5 - Noble Son, Rampage

The quick work King Kirihito made of the enormous Zombie Legions drew incredulity from all sides.

Tomakomai was still on the ground, while Tiramisu braced with her sacred sword in hand. Kirihito was too short to cover them physically, but there was no longer any danger to either of them.

The many Skeleton Chariots turned their wheels, focusing their aggro on him, but he set each of them flying with a single Bash. He utilized a unique stance to expand the range of his impact. Pulverized, the bony creatures scattered into particles of light.

“King Kirihito!” Stroganoff, holding down the front line, spat out bitterly. “What are you doing here?”

“Nothing much...” King let the Knight’s hostility roll off his back. “I just came here to meet someone. I’m not here to kill-steal.”

Stroganoff evaluated the situation, skeptical of King Kirihito’s words.

The timing really had been impeccable, and he’d stolen quite a lot of the spotlight. But with the front-line warrior Gazpacho and rear guard Parmigiano out of the fight, and Tiramisu and Tomakomai barely hanging on, Stroganoff couldn’t deny that he was grateful for the help.

The glory of defeating the Grand Boss...

To a man like Stroganoff, who made that his only aim, King was completely unpredictable. Someone with his skill could easily have ridden the timing of his intrusion to deal critical damage to the boss. And as one of the game’s top players, it was hard to believe he had no interest in beating it at all.

As if noticing the unmasked confusion and concern in his eyes, King Kirihito let out a sigh. “Look, it’s fine. If you still think you can beat the boss, go ahead and do it. I’ll watch your backs.”

“What...?” Stroganoff said.

There were still multiple Zombie Legions and dozens of Skeleton Chariots. That was not a line to be said so casually in the face of such a force.

Just what was the man thinking? But the Devil Zombie’s unrelenting attacks gave him no more time to think about it. After somehow managing to resist a heavy yet quick strike with Weapon Guard, he called a potion into one hand and drank it down.

In the continuing chaos, the raid team had lost nearly half of its elite members. Nearly all players on both fronts had sustained serious damage. Realistically speaking, the most efficient strategy would be for them to take care of the surrounding mobs while King turned his attention to slaying the boss.

But...

“I thank you for your aid!” Stroganoff said to King Kirihito, then rallied his fellow players.

There were just under 20 in total. They could take out the Grand Boss with just this many men. They were still the Red Sunset Knights. They were determined.

Tiramisu and Tomakomai provided healing spells and buffs. The frontline players got their preparations together quickly, then charged the Devil Zombie.

“...What are you doing on the front line, Tomakomai?”

“Heh heh... Behold, my hidden power...” The High Elf Philosopher, who at some point had roused himself from the ground, ran side by side with Stroganoff, a half-crazed smile on his lips. Though there was something cold about it, Stroganoff let it wash over him as something he didn’t have time to think about. If Tomakomai wanted to be on the front line, he would let him do it.

He charged, wedging in with “Helm-Splitter” followed by the canceling Art “Switchover” in a swift two-strike combo. He followed it up with “Art Cancel” to ignore the sharp buildup of fatigue and blasted through his cooldown time to ready another attack on the enemy.

“Screeeeee!” Tomakomai’s piercing cry could be heard even by the heavily armored Knights slashing their way up from the back lines.

Beautiful blond hair in disarray and eyes bloodshot, he cut away with blades made of his hands and feet. Perhaps it was due to his Philosopher’s stat-buffing, or perhaps it was merely a sign of how high he’d leveled his Grappler’s Skills and Arts, but the damage visuals sparked by his hits were easily on par with the DPS spec classes.

As the others unleashed offensive spells and fired off their ranged weapons from behind, Tiramisu added in strikes of her own. It was the Paladin-exclusive weapon attack Art “Punishment.” The Grand Boss, being both Demonic and Undead, was especially vulnerable to it.

Its four arms moved. The front-liners all prepared for the hit.

A second later, four attacks in quick succession buffeted them from above. Tiramisu thrust her Celestial Shield forward and dug in. A shockwave exploded over them, followed by a damage visual. Tiramisu gritted her teeth and hung desperately on as her HP drained away.

In the end, she held the front line with 30% of her health bar remaining. Tomakomai immediately dragged her back and healed her with his magic. His eyes were still bloodshot, but he had not yet lost his reason, it seemed; he could still do the least of his duties as a Philosopher.

We can do it. The corner of Stroganoff’s mouth twitched as he realized it. We can hold this cycle.

All they had to do now was keep an eye on the expiration of buffs to make sure to maintain them properly while the rear guard kept on the watch for ambushes.

But what of King Kirihito? Could he hold off so many enemies at once, all alone?

One glance made it was clear there was nothing to worry about there.

Who was it that had called him the ultimate solo player?

