2

When he returned to the real world in STL Unit Two, Gabriel Miller’s eyelids rose slowly.

Technically, it was less of a “return” than an unexpected exile. As the sensation of the gel bed he was lying on returned to him, Gabriel stewed over the faint taste of surprise on his tongue.

To think that he, of all people, would lose in a one-on-one virtual duel. And not to another human, but to an AI.

Gabriel spent valuable seconds considering the reason he’d lost to that knight. Was it strength of will? The bond of souls? Some power of love, tying people together…?

All bullshit.

A cold grin tugged at the corner of Gabriel’s mouth. Whether in the real world or in the virtual world, there could be only one unseen strength out there—that of his own fate guiding him to his purpose.

It was thus inevitable that he lost. Perhaps it was necessary: Fate did not want him to fight in the borrowed avatar of Vecta, the god of darkness; it wanted him to fight as Gabriel. It demanded that he return to that world, in the proper way this time.

Then that was what he would do.

His considerations complete, Gabriel silently slipped out from under the sheet. He was surprised to see that in the other STL unit, his XO, Vassago Casals, was still in a dive. He’d thought the man had died and logged out long ago. He must have found something to seek out.

He can do as he likes. Gabriel shrugged and opened the door to the adjacent main control room. The bald team member facing the console looked up and said without much concern, “Welcome back, Captain. Got your ass kicked, huh?”

“Situation,” Gabriel prompted.

Critter composed himself a bit more and reported, “Well, as you instructed, I inserted fifty thousand American players we scrounged up, in waves. Half of them have been wiped out already, but they should succeed at the job of eliminating the human realm’s army. The uncertain variable in play is that Rath utilized similar means…There’s been a large influx of connections from Japan. But only around two thousand, so it shouldn’t make a big difference.”

“Oh…?” Gabriel lifted an eyebrow and glanced at the main screen.

It displayed a terrain map of the southern part of the Underworld. The black line going directly south from the Eastern Gate until it ended in an X would be the movement path of Gabriel, as Vecta. It wasn’t even half of the way to the system console at the very southern tip of the world, but Alice would still be around the location of the X.

There was also a thick white line, hugging the path of the black line. That would be the Human Empire’s army. They were tightly packed and seemed to be stationary now.

A much larger army indicated in red was converging upon the white army. If those were the American VRMMO players, then the blue light between the white and red like a defensive wall must be the two thousand players connecting from Japan.

“Are the Japanese using default accounts on the human side?”

“That’s what I assume. Why do you ask?”

“No reason…”

He lifted the bottle of mineral water Critter handed him to his lips and thought. Was it possible for the Japanese VRMMO addicts to have converted their characters to the Underworld? They were as devoted to those avatars as to their own lives, after all—if not even more so.

So no. That wasn’t possible. Gabriel smiled coldly again.

He recalled the youngsters he’d faced and crushed in the VRMMO Gun Gale Online’s PvP tournament on the Japanese server half a month ago. They might connect to the Underworld out of sheer curiosity, but they would never convert their hard-earned characters if they’d risk losing them forever.

He briefly thought of the end of that event, when that sniper girl with the light-blue hair had refused to give up once in the clutches of his sleeper chokehold. The image passed, however, as he returned to his previous train of thought.

“I’m going to dive back in again. Convert this account to the Underworld,” he said, writing down an ID and password on a piece of paper next to the control console and handing it to Critter.

“Oh? You too, Captain?”

“Too…?”

“Well, Vassago died once, too, the son of a bitch. But then he had me convert his account, and he happily dived back in.”

“…Ahhh,” Gabriel murmured, glancing at the piece of paper next to Critter. The three letters at the start of what was surely Vassago’s ID stood out to him. “I see…I see.”

Deep in his throat rumbled a rare, true chuckle. Critter looked even more confused, so he patted the man’s shoulder and said, “Don’t worry about it. Despite what you might think, that man has his own shackles that bind him…Go ahead and perform the process now.”

Gabriel turned on his heel and headed back toward the STL room, a crooked smile on his lips.

At that very same moment, Vassago Casals wore a smile, too, visible under his dark hood, as he surveyed the battle below him.

From the top of one of the sacred statues lining the path through the temple ruins, he had a perfect view of American and Japanese players engaged in a bloody melee. But in fact, a melee would imply that it went both ways; this was more of an outright slaughter.

