duel?!

So it was that I barely even noticed Humbert and Raios, sitting

in a corner of the stands and shooting me looks of very explicit intent.

6

In the late Aincrad, there had been an abundant variety of wines

and ales.

But even an entire barrel of the hardiest, harshest fire whiskey

was fundamentally unable to get the drinker inebriated. The

user's physical body, resting on its gel bed in the real world,

wasn't taking a drop of alcohol, after all.

But to my surprise, alcohol in this world did function as intended, to a degree. I suspected that it worked by sending the

fluctlights signals intended to simulate a state of inebriation, but

in a sign of good conscience uncharacteristic for such a merciless

experiment, the effects of being drunk were limited to a level of

good cheer, while still retaining rational reason. There were no

crying drunks or angry drunks, and no one broke the law on account of the effects of alcohol.

And yet, there was no guarantee those conditions would hold

true for me, so when Liena threw her "Draw Celebration Party," I

held myself to just two glasses of wine. This was a considerable

act of self-control, as Liena had opened up a priceless hundredyear vintage that was so tasty, even a complete newbie like me

had to admit that it was fantastic.

Eugeo and Golgorosso joined in the fun, so we reveled in the

year's events, made predictions for the year-advancement tests,

and even got into the nitty-gritty of different skills and styles. Before I knew it, we had just fifteen minutes until the primary

trainee curfew.

We left the disciples' dorm with great regret. Eugeo hadn't yet

recovered from his "drunk" status effect, so I dropped him off at

the dorm room and headed for the flower beds to the west. Just

because it was a day of rest didn't mean the zephilias could go

without water. I marched down the staircase and opened the door

to the outside.

In the time that I had laid Eugeo into his bed and stashed my

sword in the drawer, the last bit of sunlight had vanished, leaving

only the shroud of night.

I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath to savor the chill of

the night and the pleasant smell of the anemones in full bloom—

but grimaced instead. There was another smell in the air, a clinging odor of some animal-oil perfume. I recognized that smell. I'd

experienced it just last night at dinner…but it shouldn't have

showed up here.

My eyes snapped open and squinted down the path that split

the flowers into four beds, right at the same time that two figures

appeared from the darkness. They were wearing the same gray

trainee uniforms that we all did, but they both had three buttons

of the jackets undone, exposing boldly colored undershirts. The

one with the gleaming red shirt was Raios Antinous. The one in

fluorescent yellow was Humbert Zizek.

No sooner did I wonder why these two would be out in the garden, given their total lack of interest in plant cultivation, than a

nasty foreboding entered my mind. I stood in place, one step in

front of the garden door on the west wall of the dorm, as Raios

and Humbert walked directly up to face me from a few feet away.

"Well, well, what a pleasant coincidence, Trainee Kirito,"

Raios drawled, his voice smooth and yet ugly with malice. "We

were just thinking of going to find you. Thanks for saving us the

trouble."

Humbert giggled gleefully. I looked back at Raios and muttered, "What do you want?"

His friend scowled in fury, but Raios held up a hand to stifle

him and answered, "To offer my praise for your splendid battle,

naturally. I never would have expected the page to a banned disciple to fight the great Levantein to a draw."

"Absolutely, absolutely. I daresay that the first seat was

stunned by the acrobatics of your swordplay," Humbert joined in,

cackling.

I kept my tone of voice low. "Are you offering me compliments

or insults?"

"Ha-ha-ha, wouldn't dream of it! Higher nobles would never

bother to offer commoners anything. We may provide some

things, however. Ha-ha!" Raios laughed, very pleased with himself, and stuck his hand into his jacket pocket, pulling out something long and narrow. "In honor of your acrobatics—er, your accomplishments—I provide you with this. Please accept it."

He took a step forward, reached out, and placed the object in

my front pocket.

"If you'll pardon us, we shall now take our leave. Sweet

dreams, Sir Kirito," Raios murmured into my ear, his lips curled

into a grin, and passed by me with a wave of golden hair.

Humbert leaned in next and spat, "Don't get full of yourself,

you nameless cretin," before following.

They walked into the building and slammed the door behind

them, but I was still frozen where I stood.

The object Raios had placed in my pocket was a flower bud

with a single bluish leaf. It looked nearly ready to bloom. I

plucked it from my pocket with a freezing-cold hand and examined it.

The flower, its stem crudely ripped at the end, belonged to

none of the Four Holy Flowers. It was a zephilia, the western

flower I'd been trying over and over to grow for the past six

months.