No matter how the game’s balance settings might be biased towards the player, in the MMO genre, for one person alone to so easily handle a horde of mobs that gave trouble to even the game’s elites...

Even the Skeleton Chariots, clacking their teeth as they charged, were just building block toys before him. Rather than using Weapon Guard to reduce damage dealt to him, King just kept hitting them with Bashes targeting for the instant just before their moment of impact. He pulverized one Skeleton Chariot after another, then broke into a dash, like a bullet out of a gun. The black whirlwind cut another Zombie Legion to ribbons.

“Amazing...” The words slipped unbidden from Tiramisu’s lips. And indeed, it was.

The red-haired giant, himself known as “Monstrous,” recalled something Matsunaga had once said to him.

Hey, Stroganoff, no matter where you are, you know it’s impossible to remain the strongest, right?

Do you nevertheless believe you can remain the strongest group of players?

Strength was not everlasting. Stroganoff knew that, of course. Even just in this game, as long as leveling up existed, the standard for “strong” would be ever-changing.

Even so, Stroganoff had worked hard to maintain his status. He had scraped together competent players and continued to reign over them as the best among a group of elites. When it came to combat strength and game achievement, he had assembled the strongest team this world had ever seen. This band that he had built could now visualize a path towards victory against a foe of unprecedented strength.

Yet the sight of King Kirihito, mowing down that demonic army all by himself, dealt a blow to Stroganoff’s pride. Was it possible that Matsunaga had once felt this way himself? That threat to the perception of one’s own strength...

Stroganoff shook his head. They were in a battle right now; he had to focus on that.

Tiramisu, having finished her healing, rejoined the front lines with the rest of the tanks and resumed their fierce attack on the Devil Zombie.

One of the more surprising contributors to the DPS was Tomakomai, who, despite the tragic hit he had taken from the Zombie Legion, had rallied a screech. Frothing at the mouth, he used his hands and feet like whips to strike again and again. It was rather creepy, but the rate of damage was noteworthy, even among the front-liners.

Of course, he couldn’t stand up to Stroganoff in terms of damage of per hit, but again and again he used the Switchover-Art Cancel combo to ignore fatigue buildup, unleashing an uninterrupted chain of attacks. From time to time, Tiramisu had to stop and prepare for a Devil Zombie attack, but the Punishment delivered by her Celestial Sword proved to be the ideal attack to use on the Devil Zombie.

The Red Sunset Knights had cleared the last three Grand Quests. Now, in the face of the anniversary, the moment of their greatest triumph was now in sight. As that realization dawned on them, a cheer began to rise up among the ranks.

Just then...

“What... is that?” one of the Knights murmured as he looked at the sky.

A point of light appeared, visible through the sand and miasma that clouded the air above. It must have been flying quite high. Its point of origin was far in the distance, coming from the direction of the dungeon and flying straight for them.

There were not many ways that players could fly in this game. Mages had “Levitation” and “Flight,” and Dragonets and Machinas had Dragon Wings and “Vernier Units” respectively. But as it was hard for a player to maintain their balance while flying in three dimensions, many players just didn’t bother.

What was the point of light, then? A player, a mob, or a visual signifying another event?

Some of the players used their Far Sight skill to check the identity of the point of light. One by one, other onlookers turned to face it, straining their Perception stats to the limit in vain. No matter how much they zoomed in, it was simply too distant — but it was bridging that distance now at tremendous speed.

“What’s that?”

“A bird?”

“A plane?”

“No...”

Wreathed in a flashy visual, the point of light crashed into the middle of the main thoroughfare amidst the mobs that King Kirihito was currently engaged with.

The force of the landing produced a shockwave. It apparently also dealt physical damage, reducing the Skeleton Chariots in the vicinity to a powder that merged with the rubble and sand kicked up by the impact. From the epicenter, they heard a high-pitched scream that sounded like a girl’s voice.

The dust cloud plumed outward, carrying the shockwave with it. It sent a Zombie Legion flying — its own mass a lethal weapon — back towards the Devil Zombie.

And the damage that came with it...

A devastating blow.

Two damage visuals lit up. The Devil Zombie and Zombie Legion spewed out gobs of flesh as they both vanished into points of light.

An inappropriately cheerful victory fanfare rang out, proclaiming the defeat of the Grand Boss and the end of the Grand Quest.

What in the hell just happened? Stroganoff’s mind refused to accept it. The enormous Devil Zombie was now gone without a trace, leaving an ostentatious wealth of drop items on the ground where it once had been.

Was it... over?

All of it?

He didn’t have the presence of mind to feel despair, emptiness, or even shock. The calm part of his brain told him that he was simply numb with surprise.

“Hey, it’s me,” said a brightly smiling young man standing at the origin of the blast.