In the center of the entryway, two thousand Japanese players arranged in a wide circle were slicing through the rush of red-armored soldiers without suffering any losses at all. The difference in gear and teamwork was stark, but it was the system of backup from the rear that proved definitive. Injured players were instantly taken back to their makeshift camp deeper into the temple, where they got healing spells, and returned to the front line healthy.

Considering that the experience of the Underworld was just as painful as real life, their continuing morale was impressive. And the fact that two thousand players had chosen to convert their main characters to join this fight was damn near miraculous.

It was a situation that even Gabriel Miller did not think possible—but Vassago Casals had anticipated it all the way.

If it was possible to connect from America, it was possible for the other side to call for reinforcements from Japan. Vassago expected, too, that they would convert their characters over first.

When he noticed among the furiously battling Japanese players the familiar countenances of several more players than just Asuna the Flash, Vassago found himself in a state of utter elation. The game of death he’d thought he’d never experience again had come back in a different form.

Of course, this wasn’t a literal death game, given that it wouldn’t take away the real-world lives of those who were lost—but there was one thing here that the floating castle did not have and one thing that once existed but was no longer.

They were, respectively, pain and the Anti-Criminal Code.

That meant this would be a very enjoyable time. In fact, it might be even more thrilling than taking a life with his own hands.

“Heh-heh, heh-heh-heh, heh, heh, heh, heh…”

The quiet chuckles rose from Vassago’s throat, uncontrollable.

I didn’t make it in time.

Sinon watched the crying knight in golden armor clinging to the scarred body of the older swordsman in silence. At the knight’s side, two huge dragons hung their heads, apparently sharing in the grief.

She had raced through the air after Alice, the Priestess of Light, who would decide the fate of the world; her captor, Vecta, the god of darkness; and Knight Commander Bercouli, who was in hot pursuit of them. She’d made full use of the voluntary flight system she’d had to practice so hard in ALO and kept her bearing south at the maximum speed the system would allow—but by the time she caught up to them, the battle was already over.

Perhaps this was a moment where she ought to praise Bercouli’s strength, instead. He had caught up to Vecta’s dragon, which should have been impossible, and beaten the unbeatable super-account.

There was one great injustice in the situation, however.

With Bercouli’s death, his soul was lost forever. But the destruction of the soul of Vecta, the god of darkness, was not the end of him.

Sinon needed to explain that the danger had not fully passed to Alice, who had cried all she could for now and so currently sat still and empty. But Sinon didn’t know the right words to use.

Valuable minutes trickled away in silence, until at last it was Alice who spoke first. Despite the tears that reddened her face, Alice’s stunning beauty left Sinon speechless. Her cobalt-blue eyes, shining like the surface of water, caught the sniper directly. Her pink lips opened to expel a voice as gentle and clear as a platinum bell.

“Did you…come from the real world, too?”

“Yes,” Sinon admitted. “I am Sinon. I’m a friend to Asuna and Kirito. I came here to rescue you and Bercouli from Vecta…I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to make it in time.”

Sinon knelt on the rocky top, which was scarred from the fierce battle, and bowed in apology to the other girl.

Alice just shook her head. “No…I was foolish. I paid no attention to my rear and was kidnapped as helplessly as a baby. It is my fault. Even though saving my life is nowhere near equal to losing the life of a great man like Unc…like the commander of the Integrity Knights.”

The deep regret and self-admonishment in her voice robbed Sinon of the ability to speak. Alice looked up, fighting back tears, and asked, “What is happening in the battle?”

“…Asuna and the human army are managing to fight off the red army from the real world.”

“Then I will return north to them,” she said, getting unsteadily to her feet. She tried to head to one of the dragons, but Sinon stopped her.

“You can’t, Alice. You need to continue south, to the World’s End Altar. If you touch the console there…er, the crystal panel, the real-world side will summon you to them.”

“Why? Emperor Vecta is already dead.”

“…Because…because that’s not true.”

And then Sinon explained it all. About how if a real-worlder died in the Underworld, they did not truly lose their life. That the enemy who dwelled in Vecta’s body was surely coming to attack again in a different form this time.

Alice reacted with tremendous fury, as though emotions she’d just barely been holding in check all exploded at once.

“So…the foe that Uncle gave his…his life to slay is not even dead?! He’s only temporarily vanished and will return to life as though nothing ever happened…Is that what you are telling me?!” she shouted, her armor clanking as she closed in on Sinon. “That…that nonsense cannot be allowed to pass!! Then…why did Uncle…why did he have to die?! What is a duel when only one combatant is risking his life…but a folly, a farce…?”

Her blue eyes filled with tears again, and all Sinon could do was stare.