With that understanding came a rage so profound, I nearly

cracked my molars with the strength of my jaws grinding. If I'd

had my sword with me, I'd have rushed into the building and

swung it at Raios and Humbert. Instead, I raced for the back of

the garden, clutching the pale-blue bud in my trembling fingers.

Past the intersecting paths and to the tool shelf on the back wall,

where a white planter came into view.

"Ah…aaaah…" I gasped.

The twenty-three zephilia plants that I had bought as spice

seeds, raised in unfamiliar soil and very nearly brought to bloom,

were all cruelly torn off their stalks.

The round buds were scattered around the planter, their

trademark blue color already fading. The stems left in the ground

were wilting, clearly losing the last remnants of their life.

Right in the midst of the dying plants stood the tool of their

destruction, stuck in the earth like a gravestone: a long metal

trowel of the kind used to plant bulbs. Raios and Humbert had

used the sharp edges of the tool to sever the fragile plants.

I felt the strength drain out of my legs, and I collapsed to my

knees in front of the planter. Through eyes dazed and bleary,

staring half-focused at the scattered buds, I tried to think.

Why? The motive and means were obvious, but why did they

undertake this course of action? Intentional destruction of an-

other's property was a clear violation of the Taboo Index. It

should have been an ironclad rule, even for higher nobles like

them.

Object ownership in the Underworld was defined without

room for mistake. As I learned when I went out on our journey,

the windows for your objects always included a small P field indicating possession. In other words, everything without a P on it

was not yours and couldn't be stolen or destroyed.

Yes, there was no possession of plants while they were still

rooted to the ground, but that ground itself could be owned. A

plant growing in soil owned by someone was that person's property. The flower beds behind me were on Swordcraft Academy

land, so the blooming anemones belonged to the school. And I

had bought that planter in District Six, so I had always assumed

that the zephilia plants growing in it naturally became my property.

Through a mind numbed by rage and despair, I finally hit on

the fact of the matter. My eyes bulged.

The dirt. The black soil filling the planter…I hadn't dug that up

from the academy ground or bought it at the market. I had

brought it back from outside the city, from a patch of land owned

by no one. And I had told Muhle about it, as well as several others. Raios and Humbert must have overheard and determined

that if they were growing in soil from a distant location without

an owner, the plants would belong to no one, too.

If that was true, this was all my fault. I should have thought

harder about placing my precious plants in a spot that anyone

had the right to access.

Underworldians never broke the law. But that didn't mean

they were all fundamentally good people. Some of them followed

a personal creed that said anything that wasn't explicitly outlawed was open to interpretation. I was supposed to have learned

that in the Zakkaria tournament.

"…I'm sorry…" I grunted.

With one hand, I plucked up the scattered buds around the

stand and placed them in my other palm. The brilliant blue of the

plants grew grayer as I collected them.

Right after I finished pooling together all twenty-three buds,

they died out for good. The little plants crumbled in my palms,

spraying a brief, weak blue light, then melted away into the air.

Suddenly, tears flooded my eyes.

I tried to force my mouth into a smile, mocking myself for crying over my precious flowers being ripped up by bullies. But the

only thing that happened was a twitching in my cheeks, sending

the pooled tears running down them to drip onto the bricks at my

feet.

At long last, I realized what meaning I had put into those

zephilia sprouts.

The first reason I had tried raising those flowers was to experiment with the power of mental images in the Underworld.

The second reason…was to fulfill Liena's desire to see a real

zephilia flower, just once.

But there had been a third reason that I'd never consciously

grasped until just now. I saw something of myself in these little

flowers, desperately trying to grow in foreign soil. Cut off from

the real world, from those I loved and cared about, assailed by the

pain and loneliness of not knowing when I might see them again

—things I had tried to share with these little flowers…

The tears continued to gush forth, flowing down my cheeks

and dripping off.

I huddled into a ball, trying to hold back the sobs, and was

about to collapse to the ground when it happened again.

I heard the voice.

Have faith.

Believe in the strength of the flowers you grew so well in this

foreign land. Believe in yourself, for getting them to that point.

It was that strange voice I'd heard a number of times on my long

journey. It sounded feminine, but it didn't belong to anyone I recognized. It wasn't the voice of the young girl I had heard in the

cave through the End Mountains two years ago. It was calm, full

of deep knowledge and just the faintest hint of warmth…

"…But…they're all dead," I mumbled.

It's all right, the voice answered quietly. The roots in the soil

are still doing their best to live. Can't you feel it…? All the holy

flowers blooming in these flower beds are trying to save their

little companions. They want to share their life with them. And

you can transfer that wish to the zephilia roots.

"…I can't. I don't know how to use such high-level sacred arts."