The suit jacket and slacks that he was wearing did not suit — to put it mildly — the enormous dragon wings that extended out from his back. The other players stood there in disbelief as understanding slowly dawned on them. This was the man who had fallen from the sky and sent the Zombie Legion flying. In his arms was the crumpled silhouette of a girl.

“T-Tsuwabuki...” The word squeaked out of Stroganoff’s throat.

King Kirihito slapped a hand to his forehead. “Old man... Y’know, I was working really hard not to step on any toes...”

“Oh? Have I done something inexcusable? Ah... It appears I have. Sorry, Stroganoff,” Ichiro said lightly as he noticed first the remains of the Devil Zombie scattered across the ground, then the ranks of gaping Knights.

Ichiro Tsuwabuki had been on the dungeon raid team. What was he doing here? Now? It hadn’t even been an hour since the Devil Zombie had first appeared. Of course, it had been tacitly understood that the members of the underground raid team could join the above-ground battle if they could make it, but... what on Earth was this? How had he made it here from the deepest level of the dungeon so quickly?

But Stroganoff quickly realized it was pointless to wonder. However he did it, the fact was that Ichiro Tsuwabuki had triggered the underground event and made it back up to the surface. That was all that mattered. And the girl he was holding in his arms was the girl named Felicia who had gone with him into the dungeon before.

“Hey there, Kiry... hito,” she said.

Despite everything, Felicia at least seemed conscious enough to hold up one hand and wave to King, and the brazenly aloof young male avatar could say nothing in response but, “H-Hi.”

“Tsuwabuki... What did you come here for?” Stroganoff demanded.

Ichiro waved off Stroganoff’s question, turning neither his body nor his face towards the man. His interest lay solely with the one player he had come in to see. “It wasn’t to steal your prey from you. I have no interest in such trivial things.”

Trivial?

Trivial?

Stroganoff and the others had put their pride on the line to face this threat, and this man had called it “trivial”! If he didn’t care about it, then what was it he had flown all this way for?

Ichiro’s cool gaze met that of King Kirihito. Their interest was mutual.

A new murmur rose up from the crowd, this one different from the previous.

“Isn’t he... you know.... the one Matsunaga blogged about...”

“The one who handled a dungeon solo...”

“Is he gonna fight King?”

“No way...”

But did he even care about those whispers? In that moment, to Ichiro Tsuwabuki, surely nothing else in the world had any meaning.

Nothing but the man who stood before him.

It was a difficult mindset for the average person to grasp. No sooner did the thought pass through his mind than Stroganoff realized that he was lumping himself in with the average person. Even that terrible Grand Boss and the glories to be earned from defeating it — to those two, it had held no more value than a pebble on the side of the road. It had been completely meaningless.

What was it, then, that had value?

That was simple: the knowledge that they were strong.

Stroganoff had thought he understood that concept before, but these two were on a different level.

He remembered those words Matsunaga had once said to him... and what had come next.

Hey, Stroganoff. The people’s perception of strength is absolute.

You can’t fight the hierarchy once it’s set. It’s decisive.

But in the end, it’s a fool’s game, because the question of who is strongest can be overturned at the slightest whim.

The only way to win is to take yourself out of the running.

That was the truth. But did those two agree? Those two, glaring at each other, showed no sign of belief in that commonsense principle. They both believed without a shadow of doubt that they were the strongest, and it was likely that all the onlookers believed the same thing. And after the display of potency that they had just shown, there could be no doubt that these were the strongest players in this game.

But the two of them could not be satisfied with that. Being judged “strongest” by others meant nothing to them. The only standard that had absolute meaning was their own belief that they were strong.

For both of them, no matter how others around might praise them, there was another man whose strength was comparable. The question in their mind — “which of us is stronger?” — could not be dismissed. The mere existence of that question was anathema to them. It was the height of hubris.

But this battle would put an end to all of that. It would establish their hierarchy. It would be decisive. One of them would stop being “the strongest.” If they did not challenge each other, if they did not fight, then both could remain the strongest.

That was something that Stroganoff couldn’t understand, but that lack of understanding itself was part of the reason he felt so outmatched.

The Dragonet Magi-Fencer and the Human Fighter — each readied their weapon and glared at the other. Each of them had drawn what seemed like the obvious conclusion in their mind.

But in the end, one of those two conclusions was false.

“Um...” King Kirihito — Sera Kiryu — scratched his head. He hadn’t been expecting to run into Asuha Tsuwabuki here. Rather than feeling awkward or embarrassed, he mostly felt bewildered.

“Tsuwabuki...” King Kirihito began.

“You don’t want me,” Asuha said. Asuha Tsuwabuki... Felicia... seemed unsteady on her feet — perhaps she had taken damage to her inner ears — and she found herself speaking frankly to Sera-Kirihito. “I’m not the one you should be saying hello to right now, Kiryu.”