I have no right to argue with her. I’ve died countless times while fighting in GGO and ALO. And like Vecta, I’m a god here who won’t really die when I die…

Still, Sinon took a deep breath and stared right back into Alice’s gaze. “Then…would you say that Kirito’s suffering is false, too, Alice?”

The golden knight inhaled sharply.

“Kirito is a real-worlder, too. If he dies here, he won’t lose his true life. But the wounds he’s suffered are real. The pain that he felt and the damage to his soul are real.”

Sinon paused and took on the barest suggestion of a grin. “I’ll be honest…I like Kirito. I love him. So does Asuna. There are many, many other people who do, too. They’re all worried about him. They’re praying, praying for him to get better. And though they can’t say it, they’re all wondering why Kirito had to go to these lengths.”

She placed her hands on Alice’s shoulders and said firmly, “Kirito was hurt because he was trying to save you, Alice. He went through all of what he did just for that purpose. Are you going to say that the way he felt was false…? And it’s not just Kirito. The same goes for your commander. He suffered all these wounds and ultimately gave his life to create the opportunity to save you. He gave us this valuable time to escape from the enemy’s clutches.”

There was no answer right away. Alice simply stared down silently at the prone body of Bercouli.

Big tears began to fall from her eyes again—until the golden knight clenched them shut and raised her head, resisting some urge. In a hoarse voice, she asked, “Sinon, if I…if I leave through the World’s End Altar to the real world, will I be able to return here? Will I be able to see my loved ones again…?”

Sadly, Sinon did not have the truthful answers to Alice’s pressing questions. All she knew for certain was that if the enemy got Alice, the Underworld itself would be destroyed and deleted forever.

If they could protect the world and Alice, their hopes would come true. It was all that she could believe for now.

So Sinon nodded her head slowly. “Yes. As long as you…and the Underworld are safe.”

“…Very well. Then I will continue south. I don’t know what awaits at the World’s End Altar, but if that is what Uncle and Kirito wished for me to do…”

Alice knelt, white skirt splaying outward, so that she could tenderly brush Bercouli’s hair, and she placed her lips on his forehead. When she stood up again, the knight’s body seemed surrounded by an aura of newfound purpose.

“Amayori, Takiguri, just a bit more work to do,” she said to the dragons, then turned back to Sinon. “And…what will you do, Sinon?”

“Now it’s my turn to use this life,” she replied, grinning. “I think Vecta will come back to life on this spot. I’ll find a way to beat him…or at least to buy you enough time to do what’s necessary.”

Alice tucked in her bottom lip and lowered her head.

“…Please do. I will be sure that your sentiments do not go to waste.”

Sinon saw the two dragons off as they flew into the southern sky, then took the white longbow off her shoulder.

Apparently, it was highly likely that the people who attacked the Ocean Turtle were private military contractors working with the support of the American government. One of them used Super-Account 04, Vecta, the god of darkness, to attack Alice.

It was the kind of opponent that Sinon, just a normal teenage girl in the real world, could never deal with.

But here, in a one-on-one fight in a virtual world?

She would beat anyone who crossed her path.

With that oath in mind, Sinon waited and waited for the moment her enemy dived back in.

He felt the dry sensation of the last bone breaking in his fist.

Iskahn, chief of the pugilists guild, looked away from the enemy, who toppled backward with limbs splayed out and a hole punched through the chest protector, and he stared silently at the hand that had inflicted it.

It was not the steel fist that crushed everything it touched any longer. It was a bag of swollen flesh, full of pulverized bones, lacerated meat, and loose blood.

His other fist had already been in that condition for a while. His legs were bloodied and bruised, such that he could no longer kick with them, nor even run.

“…You fought brilliantly, champion,” rumbled his second- in-command, Dampa. Iskahn glanced over his shoulder.

The large man was sitting on the ground, both arms lost, and with many blade wounds on his face and body, indicating that he’d continued fighting with nothing more than head-butts and body charges. His eyes, which always glittered with aggression and intelligence, were now dull, making it clear that Dampa was at the end of his life.

Iskahn raised his broken fist to pay his respects to the brave warrior’s soul and replied, “Well, I suppose this is one way to die that won’t shame me when I visit the old generations in the afterlife.”

He limped his way over to his aide, dragging his leg, and collapsed to a sitting position.

Over a long, furious battle, they had ground down the red army from over twenty thousand in number to maybe three thousand. The cost was that barely three hundred pugilists were still alive, all of them gravely wounded, unable to form a proper battle configuration, gathered in one big clump and waiting to be crushed for good.

