4

With its last bit of strength, the black dragon managed a soft landing with its one remaining wing and perished with a feeble cry. Gabriel Miller watched it die without emotion.

By the time he looked away from it, the dragon was completely purged from his memory and thoughts. He spun around to survey the area impassively.

They had crashed onto the top of a rock that stood in the center of a wide field of oddly cylindrical rock pillars. It appeared to be about a hundred yards tall and thirty yards across.

Perhaps just jumping down would be reckless. He had not nearly mastered the means of magic in this world, generating elements and wielding them to perform tasks. And of course, he was not going anywhere and leaving the still unconscious Priestess of Light behind.

Gabriel could easily rappel down a wall of this height in the real world if he had a sturdy rope, anchor, and carabiner, but there was no need to jump off this rock now. The enemy that had shot him down through unknown means was approaching from the north with a trio of dragons at this very moment. He could take care of the enemy, conquer a new dragon’s AI, and resume the southward journey.

He looked straight overhead. The virtual sun in the red sky was already at a high angle. There was likely little time left before Critter resumed accelerating the time ratio. The only issue was whether the American “beta testers” could wipe out the Human Empire’s army before the acceleration knocked them off the simulation. There were fifty thousand of them, however; it shouldn’t be any issue for them to eliminate the less than one thousand remaining foes.

If there was an uncertain variable in the mix, it would be the Integrity Knights, who’d destroyed the Dark Army, which vastly outnumbered them, but he already had one in his possession, and whoever was pursuing him now would likely be a knight as well. There would be only one or two of them still fighting to the north.

Assuming that his problem would solve itself, Gabriel lastly gazed at the prone Integrity Knight, Alice.

She is simply beautiful.

Enough that it was hard to control the writhing anticipation deep in his core.

He wondered briefly if it would be better to remove all her equipment and tie her up before she woke. That would be the logical choice, certainly, but he did not like the idea of quickly and mechanically performing the task because an enemy was approaching.

This was something he wanted to savor. He wanted to take his time, once the acceleration rate increased again. Every last buckle of armor removed should be an act unto itself: graceful, solemn, symbolic.

“…Just rest peacefully there for now, Alice…Alicia,” Gabriel said gently. He strode to the center of the table-like rock, preparing to greet his foe.

Although neither Gabriel Miller nor Critter was aware of it, it was not the simple dragon kick that knocked Alice, the strongest of Integrity Knights, unconscious for several hours, but a special ability belonging to Super-Account 04—Vecta, the god of darkness.

The four super-accounts in the Underworld were designed for the purpose of directly manipulating the world and its inhabitants in ways that were tantamount to the work of gods.

Stacia modified the world terrain.

Solus destroyed mobile units.

Terraria restored object durability.

And Vecta manipulated the residents—artificial fluctlights.

Technically, he overwrote their memories, altering the vector data in their fluctlights—the inspiration for his name—so that they could be placed in distant locations or given new families and still function.

Because this meant physically abducting the residents, that made the role unsuitable for worship, unlike the three other gods. Therefore, in addition to his top-priority gear and maximum life value, he had another layer of powerful protection: He could not be targeted with arts. The “lost children of Vecta,” a kind of folklore myth in the Underworld, referred to those who had been moved elsewhere by Vecta’s powers.

And the combination of the god of darkness’s powers with Gabriel Miller’s extreme sense of imagination—his ability to Incarnate—had a synergistic effect that even Rath’s engineers could not have predicted.

He absorbed a person’s will without using arts. Alice’s fluctlight was temporarily rendered inactive, putting her into a kind of forced coma.

The way that he devoured Dark General Shasta’s tremendous Incarnation was another feat of Vecta’s and Gabriel’s powers combined.

And now Shasta’s longtime respected rival, Integrity Knight Commander Bercouli, was plunging headlong toward the same conclusion.

Bercouli spotted the emperor’s dragon crashing on top of a rocky growth that would leave him trapped for at least a little while. The use of that tremendous ability left him physically spent, but he swept the fatigue aside with sheer willpower.

“All right…One more burst of flight, Hoshigami, Amayori, Takiguri!!” he shouted, and the three mounts beat their wings harder to pick up speed. If the enemy was stationary now, the dragons could cross a distance of ten kilors in just a blink.

In the small amount of time he had before the fight, Bercouli engaged in a kind of meditative trance. The dream he’d had in the early hours of the morning flooded back into his mind, bright and vivid.

Have you ever sensed your own death? Administrator had said in his dream. Even after centuries of interaction with her, she was a mystery to the end.

When he was unfrozen, and Alice told him of the pontifex’s death, he did not feel anything he would describe as shock. It was more of an appreciation for her long, long efforts. If anything, the real surprise to him was that Prime Senator Chudelkin was dead.

So he did not press Alice for details of the battle against Administrator or about how she died. Part of that was the sudden weight of protecting the human world now on his shoulders, but perhaps a part of him also didn’t want to know. He did not want to know about the depth of that silver-haired, silver-eyed half goddess’s desire, obsession, and karma.

To Bercouli, Administrator was a languid, fickle, and willful princess. He was obedient to her, but he did not worship her the way Chudelkin did.

And yet…his servitude to her was not something he hated doing.

“It’s true…I hope you believe me on that point, at least,” the oldest knight muttered to himself.

His eyes flashed open. He’d caught a glimpse of Alice’s golden armor lying on the top of the rock—and Emperor Vecta looming before her like a standing shadow.

“Here we go…you three hover in the air!” Bercouli ordered the dragons. “If I fall, go back north and rejoin the group!”

With that, he leaped from Hoshigami’s back out into open air.

With Sinon flying ahead and leaving a white trail behind her like a meteorite, the seven hundred members of the human army continued their desperate southern march. They were pulling away from the rumbling red army behind them, but the guards and the horses couldn’t keep running like this forever.

Asuna stood on the canopy of the wagon carrying Kirito, Tiese, and Ronie and watched the sky to the south, praying.

After twenty minutes of progress, as Sinon had told them, a massive ruin that looked like a temple appeared on the horizon. There was no sign of large animals, including humans or demi-humans. It was a place of old, weathered stone, slumbering in silence.