She pointed to the Dragonet boy, who raised one hand, as if waiting to be introduced.

Yes, of course...

King Kirihito fixed his eyes on the laid-back man standing in front of him and simply nodded. He wanted to finish things, too.

“Hey, old man,” King Kirihito greeted him, with a bit of a bashful grin.

“Hey, King,” Ichiro responded, with his usual cool smile.

Those were the only words they exchanged. But with that alone, each seemed to understand everything, and they took their stances. King Kirihito with his trusty straight blade, Ichiro with his bare fists.

While the outsiders remained bewildered, the understanding between the two was complete.

Ichiro Tsuwabuki, Asuha’s second cousin. He was an incredible person in real life... someone to whom Sera could not compare.

But here the game, Sera was his equal. If King Kirihito could push Ichiro Tsuwabuki aside, Sera’s superiority would be confirmed. And then that strength would become Sera’s own.

Loss was unacceptable.

King Kirihito tightened his grip on his beloved sword.

Sera had never once come into a fight with the slightest thought as to the possibility of losing — at least, when it came to a video game. Sera had always been called a natural talent, an eternal victor... and had always believed it wholeheartedly. The man standing before Sera now was, for the first time, shaking the very foundations of that belief.

This wasn’t about winning. It was about not losing. And it was the first time King Kirihito had ever felt that way.

“Oh, yeah,” King said, as if suddenly remembering something.

The atmosphere, so thick you could cut it with a knife, was instead cut through by King’s voice. He opened his item inventory from the menu window and selected several items. It produced several bottles about ten centimeters long, which he threw over to Ichiro.

Fatigue restorers.

“Paying you back for the ones I used in the dungeon,” King said.

“Ah, you didn’t need to pay me back...” Still, in the interest of politeness, Ichiro stashed them in his inventory.

“I don’t care what you think, old man,” King shot back. “I’m paying you back because I want to.”

“I see,” Ichiro said.

In the world of the game, victory was the sole determiner of righteousness. For that righteousness to mean anything, the conditions had to be fair. They were the words of the person who had taught Sera Kiryu how to play.

“Hey, old man.” King Kirihito voiced the one question he wanted to ask before crossing swords with this man.

“Yes?”

“Has Tsuwabuki told you about my real-life situation?” King demanded.

“Yes.”

So he knew. King experienced a momentary wave of awkwardness.

No matter how strong Sera was in the game, Ichiro was by far the superior in real life. That was something Sera would have preferred to keep locked away...

But those thoughts were all dissipated by Ichiro’s next words.

“Shall we finish this?”

In that moment, Sera Kiryu knew.

Right now, to this man, my real-world circumstances mean nothing. There will be neither mercy nor contempt nor ridicule from him. All there will be is admiration... for the strength of King Kirihito.

In that moment, Sera Kiryu disappeared inside of King Kirihito; it would not be inaccurate to say that they had merged into one. Sera was wielding King Kirihito’s strength as naturally as could be. And that made one other thing certain...

I can win.

It’s not that I want to win. It’s not that I don’t want to lose.

I can win.

“Okay. Let’s do it,” King said.

A gust of wind blew by, carrying with it visuals of swirling sand and miasma. They could not simply glare at each other forever; the pressure balance between them would break with the drop of a pin.

The actual catalyst was the sound of Felicia getting out of the way. The moment they both realized she was just far enough away not to get drawn into it... that was the signal to start the battle.

The two of them suddenly launched across the field, as if propelled by springs.

Definitely a strong opponent, Ichiro thought.

Kirihito unleashed Bash attacks with a wide variety of speeds, impact times, and waits on cooldown time. He combined stances and derivative actions so skillfully that the one Art used over and over again came off as complicated swordplay.

If Ichiro tried to counter with Strash, the winner would simply be the one whose command landed first... and by a matter of milliseconds.

The various tricks one could use in the real world to shave down that timing were impossible in this inflexible system, making this less of a duel with swords, and more of a game of high-level rock-paper-scissors.

Ichiro clenched his open hand into a fist and decisively executed a Weapon Guard with his bare hands. Even with the bonuses granted by Dragon Claw, he was not yet strong enough to fully block a hit from King’s sword. But he couldn’t afford to take the direct hit, either.

While blocking the sword, he executed a Strash with his open hand.

There was a flash. But King’s instincts were perfect when it came to timing the moment a hit would land. He flew away in that instant, escaping the attack. Space opened up between the two of them once more.

Ichiro wouldn’t be able to land a hit that easily.

He would have to change his strategy.

King was trying to maintain an ideal distance, so it was clear he wouldn’t charge in right away. That gave Ichiro time to open and manipulate his menu window. He went from config to the microtransactions screen and selected the icon he’d tapped enough times before to leave fingerprints on it.