The only reason the three thousand enemy soldiers weren’t making one final charge to wipe them out at last was the presence of a single knight and dragon, visible ahead of Iskahn and Dampa, fighting as though possessed by demons.

The exhaustion of her body and mind were completely beyond their peak.

But through clouded vision, the Integrity Knight Sheyta Synthesis Twelve still detected the presence of enemies and lifted her arm, heavy as lead, to ready the Black Lily Sword.

Byew. Air whipped dully aside.

The ultrathin blade cut into the shoulder of the enemy’s armor. The feedback sent needle stabs of pain all through her arm from wrist to elbow.

“Haaaaaaah!!”

She screamed a battle cry, her throat cracking, defying her epithet of “Silent.” The sword managed to break through the thick plate and sliced right through the body beneath it. Then she pulled it free of the collapsing enemy, who screeched at her in words she did not understand.

Sheyta’s breathing was labored. It was not just the near-infinite supply of enemies that had her so exhausted, but the odd hardiness of the red soldiers.

Her Incarnation was not working well. The weapons and armor of the enemy were far inferior to Sheyta’s divine weapon, but there was a nasty resistance to the sensation of severing them. The same could be said of the enemy’s attacks. They hurled their weapons at her in crude, unthinking ways, using nothing but strength to guide them, and yet, she found it strangely difficult to read them ahead of time.

It was like fighting against shadows. Projected against a wall was an army of shadows, who were, in fact, nowhere near her.

There was no enjoyment in fighting them. She lived to cut things, but cutting these shadows left Sheyta with nothing but powerful disgust.

Why is it? Whether they are shadows or flesh, or even simple statues, I should be happy with anything that is hard to the touch. After all, I am a puppet who knows nothing but cutting…

The Black Lily Sword was a Divine Object whose narrow blade had the maximum priority level. It was a tool meant entirely for severing objects, and it was a kind of totem for Sheyta herself. If she stopped cutting, her entire reason for existing would be lost.

Administrator had taken the single black lily that Sheyta had brought back from one of the ancient battlefields in the dark lands and refashioned it into a sword. As she’d gifted it to Sheyta, she had said, This sword is a representation of the curse carved upon your soul. The curse of homicidal urges created by a wavering in your genetic traits. Cut and cut and cut again. Only at the end of that bloody path will you find the key to undo your curse…perhaps.

At the time, she’d not understood the pontifex’s words.

Sheyta had done as she’d been told, and over almost countless months and years, she’d dedicated herself to slicing. At last, she’d met the perfect rival: a pugilist who was harder than any person or any thing she’d interacted with through her sword.

I want to fight him again. If I do, I might learn something about myself at last, she’d thought, a desire that had driven her to break off from the Human Guardian Army and stay here at this battlefield. But it did not seem as though she would have the chance for a rematch with that red-haired gladiator.

She drained the last mouthful of water she had left and tossed aside the empty waterskin, glancing over her shoulder as she did so.

Visible atop a distant rock was the chief pugilist, his body broken and bruised. He was staring right back at Sheyta, a note of sadness in his one remaining eye.

Suddenly, she felt a twinge in her chest.

What is this pain?

I just want to cut that man. I want to taste that battle again, to feel everything burning to its core, and to sever that fist, harder than diamond. That was my only desire, so what is it that makes me feel like…like my chest is being clenched in a vise…?

Suddenly, there was a faint cracking sound near her hand.

Sheyta lifted the Black Lily Sword and examined it. That ultra-black blade, which seemed to absorb all light that hit it, now had a single fissure running through it, finer than a spider’s thread.

Oh…I see now.

She inhaled deeply and smiled.

All her doubts had been answered. At last, Sheyta understood the meaning of Administrator’s words—and the nature of the curse.

A sudden rumbling drew her attention to the next enemy, charging at her with a crude war hammer raised high in the air. Sheyta smoothly sidestepped the initial swing and thrust her sword into the center of the red armor.

Her final attack was utterly silent. The Black Lily Sword slid directly into the man’s heart, gracefully ending his life—and without any kind of sound whatsoever, it broke apart in the middle into a storm of black petals.

Sheyta lifted the hilt up to her mouth as it crumbled in her grasp, and she whispered longingly, “Thank you…for all of this time.”

It even felt like there was a bit of flower fragrance in the air.