On either side of the straight-line path sat long, flat temple buildings. They were about sixty feet tall, and over a thousand feet long. It was certainly a large enough obstacle to prevent the enemy from surrounding them on all sides.

The path continued right through the two temples and onward to the south. It had a ceremonial feel to it, thanks to the eerie giant statues lining it on both sides. The statues were not Eastern Buddhist style or classical European gods. If anything, they were more reminiscent of the ruins of South America, squat and blocky. Their faces had round eyes and gaping mouths, with short little hands joined in front of their chests.

Was that something that the Rath engineers designed personally when they were building the Underworld? Or did The Seed automatically generate it?

Or perhaps…the races that once lived here in the Dark Territory carved the stone from the mountains and brought them here. As giant gravestones dedicated to the dead…?

Asuna exhaled to push the ominous thought out of her mind. She called out to Renly, who was on his dragon at the head of the group. “Let’s fight back against the enemy in the middle of that ceremonial path!”

He shouted back to indicate his understanding.

Within a few minutes, the army charged down the path between the temples without losing speed. The giant blocky gods stared down at them from the left and right. The ground underneath went from dirt to paving stones, making the horse hooves and marching boots louder.

Through the chilly air, Renly’s handsome voice called out, “Lead group, branch off to the sides and halt! Let the wagons and rear group through!”

The eight wagons trundled past the split lead troops, and the rear troops made up mostly of priests followed them, taking position at the farther point down the road. A dry wind blew through the large gate, rustling Asuna’s hair.

The silence lasted only a moment. The ominous rumbling of the army of American players reached the ruins, sending fine grains of sand spilling from the statues around them.

Asuna jumped off the wagon and spoke to the girls who peered out from the cargo space and the swordswoman who stood next to them.

“This is the final battle. I’m leaving Kirito in your care.”

“Of course! We’ll keep him safe, Miss Asuna!”

“He’s under our protection!”

“Upon my life.”

Asuna returned the salute of fist to chest that Ronie, Tiese, and Sortiliena gave her in turn, and then she grinned.

“Don’t worry. We’re not going to let them get this far.”

It was as much for her own ears as it was for theirs. She waved her open hand and spun around.

At the lead of the troops, Renly was busy arranging the men-at-arms. The temple path was about twenty yards across, a little bit too wide to properly defend, but they had enough people that they could block it off and still rotate troops in and out.

The big question was whether or not they could grind down over ten thousand enemy troops, minimizing losses, while the priests in the rear could still perform support magic. Fortunately, the red soldiers seemed to have no magic users of any kind among them. It was probably because it would be impossible to teach new players the complex command system of the Underworld’s sacred arts in such a short amount of time. Whatever the case, it was a welcome development.

And if need be, I will cut down the entire enemy army myself, Asuna swore, inhaling deeply.

Given Stacia’s vast life reserves and top-priority equipment, she would not be defeated through numerical damage. The real question was whether or not she could stand the blinding pain that came with each wound suffered. If she gave in to the pain, not only would she be physically damaged, but she would find herself cowering, unable to swing her sword back at the enemy.

Asuna closed her eyes and thought of Kirito, damaged and broken. She thought of the pain he had suffered and the sadness he still bore.

When she stepped forward again, there was no fear left in her.

The clash between armed forces, what promised to be the last major battle in this war, started beneath the sun at its apex.

The first group of about twenty American players, seeking ultrarealistic blood and screams as promised by the promotional site, plunged down the path to the ruins. But they were not met in battle by helpless NPCs designed for some sadistic pleasure-jaunt with no board ratings. They were battling against true heroes who were fighting to save the world and, more specifically, the golden Integrity Knight those people adored and worshipped. Their weapons were ragged and chipped but shone with unyielding determination, blocking the enemy’s blows and smashing their armor.

One figure observed the one-sided obliteration of the red-armored players from above.

He wore tight-fitting black leather with almost no metal plating whatsoever, like a motorcycle riding suit. The smooth leather was instead studded with dull-silver rivets all over.

His only weapon, which hung from his left hip, was a huge dagger almost the size of a kitchen knife. His face was hidden; he wore a black leather poncho with a hood that he kept pulled down over his features. Where his lips were visible, they featured a smile twisted in the extreme.

Vassago Casals.

After logging back in to the Underworld, he deftly evaded Sinon’s wide-ranging laser attack and snuck among the Americans chasing after the guardian army’s decoy force. He chose not to take part in the first wave of attackers, instead climbing up the wall of the western temple building and perching atop one of the statues with a first-row view of the battlefield.

“Heh-heh, I see that part of her hasn’t changed. She’s ruthless when she snaps. Look at her kill!” he marveled, his shoulders rocking with mirth.

Far below, Asuna the Flash, the girl with chestnut-brown hair and pearly-white armor, jabbed and thrust her rapier with impossible speed, just as Vassago remembered from the distant past.

Now, as back then, Vassago hid and watched, unbeknownst to her. Deep inside, he swore to himself that he would finish her off before this world came to an end.

Along with the swordsman in black who fought even more ferociously than she did.

When Bercouli jumped from the back of the dragon, there was nearly two hundred mels of space between his feet and the top of the rocky pillar. Even he could not withstand a collision of that much force if he simply let gravity do all the work.

Instead, the knight commander descended in a spiral, as though following an invisible staircase down the sky. As a matter of fact, he was generating wind elements under his feet with each step, setting them off and using the counterforce to slow his descent. He’d stolen the secret art of using feet as element control terminals from Chudelkin decades ago.

The oldest Integrity Knight leaped again and again, staying out of Emperor Vecta’s sightlines on the artificial-looking rock pinnacle far below him. He put his hand on the hilt of his sword.

I’ll settle it with the first strike.

Commander Bercouli had not fashioned a truly deadly Incarnation since he’d cut apart the dark general two generations before, 150 years ago. That was how long it had been since he’d faced an opponent that necessitated the summoning of such a feat.

When he’d battled the youngster named Eugeo in Central Cathedral, Bercouli had fought his hardest, but not with intent to kill. And on that note, he had never truly felt negative emotions like fury or hatred when he faced the dark generals who were his greatest rivals.

In other words, this was the first time in Bercouli’s long, long life that he infused his beloved weapon with true anger.

He was furious. He burned with righteous wrath. And it was more than just for Alice’s sake.

