… Big Sister? The first rule of the information dealer?
They were very intellectually curious words, but as a middle school game addict with zero personal skills, I had no idea how to react to the situation. I froze up, my mind racing, and eventually found my answer.
“… You owe me one, remember? I can’t have anything happening to you until you explain the reason for your whiskers.”
Argo the Rat had three thick black whisker lines drawn on either cheek with face paint. They were the source of her nickname, but no one knew why she painted them in the first place. She claimed the answer would cost the astonishing price of one hundred thousand col.
But in the recent boss battle, I had taken on the mantle of a “beater,” distinguishing myself from the majority of beta testers, including Argo, and drawing the ire of the new retail players away from them. After that, she sent me a message of thanks, offering a single piece of information for free. I’d told her I wanted to know the reason for her whiskers.
I’d meant it to be a lighthearted joke to ease the gravity of the situation, but that only made Argo press her face harder into my back.
“… Okay, I’ll tell you. Just wait so I can get the paint off…”
Huh?
The paint … meaning her whiskers? So she was going to show me her plain face, something she’d never shown anyone in-game? Was this meant to be a symbolic act with a deeper meaning?
My social anxiety rose to a dangerous peak. Before she could let go, I shouted out, “N-never mind, I’ve got a better idea! How about you tell me the details of that hidden skill those guys were going on about?!”
When Argo let go and came around to my front, she fortunately still had the three big whiskers on either cheek. I could have sworn that just before she let go, she’d muttered a faint “coward.” Or was that my imagination?
Back to her usual impertinent glare, the Rat crossed her arms and grunted, “Well, I said I’d tell you any one thing, and a deal’s a deal. But you need to promise me something as well, Kii-boy. You can’t blame me for what happens, no matter what!”
“You said the same thing to those ninjas earlier. What do you mean by that? Why would someone bear a grudge against you for selling information on an Extra Skill that everyone wants?”
Argo answered my question with her familiar wry grin. “That one’ll cost ya, Kii-boy.”
I stifled a sigh. “All right, I promise. Swear to God—I mean, swear to the system, no matter what happens, I won’t hold it against you.”
Even if this quest for an Extra Skill was potentially deadly, I could determine that on my own. Argo nodded and beckoned me to follow.
The route we traveled from there would never have occurred to me without a map item, or infinite curiosity and persistence.
She took me up the side of one of the many flat-topped mountains that dotted the second floor—which was the same size as the first—then into a small cave and down an underground river like a water slide. We ran into three battles along the way, but with my careful leveling in preparation for the first-floor boss, they were no big deal. The trip took about thirty minutes, all told.
Based on our map location, it seemed we had nearly scaled the rocky mountain that loomed over the eastern edge of the second floor. We were in a small clearing surrounded by sheer rock walls all around, with nothing else but a spring of water, a single tree—and a tiny shed.
“… Is this it?”
Argo nodded. I strode up to the building. It seemed there was no danger, at least so far. Suddenly, the door before me flew open.
Inside there were a few pieces of furniture and one NPC. It was a large, elderly man, all muscle and bone, bald as a cue ball, with a magnificent beard. There was a golden exclamation mark above his head, the sign of a quest.
I looked back at Argo and she nodded.
“That’s the NPC who gives you the Extra Skill, Martial Arts. This is all I can tell you. It’s up to you whether to accept the quest or not.”
“M…Martial Arts?”
I’d never heard that term in the beta. Argo offered a few extra tidbits, claiming they were on the house.
“Martial Arts is the catch-all term for attacks using just the hands, no weapons, I expect. It’ll be useful when you drop your weapon or it runs out of durability and breaks.”
“Whoa … Yeah, that actually seems useful, unlike Meditation. In that case … I guess I can see why those ninjas were so set on getting it for themselves.”
Argo looked quizzical, so I shot back an explanation of my own, “on the house.”
“People think ninjas use a ninja blade and shurikens, but it’s a bit different in the gaming world. One good wrist chop at the neck, and the head flies off. For whatever reason, that’s been the pinnacle of any video game ninja’s style. So Kotaro and Isuke wanted the Martial Arts skill to round out their perfect image of a ninja. But in that case … if they didn’t know where to find this place, how did they know it involved the skill, and that you knew about it, too?”
“…This one’s double on the house. At the very end of the beta, an NPC on the seventh floor revealed some info about the ‘Martial Arts master down on the second floor.’ I’d found him long before that, of course, but I’m guessing the ninjas heard it from this fellow on the seventh floor. So once I started getting into the strategy guide business here, they came to me for details on the Extra Skill.”
“Then … why didn’t you just say you didn’t know? Then they wouldn’t be harassing you so much …”
She grimaced at my straightforward question.
“I think my pride as an information merchant prevented me from simply saying ‘I don’t know.’ ”
“… So you said you did, but that you wouldn’t sell it. Well … I guess I can see why you’d make that statement …”
I stifled a sigh and looked back to the NPC, who had assumed a Zen position on a little tatami-like mat in the center of the shack.