He took the Monetary Blade Arondight in his hand. Having fought with him in the dungeon once before, King Kirihito likely knew how he would use it. The onlookers didn’t, and began whispering among themselves at the sight of it. An interesting but irrelevant reaction, as far as Ichiro was concerned.

“That kinda thing’s in bad taste, old man,” Kirihito called.

“Nonsense!” Ichiro responded.

For the umpteenth time, a bit of light banter transitioned directly into another wild clash. Ichiro hefted the Monetary Blade and activated Breaker, but Kirihito countered with Bash once more.

Weapon Guard would have been a safer strategy, but his choice showed he was focused on remaining on the offense — he wedged himself in the very instant before the hit landed and cut off Breaker’s activation.

The Monetary Blade Arondight didn’t break, thanks to its high Durability, but the damage went through Ichiro’s arm and appeared as a number above his head.

Yet Arondight did not break, and King’s cooldown time, short as it was, gave him an opening. Ichiro twisted his body and performed Spiral Blaze.

At this close range, Kirihito’s response did not come in time.

The swirl of hellfire hit the moment it was fired. If one couldn’t dodge in time, there was no choice but to take the direct damage. And so, King Kirihito took it.

A noise of awe rose up from the crowd.

Finally, a first hit.

This was quite a grueling battle. Ichiro had never thought the day would come when he’d have to put such analysis into a situation. He found the corners of his mouth turning upward.

The game was a fictional environment. It had nothing at all in common with reality; it was a mere illusion conjured up by the signals beamed to the brain. A tiny world that existed only within servers and databases.

But... so what? Every person Ichiro had met in this fictional world had been stimulating. And the most stimulating of them all was now before him, holding a sword.

Even if everything around him was all just a string of ones and zeroes, there was a real human on the other end creating it and manipulating it, and that person was currently fighting on his level. That was one thing he couldn’t call nonsense.

Had he ever burned for victory this way? Whatever it took for him to win here, Ichiro Tsuwabuki would seize it, without hesitation.

“What’re you smiling about, old man?” Kirihito asked.

“The same thing you are, I think!” Ichiro called back.

The knowledge that he was the strongest, the coolest. He had never once lacked it. Having someone to challenge that belief with all their power felt... No, even trying to put it into words was nonsense. It cheapened the feeling.

In the fight up until now, Ichiro had been formulating a hypothesis. Kirihito’s prowess came from his consistent reflexes, and if Ichiro could find a way to bridge that gap between them, he could crush him.

He didn’t have the time to test that theory, though — he would just need to judge the right moment and put it into action.

This time, he didn’t ready his weapon. He prepared to launch into a magic battle.

“Ah, there they go...” Felicia murmured.

“You sound disappointed,” said the leader of The Kirihitters, Kirihito (Leader), who had appeared beside her at some point.

“Yeah... I didn’t want them to do this, because one of them has to lose...”

“I see. You’re an IRL friend of King, aren’t you, Miss Felicia?” Kirihito (Leader) nodded knowingly as he remembered what had happened in the dungeon the other day. “It can be quite awkward to run into an IRL acquaintance in-game. In an earlier MMO I played, I once hit on a female player who turned out to be my mother...”

“Leader, no one wants to hear that story. Really,” another Kirihito said.

“G-Good point.”

The level-headed Kirihito’s advice spared Felicia from listening to any more of Kirihito (Leader)’s tragic tale.

Kirihito (Leader) wasn’t the only one who had arrived to watch the fight between Ichiro and King. A large crowd had begun to form, including the Knights who had been defeated in the prior battle, respawning sans their lost equipment.

“Tsuwabuki’s quite something. He even landed a hit on King...”

“But the odds are still about 60-40 in King’s favor...”

“How’s he gonna come back from this? Let’s watch!”

“You think he’ll get even better during this battle?”

The educated-sounding remarks came from the Knights, led by Stroganoff, who watched with folded arms. They had fully embraced their role as spectators, and seemed to enjoy the roleplay of commentating, though they didn’t actually offer up even a bit of useful analysis.

They simply said things like, “Ah, that’s...” and, “Yes, of course...” and, “Impressive as always,” now and then, while the others nodded along as if they understood.

Perhaps the air of dignity exuded by these powerful characters was gift enough to the watching audience.

Whenever they were asked about which player was at a disadvantage, the answer was always, “Tsuwabuki. Tsuwabuki.” In the pool that was going on behind them, the odds were slightly in King Kirihito’s favor, as well.

Yes, King was fighting well. With bated breath, Felicia watched the scene unfold.

King Kirihito dodged between Ichiro’s magic blasts to unleash a Bash attack. Ichiro didn’t draw his weapon, but executed a bare-handed Weapon Guard instantly. After the damage calculation was finished, a three-digit number popped up over his head, and his health gauge went down again.