This outsider, from some place he called the real world, had swept in and driven the darklanders to war when there might have been a chance for peace. He’d caused tens of thousands of deaths for no purpose. And this was something that Bercouli could not forgive, after more than two centuries of dedication to the protection of the world.

I have no idea what makes you tick, Emperor Vecta. But I know from seeing that Asuna girl that not all the real-worlders are demons like you. It’s your personal nature that’s evil.

And you must pay a price.

You will know the weight of the lives of Dark General Shasta, of Integrity Knight Eldrie, of all the people who perished on the field of battle…with this blow!!

“Zeyaaah!!”

His last step came at a height of ten mels, at which point Commander Bercouli let himself plunge downward, bringing all the force he could muster into a swing at Emperor Vecta’s defenseless skull.

The air seared and flashed. The light his blade produced was so bright that the world lost all color.

It was undoubtedly the most powerful single sword strike that had ever happened in the history of the Underworld. Its priority level in overwriting the Mnemonic Data of the Main Visualizer surpassed that of the system’s commands themselves. It was a true automatic kill shot, nullifying any and all numerical stats that might oppose it.

Enough to deplete all the nearly infinite life of Super-Account 04, Vecta, the god of darkness.

As long as it hit.

Even in the instant that he noticed the lethal meteor plummeting at him from the heavens, Vecta’s expression did not change.

The attack was so fast that the only thing he could do was look up at it. It was instantaneous, impossible to react or respond to.

And yet, Vecta’s body in its obsidian armor simply slid to the side—in the only possible direction to avoid the blow, with only the minimum distance necessary to put him out of harm’s way.

The only thing Bercouli’s sword touched was his flapping red cloak. The hem of fur and thick fabric was obliterated into fine dust, and the top of the tough rock mountain split deep with a thunderous kaboooom!! The entire structure shook, and chunks of it split off and fell down to the ground below.

He…evaded that?

Bercouli’s body did not stop moving for an instant, despite closing his eyes. He was long past the stage of experience when an unexpected action from the enemy paralyzed one’s mind.

He kicked one last time in midair and landed around the flank of the emperor, instantly striking on a flat plane. He had missed on executing an all-consuming super-attack but transitioned to his next swing in less than half a second.

Vecta dodged that one, too.

Like smoke pushed by a breeze, he simply slid along the ground without any shift in momentum. The tip of the sword scraped the surface of his armor, sending up harmless sparks.

But this time, Bercouli was sure of his victory.

The first powerful blow from above had missed, but it wasn’t gone. He’d activated the Perfect Weapon Control art of his weapon—the Time-Splitting Sword’s Karagiri—the ability to cut the future. It was the skill that had caused Eugeo such pain in the cathedral, leaving the full power of the cut hanging in the air, such that anyone who touched that space received that slice courtesy of an invisible blade.

Emperor Vecta slid backward toward the space where the invisible slashes hovered.

First, his platinum-silver hair frayed and spread.

The crown over his forehead cracked and broke into pieces.

Vecta’s arms rose high in a mockery of a pose of pleading for forgiveness.

Bercouli had a vivid vision of his tall black form splitting vertically.

Whap.

A dry smacking sound.

The emperor’s palms clapping together, without so much as a glance behind him.

He trapped my Karagiri, the empty slice, between his bare hands? And with his back to it?

It was impossible. The secret technique of trapping a sword between the hands was known among the pugilists of the dark world, but it was possible only because of their incredibly tough fists, which were harder than tempered steel. And more importantly, the power of the Karagiri hanging in the air was beyond even what the chief of the pugilists could stop with his bare hands.

This understanding flashed through Bercouli’s mind in an instant, but at last, it caused him to stop moving. And therefore, he was caught flat-footed, only able to watch what happened in the next moment.

The slash that flickered in the air like a heat haze melded into the emperor’s hands. His blue eyes began to swirl with darkness.

And within that pit of blackness flickered countless…stars…?

No.

They were souls. The souls of all the people he had absorbed, trapped within him. And among them were surely the souls of Dark General Shasta and the woman who’d served as his right hand…

“…So you can devour the Incarnations of others?” Bercouli muttered.

Vecta lowered his hands, the force of the Karagiri entirely absorbed now. “Incarnation? Some melding of mind and will, I suppose.”

His voice was deathly cold, a human voice stripped of all living humanity. His thin lips moved into the shape typically recognized as a smile. “Your mind is like a wine of aged vintage. Rich, thick, heavy…with a lasting aftertaste. It is not to my taste…but as an opening act, it is a worthy flavor.”

His pale hand moved to grab the hilt of the longsword at his side. He pulled the thin blade free from the sheath; it shone with a bluish-purple light. Vecta let the weapon dangle at his side as he smiled again.

“Now, let me drink more.”

A thick greatsword glanced off Asuna’s left arm. It felt as though a searing hot poker had been pressed against the spot.

It doesn’t hurt!! she told herself. And just as quickly, the wound on her skin simply vanished.

Already, though, her arm was a smoky blur, jabbing four consecutive times into the soldier across from her, from right shoulder to left flank. The man’s face twisted, and he fell to the ground, but not before emitting a truly impressive string of vulgarities.

She’d long ago lost count of how many foes she’d defeated. In fact, she wasn’t even sure how many minutes it had been since the battle at the ruins had commenced—or how many dozens of minutes. All she knew for certain was that the red soldiers pouring down the entrance to the temple path still seemed unlimited in number.

A battle of endurance like this is no big deal. It wasn’t rare for the boss fights back in Aincrad to take three or four hours, Asuna recalled. She used her rapier to deflect an ax swing from a new enemy leaping over the body of his disintegrating comrade.

She thrust a quick, accurate strike into the heart of the unbalanced foe and used the opportunity to glance to either side of her.

To Asuna’s right, Renly was hurling boomerangs with each hand and amassing a mountain of dead around him. Their power and accuracy were tremendous, and he seemed to be totally in control of his area.

The problem was on the left side. The captains of the men-at-arms were arranged there around Sortiliena, but it was clear that they were steadily getting pushed back.

“Left wing, shorten the intervals of your rotation! Focus more healing on the left side, please!”