On her right, her longtime mount and partner, Yoiyobi, crushed an enemy soldier with a swing of its powerful tail. The beast’s gray scales were dyed red with the blood from a plethora of wounds, and its claws and fangs were all chipped or missing. It had used up its heat breath, and its movements were sluggish.

Once she was sure the enemy’s charge was done and the coast was clear, Sheyta walked over to her dragon and ran her hand along its neck.

“Thank you, too, Yoiyobi. You must be so tired…Let’s rest now.”

And so Sheyta and her dragon, each supporting the other, headed for the low hill where the remnants of the pugilists guild were gathered. Their chief was still sitting when she arrived, and he greeted her by raising a hand that was so swollen it looked about to burst at any moment.

“Sorry about that…I caused your precious sword to break,” he offered, but she just shook her head.

“It’s fine. I finally understand now. I know why I’ve been spending my life cutting everything…” She slumped to her knees and lifted her hands, pressing her fingers around the young warrior’s face. “To find something I don’t want to cut. I’ve fought and fought to find something I want to protect. That is you. I don’t need the sword anymore.”

To her surprise, the pugilist’s left eye welled up with clear liquid. He gritted his teeth and grunted deep in his throat. “Yeah…damn it all. I wish I could have had a family with you. I’m sure we would have had powerful children. The greatest pugilist the world has ever seen, greater than my predecessors and greater than me…”

“No. Our child would be a knight.”

They looked into each other’s eyes and smiled. Under the warm gaze of the large man nearby, Sheyta and Iskahn shared a brief embrace, then sat side by side.

Three hundred pugilists, one Integrity Knight, and one dragon waited in silence for the steady approach of the red soldiers.

“Looks like the battle is largely decided, by my estimation,” said Klein as they returned from the front line to the rear of the group. Asuna murmured in the affirmative.

The Japanese players in magic-wielding classes set about casting their newly learned sacred arts to heal the wounds the two had suffered. They weren’t able to utilize the same imagination-amplified boosts that the actual Underworldian priests could, but because high-level converted characters had an appropriately advanced arts-usage privilege level, they could get the job done.

“Thank you for coming to help us,” Asuna said to the female player who was healing her. Then she said as much to Klein. “Thank you, too, Klein. I don’t know how I can show my appreciation…”

The sight of Asuna at a loss for words made Klein rub the spot under his nose in apparent embarrassment. “C’mon, don’t be like that. You know I owe you and that damn Kirito more than I can possibly repay with an act like this…He’s in here, too, isn’t he?” he said, lowering his voice.

Asuna nodded. “Yes. When the battle’s over, you should go and see him. If you tell him one of your usual stupid jokes, I’m sure the urge to tell you off will snap him right awake again.”

“Wow. That’s just cruel,” he said, his face crinkling into his familiar grin, but there was deep concern visible in his eyes. He already knew how deep the wounds to Kirito’s soul were.

But maybe it’s true.

Maybe, when everything’s safely over, and the enemy is gone from the Underworld and the Ocean Turtle, and Sinon and Leafa and Klein and the rest of the ex-SAO gang, and Sakuya and Alicia and the ALO folks…and even Alice and Tiese and Ronie and Sortiliena all stand around him, Kirito won’t have a choice but to wake up.

I have to keep fighting now, so that I can greet him with a smile when that moment comes.

As soon as her wounds were healed, Asuna thanked her healer again and got to her feet.

Like Klein had said, the outcome of the battle was essentially sealed at this point. The number of American players in red was about equal to the Japanese players now, and their attacks were growing desperate and simple, perhaps because their overall spirit had been broken.

But the battle here in these ruins was just the warm-up fight.

The real problem was Alice, the Priestess of Light, who’d been abducted by Emperor Vecta. While Commander Bercouli and Sinon were holding him down, they had to rush after the emperor and take Alice back from him. They would select an elite team from the converted players, borrow the human army’s horses, and race south at top speed.

If they could just catch up, then even the super-account wouldn’t be able to handle the full force of an elite team of the nation’s top players working together. Their power was so overwhelming that she felt utterly confident of that. The way they fought so bravely, swords and shields and armor glittering in the sun in every color of the rainbow, made them look like the einherjar, the heroes of Valhalla in Norse mythology…

Asuna wiped away her tears and turned from the front line to the very rear of their camp. The supply team’s wagons had been brought forth from the back of the temple grounds to form a makeshift base. The sight of the wounded Japanese being healed by the sacred arts of the Underworlders felt like a blessed thing to her, something she couldn’t describe in words.

“All right…It’s all right. Everything will work out…I know it,” she murmured to herself. Klein overheard and agreed firmly.