But Ichiro didn’t have a moment’s peace before a second and third Bash assailed him. King’s trusty sword offered a high bonus to his ATK, and the direct damage it dealt was considerable.

Ichiro quit using Weapon Guard as a defense and began to focus on dodging the relentless strikes. While dodging, he opened his inventory and equipped his Monetary Blade once more, intending to turn the tables.

Felicia didn’t know this, but Ichiro was planning to strike the instant after the hit from Bash completed. In other words, stealing King Kirihito’s trick.

As Kirihito turned over his sword and executed a fourth Bash, Ichiro instantly unleashed his Breaker. The slice gouged deep into King’s side.

That was a second hit.

The effect of the Dragonet-exclusive skill “Blowback” sent King Kirihito tumbling along the ground.

Felicia gasped.

Kirihito (Leader) looked at her sidelong and sighed. “Miss Felicia, I believe there is nothing to worry about.”

“Um... because King will win?”

“No.”

The other six Kirihitos nodded in agreement with their leader.

“You’re worried that King will lose and lose all his confidence, aren’t you?” Kirihito (Leader) asked.

“Yeah...”

It was true. Felicia knew the weakness behind King’s facade. She knew his fight with Ichiro here was just a way for Sera to become stronger. If King lost this badly in a public place, her friend might never recover again. This would be Sera’s last battlefield.

Why, then, did Kirihito (Leader) insist that there was nothing to worry about?

“Well, look at them, Miss Felicia. Both King and Mr. Tsuwabuki are enjoying themselves.”

“Tsk...” King Kirihito got up again quickly. He readied his weapon again and was beginning to approach guardedly when Ichiro spoke up.

“Right.” Ichiro readied his fists again. “I’ve decided on what I’m going to do. What about you, King?”

“Don’t ask me,” King said with a smile.

Ichiro dashed along the ground again, but the move he executed with his Monetary Blade was neither Breaker nor Strash. He focused power in his open hand, and unleashed the fire-based attack spell, Sword of Surt.

This hellfire sword, wielded by the guardian of the Kingdom of Flame, went far beyond low-level or even mid-level magic. Its flames could roast a horde of undead monsters in a single blast. Even its graphic visual far outstripped other high-level spells in terms of flashiness.

And with that, his objective was clear.

The impressive fire spell that Ichiro had unleashed was not intended to deal damage at all. It was just to distract him. The flashy visual diverted a lot of power from the image processor. Of course, if such a thing were enough to cripple him, he wouldn’t have the reputation he did... but it would be a way to slow his reaction time.

Then, a beat later... the Breaker came!

Kirihito tore through the flame graphic and countered yet again with Bash!

The hits landed simultaneously. The numbers canceled each other out, leaving some numbness in each of their arms. In the brief time it took Ichiro to land, he opened up config and called up another Monetary Blade.

“You’ve still got more?” Kirihito groaned.

“I have as many as I need,” Ichiro replied smoothly.

Then they rushed at each other for another clash.

Blasts of air, streaks of light, roars of sound. Shattering fire, dancing lightning. And wherever the two shockwaves collided, no objects would be permitted existence. It was an extraordinary sight. It seemed unreal...

Of course, it wasn’t real. That was a fact. But would any of those standing there, watching those two avatars locked in joyous combat, really agree? The spectacle was nothing but an illusion, a mirage created by lines of code. This was a truth that most people would readily acknowledge. But deep down in their hearts, would they really agree?

The two greatest players on the Asgard Continent were colliding. Everyone was watching with bated breath.

One, the Human Fighter, Kirihito.

The other, the Dragonet Magi-Fencer, Ichiro Tsuwabuki.

The battle had been raging for quite some time now. Each had chipped the other’s life bar down to nearly nothing, and the fatigue mounting on both sides was starting to confer negative modifiers and slightly laggy motion patterns on each. Even so, neither’s confidence had dimmed.

King Kirihito’s strike sent Ichiro’s Monetary Blade flying, but the audience gasped as Ichiro opened up the menu screen and, with smooth motions, called forth yet another. As always, he bought as easily as he breathed; perhaps the gasps were really ones of envy.

“Pretty bourgeois...” said Kirihito. If there was any player who could speak honestly what was on his mind, it was him.

That was what Ichiro had thought when the boy had politely explained the reason why he used only Bash. That was why the Dragonet man had so quickly lashed out with the flashy visual of Sword of Surt as a smokescreen. The image processor of the Cocoon that Ichiro was using could easily process that effect.

It was things like these that made rich people so disagreeable.

“Nonsense,” Ichiro said. “It is true that I have a bit more money than you, but do you have a problem with that?”

Kirihito raised an eyebrow in response. “Nah, not really.”

“I thought not.”

This had been their understanding from the start.

Ichiro’s power came from the money he had earned through his own talents, poured into the game.