“I can still fight, Miss Asuna!” Sortiliena shouted back. She activated the Two-Handed Sword skill Cyclone. Her sword glowed light green and made a rapid full rotation that sent three enemy soldiers flying, but she wound up down on a knee when it was done. From what Asuna had heard during their late-night sharing of memories, the swordsmen of noble birth were trained in one-on-one ceremonial battles, leaving them unfamiliar with a long, unpredictable melee like this.

As a matter of fact, Liena’s combat was flowing and bold, but even Asuna, who’d been in this world for only a day, could see that it was too fair and square. She used big attacks with hardly any feints or tricks to unbalance foes, and the post-skill delay immobilized her long enough for the surviving enemies to land a few wild hits on her. Her armor was already chipped all over, and her purple guard’s uniform was stained with blood in places.

“Step back and get healed, Liena! Trust in your companions!” Asuna commanded. Liena bit her lip but said “I’ll be right back!” and retreated. Another head guard stepped in to fill the empty spot in the line she’d left, but there was already fatigue etched into his features.

There was one more thing that bothered Asuna besides the exhaustion of the left wing.

The soldiers in red armor they were fighting weren’t humanoid monsters running on simple algorithms. They were veteran MMORPG players from America, the nation that had birthed the genre. They were used to PvP battle, and it wasn’t a stretch to suggest that they would soon grow tired of simple charging and come up with a different strategy.

What would I do in their position? Asuna wondered as her rapier flashed and jabbed. The old faithful method would be a long-range attack from the rear. But the crimson army seemed to have no magic users. Even if there were, it was probably too much to expect them to use the Underworld’s complex command strings without practice first.

That left only archers, but fortunately, it seemed that none of the enemy accounts were equipped with bows and arrows. They could also throw their weapons, perhaps, but nobody wanted to let go of their swords and axes and risk not being able to fight anymore.

So it seemed a safe assumption that the enemy side had no means of breaking through the stalemate.

That meant, as she’d initially surmised, that the only answer was to keep grinding until the ten-thousand-plus were gone.

But just as she told herself that, a dark shadow crossed the entrance to the temple road. The sun was blocked by a line of huge shields and a field of lances standing tall like flagpoles.

Heavy spearmen!

“Th-they’re going to charge with spears!! Watch the points and avoid the first lunge!! Once you’re inside their length, they can be beaten!!” Asuna called out to her comrades on the sides, right as the huge lances clanked into position.

“““Chaaaaaarge!!”””

The line of twenty lancers bellowed and began to rumble toward them. The men-at-arms grew antsy, sensing the pressure of a red tsunami approaching. Just calm down, everyone! Asuna prayed as she stared down those who were charging at her. The wicked, gleaming lances had lethal power, given the force behind them.

Wait until they’re as close as possible…and parry!

The rapier slid along the side of the spear, spraying yellow sparks. The sharp point of the polearm passed just to the right of Asuna’s face and continued behind her.

“…Haah!!” she screamed, thrusting the rapier up toward the gap in the enemy’s armor, right near his throat. An ugly squelching sensation traveled back through her palm. Blood squirted from the bottom of the helmet.

But the screams that ensued were not only from the enemy forces. A number of men-at-arms on the left wing had been speared through.

“…!!”

Asuna gritted her teeth and ran to the left, leaving her station. She used the simple Linear Thrust to run through one enemy soldier who was trying to pull his lance free from a deceased guard. She then removed her bloodied weapon and took off the next enemy’s arms with the two-part Parallel Sting skill.

The third enemy thrust his lance at her with an angry insult, and she jumped directly over it, landing on top of the spear and running along it until she put a foot on his shoulder, pulled off his helmet with her free hand, and jabbed her rapier deep into his exposed neck.

As the man sank without so much as a scream, Asuna stayed on his back and called out, “Take the wounded to the back!! They are the top healing priority!!”

Another glance at the battlefield told her that the twenty-lance charge had ended in failure thanks to the hard effort of Renly and the men-at-arms, but six of their number had taken a direct hit—and three of them would not likely survive.

If they repeat this strategy, our overwhelming disadvantage in numbers is going to be exposed when we don’t have enough to maintain the line.

That horrible knowledge came true with another rumble. The next group of twenty lancers was charging through the entrance to the temple grounds. Asuna tore her gaze away from the oncoming lances and back to the center of the line, where she was supposed to be situated. A young man-at-arms there, practically still a boy, was holding his sword at the ready, knees knocking.

“Ah…!” she gasped, running to her right. She leaped for the spot between the lance charging from the left and the boy standing still on the right. She wouldn’t be able to parry it in time with her rapier. The only thing she could do was try to grab the glinting lance head with her left hand.

If this were an ordinary VRMMO world, Asuna’s block would be successful due to her incredible reaction speed and strength stat. But the Underworld had all kinds of parameters that games like SAO and ALO ignored.

The smooth steel lance slipped through her blood-slicked palm—and a dull shock jolted her body. Asuna looked down, voiceless, to see the chunk of metal jabbing deep into her side.

Maximum efficiency with minimum movement.

That was how Commander Bercouli viewed Emperor Vecta’s fighting style, which was different from anything he’d seen before.

For one thing, his feet hardly moved. When he dodged an attack, his feet just slid across the ground a tiny bit. He also had nearly no windup for any kind of attack. The sword would be limply held in his right hand, then slither forward to strike at the shortest possible range.

Therefore, it was essentially impossible to predict his movements. The emperor’s attacks were not especially quick or powerful, but they kept the vastly more experienced Bercouli from countering, five consecutive times.

But five was enough.

Calling upon his vast past knowledge and instinct, Bercouli had a grasp of Vecta’s attacks by that point and moved to counterattack on the sixth one at last.

“Sssh!” he hissed as quietly as possible, striking high before Vecta’s swing could come. White sparks accompanied a piercing clash of metal.

Two swords connected in the air—and it was a battle of strength from here. The enemy’s sword sank easily, without much resistance. Tall Vecta’s knees bent, as if giving out to the pressure.

I sense victory!!

Bercouli poured all his finely honed Incarnation into his sword. The well-used steel blade began to give off light. The tip of the Time-Splitting Sword, which pushed Vecta’s black longsword lower and lower, finally touched his shoulder and dug into the surface of his armor…

In that moment, Vecta’s sword flashed eerily. The bluish-purple light moved like a living thing, wrapping around the Time-Splitting Sword. Suddenly, the rippling, powerful light of Bercouli’s silver blade began to wilt and vanish.