“And you didn’t sell it because you were afraid your buyer would blame you for it. Well, if you ask me, it seems like you’ve made more than a few enemies already …”
“Any grudge over information sold or bought only lasts three days! But this one’s different! It could last a lifetime …”
Argo’s petite body shivered. I pondered for several seconds, then came to a conclusion.
“So I guess I just have to find out what happens after this point for myself. All right, you’ve got a deal: Whatever happens, I won’t hold it against you.”
I stepped into the shack and stood in front of the meditating man. He was wearing a tattered outfit that looked like a robe.
“You want to follow my school?”
“…That’s right.”
“The road of training is long and fraught with peril.”
“That’s what I like to hear.”
The exclamation mark over his head turned into a question mark, and the quest acceptance log scrolled before my eyes.
My new master escorted me out of the shack to a massive boulder at the edge of his stone-lined garden. He walked over and patted the stone, a good six feet tall and five across, then rubbed his whiskers with the other hand.
“Your training is simple: Split this stone with your two fists. If you succeed, I will teach you all of my secrets.”
“… … Um … timeout.”
Startled by this unexpected challenge, I gave the large rock a light tap. Once you got used to the game, you could tell the durability of a target based on the physical sensation. What I felt was an ultra-hard surface just one notch below an “immortal object.”
Yep. Can’t do this.
I turned back to the teacher, ready to cancel the quest. But before I could speak—
“You are not permitted to descend this mountain until you break the stone. I will put the sign upon you now,” the teacher said, pulling out two objects from his robe pockets. In his left hand was a small jar. In the right, a thick and magnificent paintbrus
h.
Suddenly I had such a bad feeling about this that the words “a bad feeling” practically popped into existence over my head. Before I could announce that I was quitting the school of martial arts, the master’s hand shot out with terrific speed. He plunged the tip of the brush into the pot and whipped it across my face.
It was at that precise moment that I understood where Argo’s whiskers came from.
She had found this old man on her own during the beta, and accepted his quest. Who wouldn’t? He ordered her to break the stone and drew on her face—three thick whiskers on either cheek.
“Wh-whaaa?!” I shrieked pitifully and fell back. My glance met Argo’s. Her ratty face was full of deep sadness, empathy—and the tension of one holding back the biggest gut laugh she’d ever had.
Freed from the brush attack, I tried to rub my face with my hands. But the ink was ultra quick-drying, and none of it came off on my fingers. The master nodded in satisfaction at his work, then delivered a shocking but sadly predictable proclamation.
“That sign will not vanish until you break this rock and complete your training. I have faith in your potential, my apprentice.”
And he plodded back to his shed and through the door.
After a good ten seconds of standing in place, I looked at Argo, whose face was still a subtle mixture of emotions.
“I see … So you took on this quest during the beta … and had to give up. You played to the very end of the beta with those whiskers still drawn on your face. Ultimately, that helped you develop the persona of ‘The Rat,’ so you kept up the tradition of the paint when the retail game shipped … It all makes sense.”
“Brilliant deduction!” she applauded. “Aren’t you lucky, Kii-boy? You got both the reason for my whiskers and the details of the Extra Skill, packaged into one! In fact, I’ll even let you in on one more nugget. That rock … is hard as hell!”
“… Figures.”
I resisted the urge to fall to the ground and asked Argo one last question, my final hope.
“Hey … did he paint whiskers on my face just like yours?”
“Hmm, they’re not the same.”
“Oh …? Wh-what are they like?”
If they weren’t too obvious, or even looked kind of cool, I’d have the option of going back to my regular life with a slightly different look. I didn’t have the guts to go look at my reflection in the pond, so I let Argo stare for another three seconds.
“If I had to describe you in one word, it would be … Kiriemon.”
That was the last straw for her. She fell to the ground, flailing her feet back and forth and screeching with laughter. Over and over and over.
After three solid days on the mountain and countless painful attempts, I broke that rock. I’m just glad I didn’t have to hate Argo for the rest of my life.
1
“S … S-SCREW YOU!!”
My feet stopped when the high-pitched shriek hit my ears.
I took a few quick steps to the side and pressed my back against the wall of the NPC shop. Up ahead, the path opened into a wider plaza, from which the disturbance was coming.
“P-put it back! Back to the way it was!! That was a plus-four … P-put it back to what it was!”
Another shriek. It sounded like an argument between two players. Given that we were in the protected zone of Urbus, the main city on the second floor of Aincrad, the disagreement was unlikely to lead to physical harm to either player. I certainly had no reason to hide, given that it had nothing to do with me.
But even though I understood that well enough, I couldn’t help but be more cautious than usual these days. After all, Kirito the level-13 swordsman was the most hated solo player in Aincrad—the first man to be known as a beater.
Thursday, December 8, 2022, was the thirty-second day of Sword Art Online, the game of death.
Illfang the Kobold Lord, master of the first floor, was dead. Four days had passed since the teleport gate of Urbus went active.
In those four days, the story of what happened in the boss chamber had spread among the game’s top players, albeit with wings of its own.