King Kirihito’s came from his player’s inborn talent and lengthy time investment.

Each had, in their own way, earned the game’s form of “strength,” and though the means differed, they had come to the same end. The only difference was the way that they invested their talents. Each was applying his own ability in his own way to compete to become the strongest on the Asgard Continent.

Ichiro selected “Config” from his open menu window, switched to the microtransactions menu with a practiced motion, and bought a number of items whose price would make the average person swoon.

The sudden influx of new items caused consumables to overflow from his inventory and crash to the ground. Potions bottles bumped into each other, but neither cracked nor broke apart. The items piled high, creating a clinking mountain of glass. The sight left even King Kirihito dumbstruck.

“Hey, old man, ain’t you gonna use those potions? You shouldn’t waste ’em.”

“Nonsense. I decide what’s waste and what’s not. This mountain of potions is not wasted... Not if I use them to beat you.”

Felicia couldn’t hide her groan at watching Ichiro’s shameless wastefulness. “This is disgusting, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Kirihito (Leader) agreed, nodding.

It was an expensive investment for a cheap provocation. As they watched, they could see the potions continue to pile up behind Ichiro, higher and higher. It was a sight to make an Alchemist — the class that spent day in and day out creating potions — go mad.

“I believe Mr. Tsuwabuki must have considerable respect for King,” Kirihito (Leader) murmured with an expert’s air. “After all is said and done, he is his polar opposite. Still, summoning all those potions there... what on earth is he thinking?”

But, Felicia thought, he’s right.

Sera Kiryu had been dealt a meager hand in life, yet was fighting to the utmost with that limited selection of cards. By comparison, Ichiro Tsuwabuki had been dealt a large hand, and could fight while holding many other cards in reserve — a quality that, ironically, meant that he could never hope to imitate Sera’s way of doing things. Maybe he really did respect her friend, and this was just a sign of that.

But it was still disgusting.

The atmosphere among all those assembled — both the fighters and the spectators — was stretched taut. Kirihito adjusted his grip on his sword and held it at eye level, glaring at Ichiro.

Stroganoff whispered as he gazed at the two, “Looks like they finally intend to finish it.”

It seemed plausible. Their HP and fatigue bars were nearing their limit. As they’d continued trading blows and slinging mud at each other, the result had become less certain. A single hit might finish it on either side.

Ichiro seemed to be thinking the same thing. He charged up magic power in one hand, and held his Monetary Blade in a reverse grip in the other.

Were they simply going to hit each other with all the power they had?

Given the way King Kirihito had constantly blocked the Monetary Blade Breaker, that would put Ichiro at a slight disadvantage. But the young heir’s smile did not fade.

An audible gulp rang out among all assembled.

A moment later, something tore through the air.

Kirihito had been the first to charge forward. His speed was incredible. Ichiro was late out of the gate.

Just as the crowd realized he had manipulated something in his inventory, items began dropping around him, one after another. In addition to the contents of the microtransaction packs he’d been buying, Monetary Swords came raining down from the sky. Ichiro then released the magic he had been charging up into the ground. There was a visual of flying rubble.

Kirihito’s movements visibly slowed.

But it wasn’t just Kirihito’s. Nearly everything in the area had slowed down. It was likely that very few of the players assembled knew for sure what was going on. But Felicia thought back on what Amesho had said back in the dungeon...

“VRMMOs are just like mobile games, huh? With lag and slowdown and stuff... Going through that in virtuality is no fun!”

Slowdown.

Yes, this was slowdown.

Having a large number of items pop up, combined with the rendering of the flashy rubble and sand effect, required significant graphics processing that was inflating the data bus and burdening the server. It wasn’t enough to completely lock up the game, but it was more than enough to produce lag.

And what effect would the explosion and the flying rubble and sand have on each warrior’s ability to fight?

Ichiro could see King flying through the sand, the point of his sword slashing through the air, cutting down all in its path.

The moment his opponent had produced all those items, Kirihito had known what he was planning. He’d been more or less expecting something like this. His opponent had seen what he could do, and it was likely that he might see his weakness and how to exploit it. But the way in which he’d done it was utterly outrageous.

Ichiro had dumped all the items to overtax Kirihito’s image processor. There were already a ridiculous number of potions on the field, and more kept coming. Any further graphical burden or inflation of the data bus would produce unavoidable lag.

As sacrilegious as the strategy was, King couldn’t be annoyed — a good thing, as excess emotion would just increase the data bus. He would navigate his way through the bps and FLOPS, as though threading a needle.

Clutching the hilt of his straight blade, King took a step forward from his swiftest stance. In the same instant, Ichiro hit the ground with his magic blast.

Sand and rubble went flying. The showy explosion visual ate up the last of his remaining memory at once. The time it took for the system to send electric signals to the brain was fatally slowed. The frame rate of the scenery around him became choppy, and it became hard to precisely perceive his opponent.