What is this? In fact…

What was I…even trying…to do…?

With a sharp crack, Bercouli sensed a freezing chill in his left shoulder and snapped his eyes wide open. He leaped back, sucked in a deep breath, and collected himself.

What in the world was that? Did I just space out in the middle of a battle?!

Aghast, he shook his head, telling himself that it was not some careless accident.

It was as though his mind had been forcefully devoured by blankness, leaving him unable to explain why he was there or even who he was.

“You…you sucked my Incarnation straight from my sword?” growled Bercouli, deep in his throat.

The only answer he got was the faintest of smiles. Bercouli clicked his tongue and glanced at his shoulder. The wound was deeper than just a scratch.

“Hmph…well, you’re proving to be a better opponent than I thought, Your Majesty. This will be a tough battle if I can’t use my sword against yours.” Bercouli grinned back.

That wiped the smile from Vecta’s mouth. “Ah…That reminds me, I never tested it.”

He stuck his sword out forward, but it was far from the proper range. The blade would never reach—

But from the tip in the air emerged a viscous blue-black light.

…From long range? Bercouli recognized, right at the moment that the light touched his chest.

His consciousness went dim, like the flickering of candle flames.

The knight commander stood there dumbly, watching as his opponent’s sword slunk its way under his left arm.

Then it jumped upward, smoothly and easily.

Bercouli’s thick arm split off from the shoulder with a wet, heavy squelch.

“Krh…aa…ahhh!!”

Asuna managed to hold the scream in her throat and keep it to a gurgle. This was not pain. It was an explosion of sensation that overwhelmed her capacity to feel at all, as if her stomach were pressed against a hot burner plate and unable to pull away.

This doesn’t hurt.

I swear, this doesn’t hurt!!

The dark lance pierced deep through her stomach on the left side. It had to be jutting at least three feet out of her back. She looked over her shoulder to see the boy guard behind her; his cheek had only been grazed by the lance. She summoned every last ounce of willpower she possessed to give the shaken, pale-faced boy a smile.

None of these virtual wounds mean anything…compared to the weight of that boy’s life!!

“Aaaah!!”

She put all her strength into her left hand, which was still gripping the lance.

A horrible wet crunch sounded as the two-inch-thick piece of metal cracked in her palm. She reached around her back, grabbed the jutting end of the spear, and pulled on it.

Sparks flew in her eyes, and something like an electric shock ran from the top of her head to her toes. But Asuna never stopped, using the momentum of her strength to pull the lance out, then tossing it to the ground.

Blood gushed in astonishing amounts from both the gaping wound in her torso and her mouth, but Asuna did not stumble or sway. She lifted her free hand to wipe her lips and stared up at the stunned enemy soldier before her.

The big man holding the broken lance blinked several times. His eyes looked uncertain through the visor of his helmet.

“Oh, gosh,” he stammered a few times. The English flowed from his mouth in rapid succession. “Geez, man…this game isn’t fun at all. This sucks! I’m gonna log off.”

Asuna obliged him by jabbing her rapier through his heart in one quick motion. His large body fell to the ground and was quickly surrounded by the visual disintegration effect.

For some reason, the tears that no pain could summon now burst from her eyes.

The pain and hatred that covered every inch of this battlefield did not need to exist.

There was no reason for the American players and the men-at-arms of the guardian army to do battle. These were people who could have easily gotten along under different circumstances—such as Asuna’s.

This was not why virtual worlds—why VRMMOs—were created.

“H…el…p…,” screamed a voice in Japanese, pulling Asuna out of her thoughts. She saw that a huge lance was being stabbed downward at a guard collapsed on the ground.

“Yaaaaah!!” roared Asuna, springing into motion. Her rapier darted forward. Light erupted from its tip, covering the entire weapon.

Her feet left the ground, and Asuna flew forward like a shining comet. It was the most powerful of charging skills in the fencing class, Flashing Penetrator.

The spearman trying to kill the guard was hurtled up into the air. The enemy behind him suffered the same fate, as did the one behind him.

The sword skill came to a stop only when a fourth body was laid at the feet of the holy statue. Asuna spun around, shoulders heaving with her breath. The second wave of charging lancers left at least another five dead in their wake. And a third wave of twenty was already forming up at the end of the path.

She pulled her rapier from the body already starting to vanish and shouted, “Everyone, protect your stations!! Renly, move over to the center!!”

The young knight paled when he saw the blood flowing from Asuna’s stomach, so she gave him a reassuring grin and continued, “I’m going to jump forward into the enemy’s position. Just worry about the ones I don’t get first.”

“M…Miss Asuna?!” Renly stammered. She raised a clenched left fist in answer to him and the other men-at-arms.

Then Asuna ran straight ahead.

Bercouli faltered, his center of gravity thrown off. He stepped on his own left arm lying on the ground. It was the nasty, fleshy feedback he got from his foot that snapped him back to attention before the pain did.

“Grgh…!”

He jumped again, putting more distance between them. The blood spilling from the gaping wound on his left shoulder created a crimson arc on the light-colored rock.

How can this be?

Just by pointing his sword, he could cause the mind itself to stop working?

Bercouli placed two fingers on his right hand against the wound on his shoulder, still holding the Time-Splitting Sword, and thought rapidly. The healing arts he activated without a command glowed blue and stopped the bleeding. But there was not enough spatial sacred power on this desolate rock to regenerate the arm that had been lopped off.

How do I counteract this?

Karagiri, the empty slice of his Perfect Weapon Control art, would not work on Vecta again. He would just devour the Incarnate slash as it hung in the air.

The only skill remaining was Uragiri—his betrayal slice Memory Release attack. There were two major issues with using that, however. One, the enemy was not going to stand there and watch as he performed the lead-up motions. And two, it was nearly impossible to narrow down which specific place to strike…

Bercouli blinked to get the sweat from his forehead out of his eyes. In doing so, he came to a sudden realization:

I’m getting desperate. At some point, I lost all my composure. My back’s against the wall.

This is the place where I may die. The very tipping point between life and death.

“…Heh!”