The formal arts are nothing but a tool to harness and refine

the "Meaning"—what you call the mental image. At this point,

you need neither chants nor catalysts.

Now wipe your tears and get to your feet. Feel the prayer of

the flowers.

Feel the ways of the world…

And with that, the voice vanished into the distant night sky.

I took a deep, quavering breath, exhaled, then rubbed at my

eyes with the ends of my sleeves. With great force of will, I pulled

myself up into a standing position.

Behind me, there was an incredible sight. The holy flowers

planted in the four flower beds of the garden—not just the blue

anemones in full bloom but the bud-less marigolds, the short

stalks growing from the dahlia bulbs, and the cattleyas with their

crawling roots—were glowing faintly green in the darkness.

Sacred power. Spatial resources. These words were crass and

pointless in the presence of that gentle, warm, powerful glow.

Guided by the light, I spread my hands to the four species of

flowers and whispered, "Please…give them your strength…just a

bit of your life."

I focused on an image—the life force coming from the flowers

running through me like a conduit and into the zephilia roots left

in the planter.

Narrow, glowing green lines rose in countless numbers from

the flower beds. They gathered and wove together, forming a

number of thick ribbons. I waved my fingers, and they danced

silently through the air, flowing toward a single point.

All that was left was to close the final distance. The ribbon of

light infused the planter of broken stalks, wrapping around it

multiple times to look like one enormous flower, then melting

into the ground and vanishing.

Slowly but surely, the twenty-three stalks began to rebuild and

regrow. Leaves like sharp little swords split off from them,

spreading to protect round, bulging buds.

Once again, my eyes filled with tears.

What a mysterious, wondrous world. It was all, all of it, a collection of virtual objects, and yet it was equipped with beauty…

with life…with will that far surpassed the real world's.

"…Thank you," I whispered to the Four Holy Flowers and to

the owner of the mysterious voice. After some brief consideration,

I took the sigil pin off my uniform collar and placed it at the edge

of the planter. It was a sign that this land belonged to me.

When I got back to the room, I would apologize to the branch

of the Gigas Cedar I'd turned into a sword, for cutting it down.

And I would thank it, for helping me in the match against Volo.

For a long while, I gazed at the zephilia buds, now fully regrown. When the bells rang seven thirty, I got up and started

walking back to the dorm.

Just before I reached the door, I glanced to the south, over the

stone wall surrounding the garden, over the roof of the training

hall, at the massive Central Cathedral that split the starry sky in

half. The way the countless windows shone orange was just like a

skyscraper in the real world, only this one was far taller and more

beautiful.

Just at that moment, one light separated itself from the tower,

very high up.

I squinted, unable to believe it. But it wasn't an illusion or a

hallucination. The light was growing, bit by bit, approaching

North Centoria. It glided through the night sky, maintaining altitude…

"…A dragon!" I gasped.

No doubt about it. The light was from one of the enormous

lanterns that hung from the flying dragon's armor. It wasn't a

headlight or a warning signal, merely a light meant to inspire the

proper fear and respect in the people on the ground by night, as

they did during the day. Riding on the back of that dragon was an

Integrity Knight, highest agent of control and order in the world.

The gigantic beast crossed the sky, its wings held outstretched,

moving in the northeast direction. It was likely heading for the

End Mountains to undertake its duties of protecting the human

realm. The dragon would cross that 750-kilometer expanse in a

single day—a trip that had taken Eugeo and me an entire year.

Once the light of the lantern had vanished into the night, I

craned my neck to gaze upon the cathedral tower again. The

knight had taken off from about three-quarters of the way up.

Perhaps there was something like a flight pad up there. I tried

looking higher than that, but the top of the tower was lost in the

darkness.

What I sought had to be up there: the door to the real world.

But was it my imagination, or did the thirst to return grow

weaker and weaker by the day? And was it a trick of the mind that

it seemed to be replaced by a growing desire to see more of this

mysterious and beautiful world, to know it more intimately…?

I breathed in a lungful of the flowers' sweet scent, exhaled

slowly, and tore my gaze from the cathedral tower to open the old

door and return to the dorm.

At the end of March…

Second-seat disciple Sortiliena Serlut participated in the graduation tournament and, in her final opportunity, bested first-seat

disciple Volo Levantein, thus graduating from the North Centoria

Imperial Swordcraft Academy as its top student.

When we parted ways, I presented her with the planter full of

blooming zephilias, and she presented me with the first dazzling

smile and tears that I had ever seen from her.

Two weeks after her graduation, she appeared in the Imperial

Battle Tournament, but in the first round, she ran into the representative of the Norlangarth Knighthood and lost by a slim margin after a fierce battle.