The lag made his opponent appear to move in slow motion, but he knew that wasn’t really the case. The battle was continuing in real time, and since the environment was rendering perfectly on Ichiro’s side, it was probably King whose actions were being easily anticipated.

In other words, when he perceived Ichiro readying his sword for a Breaker after completing the spell Arts, that had probably happened a few milliseconds ago.

Even if he trusted in his quantum connection and tried to send image data, timing the Bash to hit his target just before impact detection would be close to impossible. All he could do was predict his opponent’s attack path based on his previous habits and send an image of dodging in that instant.

The image processor slowdown was still going. The question of when to evade was basically gambling.

But Kirihito took the bet. He imagined moving his immobile body. In his slowed-down time, he imagined dodging his opponent’s strike, then using Bash to break his opponent’s Monetary Blade.

Then suddenly, the world around him sped up, making up for the slowdown time as it caught up to the present. Electronic signals flooded into Kirihito’s brain.

A cloud of sand and a flash of light. Piercing through it was Ichiro, his new Monetary Blade in hand, unleashing another Breaker.

The slash scraped his cheek. The scenario Kirihito had imagined now played out in flesh.

Ichiro’s eyes narrowed.

Bash! The rising strike broke Ichiro’s sword and send it flying back. The timing of his experiences were catching up with reality. The broken tip went flying off into the sand cloud. Kirihito took a two-handed grip on his sword once more.

He had gambled... and won! Now, a counter with two Bashes in a row. A single overhead blow would—

But as he put his imagination into motion...

“...hrk!”

...Ichiro abruptly pivoted and thrust a fist straight at him.

It was a high-level Dragon Claw, the Dragonet bare fist converted into a lethal weapon. The hand reached his throat and then stopped short.

It was millimeters away. Ichiro could stab his windpipe and take off his remaining HP before Kirihito could even try to unleash another Bash. The dust cloud that had whipped up around them settled, revealing the tableau of the two of them, standing there as still as statues.

“Does this mean I lost?” Kirihito said before the eyes of all the onlookers who couldn’t quite tell what had just happened.

“Yes, you lost, and I won,” Ichiro said.

Why hadn’t he simply finished him off? It could have been compassion, drama, or perhaps simply a whim... but his other items aside, King was grateful he wouldn’t have to lose his weapon or armor.

With his usual cool expression, Ichiro withdrew his fist and began placing the items on the ground into his inventory.

I lost, huh?

Kirihito watched Ichiro from behind, quietly letting out the breath he had been holding. The loss brought with it no sense of humiliation or shame. The measures his opponent used had been rather cheap, but somehow, he didn’t find that it cheapened his loss. Next time, he would just have to train so that he could find a route to victory, even during slowdown.

Was this what was known as the exhilaration of loss? He’d never thought of himself as the sporting type...

The moods among the crowd ran the gamut.

The players who had lost a lot of money in the pool were grousing and ripping up their tickets in anger. It was hard to feel pity for them, though, and King didn’t feel sorry at all. The players who had bet on Ichiro were taking their winnings, looking quite pleased with themselves.

One girl was standing in the crowd, looking at King Kirihito. He turned towards the meddlesome girl and raised a hand to her in greeting. It was as if he was saying, silently, “Hey, I’m okay.”

“I was expecting that to be easier, though,” Ichiro murmured.

“Then you underestimated me, old man.” Kirihito shot back. But then, he’d still lost, so he couldn’t sound too high-and-mighty.

“Well, when shall we have the next round?” Ichiro asked.

“Hmm?” King asked.

Having finished recovering his items, Ichiro threw a large number of potions at King, one hand still in his pocket. King, having lost most of his HP, accepted the potions gladly.

“Don’t you want to schedule a rematch?” Ichiro asked.

“Oh, that?”

Was he already thinking about that? The old man certainly worked fast...

“I do want revenge, but I don’t know about agreeing to something like that. Why don’t we just see how we both feel the next time we meet?” Kirihito asked. That was how he really felt.

Ichiro just nodded in understanding, and didn’t say any more on the subject.

With an empty potion bottle in hand, Kirihito looked up at the sky. It had been a long time since he’d admitted to losing. For so long, the game had been nothing but a tool to help him face the real world. The feeling of not wanting to lose again spurred him on to true strength. That motive hadn’t changed, he was sure.

He had assumed that defeat would just be a pathetic end, but for some reason, he didn’t feel that way now. It was indeed frustrating, and he wanted to pound the Dragonet into the ground the next chance he had... but there was none of that emotion, like black smoky flame, that Kirihito had previously felt towards “the enemy.”

Perhaps it was a sign of maturation.

The miasma had lifted, and the sky above the Necrolands was clear and blue.