Bercouli Synthesis One, commander of the Integrity Knights, smiled with the knowledge and certainty that he was was facing a true threat to his very existence. His gaze moved from the steadily approaching emperor to the form of the golden knight, Alice Synthesis Thirty, lying prone to the side of their battle.

Little Miss…I suppose I wasn’t able to give you the thing you truly sought after—the love of a father. I don’t remember my own parents at all.

But there’s one thing I do know. A father is meant to die protecting his own children.

“I suppose that’s something…you’ll never understand as long as you live, monster!!” bellowed Bercouli.

And the oldest living knight charged, with no plan, no strategy, nothing but his trusty sword in hand.

“Gah…uh…”

As she panted, blood spilled from her mouth, pooling on the ground at her feet.

But Asuna stayed standing, using her rapier stuck point-first into the earth as support.

She had managed to cut down the third and fourth waves of heavy lancers, but she now bore over ten wounds in various places on her body. Her pearl-white top and skirt were ripped and tattered, stained red by blood belonging to both her and her victims.

The fact that her body could still move, despite the puncture wounds from the lances, was impossible to believe. In fact, it was just the brutal fact of her impossible hit point total that was keeping Asuna upright.

My body will give out when my mind does. And that means I will stay standing forever.

She could barely feel anything anymore. The only sensation from her nerves was burning heat that warped her vision.

When she caught sight of the fifth wave of spearmen through her dimming vision, she pulled the rapier loose from the ground. She couldn’t use nimble footwork to evade anymore. She could only block the lances with her body and hit back with sword skills.

The feather-light rapier was now as heavy as a leaden rod. She propped it up with both hands, her front half bent, and waited for the enemy.

“Go!!”

Twenty lancers began to charge, the earth pounding with their footsteps.

Dmm, dmm, dmp-dmp-dmp-dmp…

The steps accelerated. And yet, a high-pitched vibration was coming from somewhere.

Asuna found her gaze drawn upward.

There was a line stretching across the red sky. A very fine string of digital code.

Enemy…reinforcements…?

“……Oh no……”

There was, at last, the smallest bit of resignation in her voice.

But…this line was not the same red color as the previous kind she’d seen. It was a deep blue, like the color of sky just before the dawn.

She wasn’t able to surmise what that might mean at this point. She just watched, wide-eyed, waiting to see the result.

The line coalesced about ten yards up, flashed momentarily, and turned into human form.

Vwom. The air buzzed, and the figure spun with blurred speed, then resumed descending, roaring and rotating like a tornado.

The twenty lancers beneath the lowering figure were all stock-still, too, watching it come down.

The dark-blue whirlwind descended lightly into their midst—and turned red.

It was blood. The tornado instantly severed the bodies of the soldiers, splattering their pieces all around it. They collapsed outward from the circle, and the spinning slowly stopped, returning the figure to human form.

There stood a tall, thin profile, facing the opposite direction. Polished Japanese-style armor gleamed in the light of the sun. One hand was on a sheath, while the other was extended fully to the side, holding a tremendously long sword—a katana—in the follow-through of a swing.

Asuna had seen this attack before, in a different world.

It was a sword skill.

The heavy rotating katana skill, Tsumuji-guruma, meaning spiral wheel.

The figure straightened up again, lifted the long katana to his right shoulder, and inclined his head to the side. A stubbled face with a lopsided grin showed itself below a fancifully designed bandana.

“Sorry about the wait, Asuna.”

“K…Klein…?” she rasped, though she never actually heard her own voice.

Everything was drowned out by the resonance of a multitude of vibrations filling the sky. It was the exact same sound that the American players had made when they appeared, but to Asuna, it sounded like a heavenly host of angels singing.

Thousands of lines of code came hurtling down out of the crimson sky like rain, glowing a vivid blue.

Slash.

Mind fades.

Then awakens from the pain.

It was a pattern whose repetition he had lost count of by now.

Emperor Vecta refused to deliver a fatal blow, as though he was trying to extend the battle, but Bercouli was keenly aware that the blood he was losing from his countless wounds, his very life itself, was running perilously low.

But he had spent over two centuries hardening and focusing his willpower, and he used it to do just one thing at the expense of all thought and fear.

He counted.

Measuring time: Bercouli had the ability to sense time perfectly, and he used this measuring ability to do nothing but count the seconds in his mind. Even when the emperor’s sword was muddling his thoughts, Bercouli’s unconscious stayed dedicated to the task.

Four hundred eighty-seven.

Four hundred eighty-eight.

As he added up the seconds, Bercouli repeated simple, straightforward attacks. Occasionally, he added a provocation or two.

“…Looks like…your skill with the blade isn’t much to write home about…Your Majesty.”

Four hundred ninety-five.

“You keep hitting me, but you still can’t bring me down. You’re only second…no, third-rate.”

Four hundred ninety-eight.

“Come on! I can keep going!!” he shouted, striking directly at his opponent.

Five hundred.

His sword brushed the bluish-purple light surrounding the emperor. It sucked up his Incarnation, causing his mind to grow faint.

The next thing he knew, he had a knee to the ground, and blood splattered onto the rock surface from a fresh wound on his left cheek.

Five hundred eight.

Almost there. Just a bit longer.

Bercouli stood slowly and turned around to face the emperor.

Vecta’s face had never displayed any kind of emotion to this point, but now there was a faint whiff of disgust on it. Apparently, a drop of Bercouli’s blood had flown over and landed on his pale cheek.

The emperor rubbed the red stain off with a finger and muttered, “I grow tired of this.”

He stepped forward into a puddle of Bercouli’s blood.

“Your soul is heavy. It is too thick. It clings to my tongue. And it is too simple. You think of nothing but killing me,” he said, his tone flat. He took another step forward. “Begone.”

Viscous light collected around his black sword as he raised it in silence.

Bercouli did not change his expression. He merely clenched his teeth the slightest bit.

Almost there. Thirty more seconds.

“Heh-heh…Don’t get all huffy. I can still…keep going for a bit.” Bercouli took a few wobbling steps in the wrong direction. He lifted his sword unsteadily. “Where…are you? Where did you go? Ah, over there…?”

The commander swung, his eyes empty and dull. The tip of the sword struck a spot well off the mark, and he stumbled.

“Huh…? Or was it this way…?”