A boss monster with the Katana skill, a piece of information that wasn’t previously known. The death of Diavel the Knight, leader of the raid. And one beater, a beta tester who got further than anyone and used his knowledge to steal the last hit on the boss and reap the rewards.
Fortunately for me, while the name Kirito had spread like wildfire, only forty or so players had actual knowledge of my physical appearance within the game. And in SAO, the names of strangers did not appear on their in-game cursors. That was the only reason I could walk through town without fear of being pelted by stones. Then again, even if that happened, a purple system wall would deflect the projectiles.
Even still, I felt ashamed that I was removing my signature Coat of Midnight—my prize for defeating the boss—and wearing a wide bandanna to escape notice. It wasn’t that I was so desperate for human contact that I would sneak into the city in disguise; I just needed to refill on potions and rations as well as perform maintenance on my equipment. There was a small shop at the village of Marome about two miles southeast of Urbus, but its selection was poor, and there were no NPC blacksmiths I could pay to repair my weapon.
Due to these factors, I was busy in the market on the south side of Urbus, filling my item storage with sundry goods and supplies, then making my way along the side of the street toward my next errand when I heard the shouts.
Out of reflex, I had to check to make sure the angry screams weren’t directed at me first, then sighed in disappointment at my own timidity. Satisfied that it wasn’t me, I resumed my trip to the eastern plaza, which was both my destination and the source of the argument.
In less than a minute, I arrived at a circular, bowl-like open space. It was relatively crowded for three o’clock in the afternoon, which was normally prime adventuring time. Most likely, the foot traffic was due to the recent opening of the town—there were plenty of players coming up from the Town of Beginnings on the first floor to visit the new city.
The flow of pedestrians slowed down in a corner of the plaza, and I could hear the same shouts coming from that area. I slipped through the crowd and craned my neck, trying to detect the source of the argument.
“Wh-wh-what did you do?! The properties are all way down!!”
I vaguely recognized the red-faced man. He was a proper frontier player, not a tourist. He hadn’t taken part in the first-floor boss raid, but his full suit of metal armor and large three-horned helmet spoke to his level.
What truly drew my eye, however, was the naked longsword clutched in the three-horned man’s right hand. The edge couldn’t hurt anyone inside of town, but the idea that he would wave it around in the midst of a crowd was distasteful. He was too furious to think straight, however, so he stuck the tip into the pavement stone and continued bellowing.
“How could you possibly fail four times in a row? You can’t have reduced my sword to plus zero! I should have left it with a damn NPC! You owe me for this, you third-rate blacksmith!”
Standing quietly in a plain brown leather apron and looking guilty through the minutes of raging insults was a short male player. He’d set up a gray carpet at the edge of the plaza with a chair, anvil, and shelf crowded together. The rug was a Vendor’s Carpet, an expensive item that allowed a player to set up a simple shop in the middle of the town—a necessity for any enterprising merchant or crafter.
You could display your wares without a carpet, of course, but when left abandoned in the open like that, the items would lose durability bit by bit as time wore on, and there was no defense against thievery. In the beta test, I’d seen lively player markets along the main streets of all the major cities with carpets of every color, but this was the very first I’d noticed since SAO’s retail version had turned deadly. In fact, it was very first non-NPC blacksmith I’d seen.
Now that I recognized the circumstances, the reason for the uproar
was clear.
The man repeatedly slamming his sword against the ground had paid the silent, drooping blacksmith to fortify the blade. In general terms, a player of the same level would be better at augmenting weapons than an NPC. The requisite production skills had to be at a certain level, of course, but that could generally be recognized at a glance. The crafting tools used—in this case, the blacksmith’s hammer—were all grouped into tiers that could only be equipped with the right level of skill proficiency. The Iron Hammer resting on the silent blacksmith’s anvil required a higher level than the Bronze Hammers this town’s NPCs used.
So this blacksmith should have better odds at strengthening weapons than the NPCs of Urbus—in fact, he couldn’t run a business without them—which was why the three-horned man had entrusted him with his beloved sword.
Unfortunately, however, weapon augmenting in SAO was not a surefire success unless one’s skill proficiency was quite high. With a failure rate of 30 percent, there was a 9 percent chance of failing twice in a row and a 3 percent chance of three failures. Even the tragic outcome of four consecutive failed attempts had a 0.8 chance of occurring.
The terrifying thing was that in a vast online RPG world, these odds were just high enough to happen every now and then. I played games before this that featured rare items with drop rates like 0.01 percent that made you want to scream, “You’re joking!” And yet plenty of lucky players wound up with them. I prayed that such cruelly rare items did not exist in SAO, but a part of me knew they must and that I would spend days and days in the dungeons looking for them…
“What’s all the ruckus about?” someone muttered in my ear, startling me out of my thoughts.
It was a slender fencer. She wore a white leather tunic, pale green leather tights, and a silver breastplate. Her facial features were so pristine and graceful that you might wonder how an elf wandered into the world of Aincrad, but the crude gray wool cape from her head to her waist ruined that effect.
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