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 toward 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 Serlut…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 first-strike 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 different, 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 instructors 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 afford 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 still-buzzing 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.