Another swing that didn’t even raise a breeze. But he kept moving, dragging one foot behind him. It seemed as though the loss of blood had robbed him of sight and was making his thoughts hazy and distant.

But this was, in fact, a master class in acting.

Beneath his half-closed lids, his gray-blue eyes focused on one thing only—footprints.

After ten minutes of fruitless attacking, Bercouli’s blood was firmly splattered all around the rocky mountaintop, which was not very big to begin with. The emperor’s boots and the knight commander’s leather sandals left two very distinct sets of footprints when they tracked the blood.

In other words, they were creating a detailed record of how the two men were moving. And as he put on an act of being delirious, Bercouli was actually looking for the most darkened and dried of the emperor’s footprints, from the moment he cut Bercouli’s arm off, ten minutes earlier.

His unconscious timer started right after that moment. In other words, it would be the place where Emperor Vecta had been standing exactly ten minutes ago. His bloody footprints would tell the tale of which direction he’d moved after that.

Five hundred eighty-nine.

Five hundred ninety.

“Oh…I think…I found it…,” Bercouli murmured weakly. He wobbled side to side and raised the Time-Splitting Sword for a strike at empty space.

It was, quite literally, intended to be his final blow.

There was little life left in either the weapon or its master.

Bercouli intended to consume all that was left to perform the Time-Splitting Sword’s Memory Release art.

Uragiri, the art of the betrayal slice, was different from the future-slicing Karagiri, in that the ability to hold the slash’s power in the air went into the past instead.

The Underworld’s Main Visualizer kept a record of each human unit’s movements for the previous six hundred seconds—ten minutes exactly.

The Time-Splitting Sword’s Uragiri interfered with that log, confusing the system into thinking that the target’s locational data from ten minutes ago was actually the present location.

As a result, a sword that appeared to cut through empty space would hit the body of the person who had once existed in that spot. It was unavoidable, unblockable, and a true betrayal of any and all technique and skill.

It was why Bercouli had resisted using Uragiri for years and years. Even in his battle against Eugeo, when he’d fallen to the Memory Release technique of the Blue Rose Sword, Bercouli had not used the move that would have given him victory. Even knowing that Prime Senator Chudelkin would have labeled this a betrayal of the Axiom Church.

But against Emperor Vecta, who used equally inhuman powers, he was not going to hesitate.

When Bercouli had struck down Vecta’s dragon, he’d utilized the enemy’s direct, unchanging flight direction to accurately estimate the coordinates of the enemy’s position ten minutes earlier. But in the messy, chaotic battle up close, gauging those precise coordinates became remarkably harder.

Of course, he could pick a moment, memorize that spot, and wait ten minutes. But that method meant that if he was prevented from executing the move in any way, he would have to start counting to six hundred all over again.

Just like this moment.

“You’re up to something.”

Emperor Vecta slid over, and the waves of his darkened Incarnation extended from his sword toward Bercouli. He had to avoid their contact, and this required him to nimbly step out of the way. That ten-minute moment had passed, forever out of reach.

I failed to execute it, he lamented, rearranging his grip on the Time-Splitting Sword after he’d just been about to let loose with Memory Release.

He was totally out of ideas now.

Now that the emperor knew he had one final plan up his sleeve, he would ensure that Bercouli could never make use of any major technique. His longsword continued to extend that Incarnate light toward Bercouli.

But the commander persistently evaded the attacks for all he was worth.

He struggled.

He would struggle and struggle and fall in a miserable state. It was long in the past that he’d decided that would be how he eventually died.

Three times. Four times. Five times, Bercouli avoided the emperor’s attacks.

But at last, the dark light brushed his body.

His mind went blank for a moment—and when he opened his eyes again, he saw Vecta’s sword thrust deep into his own stomach.

When the blade pulled loose, the last of his life spurted outward as dark-red liquid.

As the commander slowly toppled backward, he caught sight of a dragon far overhead, tearing across the sky in a steep dive.

Hoshigami.

Come on, I told you to stay back and wait. You’ve never once disobeyed an order of mine before.

A jet of blue-white fire shot from the dragon’s gaping maw. The blazing beam with the power to burn a hundred infantry at once descended upon Emperor Vecta, who easily took the brunt of it with his left hand.

The smooth black gauntlet deflected the blast without trouble. Flames bounced off and flickered away as they dissipated.

The emperor then unleashed the dark light from his sword and caught Hoshigami’s forehead with it. He had used this trick to take control over the dark knighthood’s dragon—but Bercouli’s mount did not stop.

It plunged straight down for the emperor, its very life shining forth, dazzling, from its outstretched wings.

Vecta grimaced. He pulled back his sword, then thrust it toward Hoshigami’s jaw, which rushed in to crush him. The blackened light tendrils squirmed and raged, sucking up the dragon’s life as they sliced its massive body here and there.

Hoshigami’s sacrifice bought only seven seconds of time—but Bercouli did not let it go to waste.

With the full sensory knowledge that the trusty dragon he’d spent so many years of his life with was breathing its last breath, the knight commander held the Time-Splitting Sword high, shining blue with its Memory Release power.

Using the method of memorizing just the enemy’s location ten minutes ago, the chance to attack would arrive only once every ten minutes.

But if he etched that entire bloody footprint track into his memory, he could continually follow the enemy’s progress of exactly ten minutes behind.

Bercouli unleashed his very best swing at the footprint in blood that indicated where Emperor Vecta had been just seven seconds after his prior failed target.

There was another feature of the Uragiri skill.

Because it interfered with the system itself, its power directly affected the life total of the target. It was impossible to block or defend against with Incarnation power.

So in this instant, even Emperor Vecta’s ability to nullify and absorb all kinds of Incarnate attacks did not come into play.

First, Vecta’s vast sum of life as designated by the system changed to zero.

As a result of that, the emperor’s body split entirely in half from left shoulder to right hip.

Even as the two halves of his body slid apart, Emperor Vecta’s expression never changed. His pale-blue eyes just gazed into space, as empty as glass marbles.

Just before his upper half made contact with the ground, pitch-black light erupted from the location of his heart and jutted high upward, like a grave marker.

When it subsided, there was nothing on the ground to indicate the existence of the emperor at all.

A few seconds later, a delicate sound from Bercouli’s right hand indicated the final expiration of the Time-Splitting Sword, which crumbled into pieces.

…It’s so warm.

I want to stay here just a bit longer.

Alice the Integrity Knight smiled, adrift in the weightlessness of sleep just before proper awakening.

Wavering sunlight.

A large lap that supported her body.

Rough hands that gently caressed her hair.

………Father.

How many years had it been since she’d rested on his lap? It had been so very long since she had last known this feeling of security…of being protected, without a care in the world, knowing that all was right and well.

But…I need to wake up now.

And so Alice lifted her eyelashes.

She saw the face of an older swordsman, his face smiling and downcast, eyes closed.

There were countless old scars running along his thick neck and collarbones—and atop them, many fresh new blade wounds.

“………Uncle?”

Her mind was alert and working again.

That’s right, I got caught by Emperor Vecta’s dragon. How careless I was to let that happen. I was just running like mad, without being cautious of what was behind me.

But Uncle solved it. He saved me from the enemy leader. Everything’s all right as long as he’s with us.

She grinned again and sat up, only to realize that the commander’s wounds were not limited to his face and chest. The breath caught in her throat.

His left arm was cut clean off his shoulder. The battle garb of the Eastern style that he liked to wear was red with blood. And peeking out from where the front first opened up, she could see a horrifically deep and gruesome wound.

“U…Uncle…!! Lord Bercouli!!” cried Alice, reaching out to him.

Her fingers brushed Commander Bercouli’s cheek.

When she felt his skin, Alice learned that the oldest and greatest of Integrity Knights was already gone.

…Now, now, don’t cry, Little Miss.

You knew this moment was going to come sooner or later.

But the words that Integrity Knight Commander Bercouli Synthesis One said to the golden-haired girl who clung sobbing to his corpse below did not reach the ground.

…You’ll be fine, Little Miss. You can handle it on your own.

I know you can do it. Because you’re my only pupil…and my daughter.

The sight below grew more and more distant. Bercouli gave his beloved golden knight girl one final smile and looked to the sky far to the north.

He sent a mental message to another knight who would be beneath that distant sky. He had no idea if his thoughts reached her, but all that he felt in this moment was a deep wonder and reflection that the end had finally come to his seemingly endless life. He had found his moment to die.

…Well, it wasn’t a bad way to go.

“That’s right. You’ve got plenty of people who will shed tears for you. Be appreciative of that,” said a sudden voice. He spun around to see a girl floating nearby, her naked form covered only by long, flowing silver hair.

“…Oh. You’re still alive?” Bercouli remarked.

Administrator blinked her silver eyes and chuckled. “Of course I’m not. This is the me that exists in your memory. The memories of Administrator you kept stored in your soul.”

“Hmph. I don’t really get it. But…at least it’s good to know that the you I remember could smile like that.” Bercouli grinned. He looked over and saw Hoshigami there, stretching its long neck closer to nuzzle him.

The commander gave the dragon’s silvery neck a scratch, then leaped up onto its back. He reached down to help the pontifex into the seat in front of him.

The only master he’d ever served over the course of his long, long life craned her neck to look back at him. “Do you despise me? I trapped you in a prison of infinite time and stole your memories many times.”

Bercouli thought the question over. “It was indeed an obnoxiously long time, but I have to admit that it was a fairly entertaining life. I would say that’s true.”

“…Oh.”

He looked away from Administrator and gripped Hoshigami’s reins.

The dragon spread translucent wings and flapped them serenely, heading to the infinite expanse of the sky.

Beneath the sky far to the north, on either side of the tremendous mass of rubble that was once the Eastern Gate, the ten thousand members of the Dark Territory’s backup force and the four thousand members of the Human Guardian Army’s main force glared at one another.

Emperor Vecta was no longer among the Dark Army, so it was not possible for his troops to attack of their own discretion, but the human realm’s side did not know that and had to remain alert. They had been in a stalemate for quite a while.

A knight stood alone at the ruins of the gate, with nothing but the sound of the dry wind rustling past. It was Fanatio Synthesis Two, the Integrity Knight in charge of the guardian army’s main force. She had instructed the men-at-arms and priests to rest in preparation of the next battle, but she herself was in no mood to sleep in her tent. So she went on a stroll out to the ruins of the Eastern Gate.

The dark of night was retreating already, and the light of Solus made the sky red on the Dark Territory side—and blue on the human half of the mountains.

Commander Bercouli and the decoy force had gone south into the Dark Territory from the gate over half a day ago at this point. It was clear that their mission was not going to be completed quickly or easily, but it was difficult to just stand around and wait.

The least she could do was put her hands together to pray to the three goddesses that the distant group returned safely.

Suddenly, Fanatio’s eyes flew open.

She felt as though she heard the voice of the man she loved in her ear.

I’m sorry, Fanatio. Looks like we won’t be seeing each other again.

The rest is up to you. Help them be happy…

They were the same words Bercouli had said to Fanatio when he’d left this place.

She lowered her gauntleted hands to brush her lower belly. It was three months ago that new life had begun to grow in her. For over a century, Bercouli had steadfastly refused to touch her. Perhaps his decision to break that personal vow was the result of a premonition: his own death.

Sensing that Commander Bercouli’s long life had come to an end under distant skies, Fanatio slowly lowered her knees to the ground and covered her face with her hands. The sobs came tearing out of her, uncontrollable.

It was years and years ago that she’d heard why Bercouli distanced himself from any woman, whether her or another.

In the Human Empire, only a man and woman in an official marriage approved by an Axiom Church bishop could produce a child. Integrity Knights had the rank of bishop automatically, however, so no ceremonial marriage was needed. They could simply swear an oath of love and lie together to have a child.

But any child of parents who had received the life-freezing ritual would grow old and die before they did. And asking the pontifex to perform the same rite on the child would be cruel.

Bercouli only reciprocated how Fanatio felt about him after the pontifex’s passing. He had made up his mind to watch over his child in the limited time they would have together. In which case…

“…Have no fear, Lord Bercouli. I will raise our child to be strong, brave, and proud—just like you,” Fanatio announced, stifling another sob.

But for now…For now, allow me to grieve.

Fanatio flung herself to the ground and wept, clenching the dirt that Bercouli had trodden upon in his departure.