“You bet your ass. C’mon, we got one more round of work to do!”

“I know.”

She turned to head back to the front line of battle—when something in the corner of her eye caught her attention, and she froze.

What was that? It was something dark…like a black smear…

She looked around, trying to capture the thing she’d seen, and at last, she spotted it.

Standing atop one of the huge holy statues that lined the path through the temple ruins, the closest one on the right-hand side, was a person.

It was hard to see against the glare of the sun. It was just a dark shadow, blurring into the red of the Dark Territory’s sky. Was it one of the Americans who was taking refuge from the battle? Or one of the Japanese, using the opportunity to scout out the situation?

A closer examination revealed that the cause of the silhouette’s flickering outline was a black half cloak that whipped in the wind. The cloak’s hood was pulled low, keeping the face completely hidden. But…

“Klein, do you see that…?”

She tugged on Klein’s sleeve before he could rush back into combat and gestured with her other hand.

“That person standing up there. Does that look familiar to you…?”

“Eh…? Whoa, someone’s up there just scoping out the scene? Who the hell would do that…? I can’t say they’re familiar, because that cloak makes it impossible to see their…face…”

Klein trailed off. Then he turned his stubbled face to Asuna, white as paper.

“Hey, what’s the matter? Do you remember them? Who is that person?”

“No…it can’t be. There’s just no way…Am I…looking at a ghost…?”

“Gh-ghost…? What do you mean, Klein?”

“I…I mean, that black cloak…That leather poncho…it’s just like Laughing Coffin’s…”

The instant she heard that name, Asuna felt the center of her head freeze, like it had just turned to ice.

Laughing Coffin. That was the almighty red guild, the group of murderous PKers who’d terrorized the old, deadly SAO from its mid-level to late-game sections.

Red-Eyed Xaxa. Johnny Black. Many legendary PKers had lurked in their midst. They’d claimed scores of players’ lives…until ultimately, a major alliance of frontline players had teamed up to vanquish them and destroy the guild.

In the battle, virtually all the Laughing Coffin members either died or were apprehended and imprisoned, except for one who escaped alive. It was the guild leader, who was mysteriously absent from the guild’s hideout: the one man who was responsible for directly and indirectly killing more SAO players than anyone else. He went by the name PoH.

He always wore a black poncho and did his bloody work with a huge dagger that was more like a meat cleaver than anything else. And now, two years later, that murderer was in the Underworld and watching Asuna and Klein from above.

“………It can’t be,” she whispered, her throat hoarse.

It’s an illusion. I’m seeing a ghost.

Begone. Go away.

But the black silhouette flickering in the heat haze just mocked her prayer by raising its right hand. Then it wiggled it back and forth in a sarcastic greeting.

And what she saw next was worse than her nightmares.

Next to the figure of the man in the black poncho, a new figure appeared out of thin air. Then another. Then another.

An entire squad of red soldiers appeared on the roof of the massive temple ruins adjacent to the back of the statues. Another few dozen appeared atop the building on the left side of the path, too.

Please, no. Just stop, Asuna prayed. Her heart couldn’t handle any more despair.

But the new red army continued to arrive, and continued, and continued. A thousand, five thousand, ten thousand.

When it had passed thirty thousand, Asuna stopped trying to estimate the number.

It was impossible.

They had just succeeded, at great cost, in removing all fifty thousand of the American players from the simulation. The other side couldn’t possibly have arranged another such huge army in this short an amount of time. But they couldn’t be Japanese, either. If there was a misleading recruitment effort on the Japanese Internet to get people to the Underworld, Klein and the others would have noticed it.

It was an illusion. They were all shadows without form, created by sacred arts.

Even the Japanese players on the front line of battle, their victory all but complete over the remaining American stragglers, stopped fighting and turned to watch. An eerie silence settled over the huge battlefield.

Then the murmuring began.

The rustling and activity of the red soldiers crowding the rooftops of the palatial temples reached Asuna’s ears like a disquieting breeze.

With the voices all blended together, Asuna couldn’t tell in the moment what language they were speaking. She concentrated hard and eventually heard a few voices speaking louder than the others.

“…Bigeopan Ilbonin.”

“…Uri narareul jikida.”

“…Han zhong lianmeng.”

It wasn’t English. It wasn’t Japanese.

At Asuna’s side, Klein uttered a wordless groan from deep in his throat.

“Uhhh…that’s not good…That’s really not good…That army ain’t from Japan or the US…”

Asuna felt a cold trickle of sweat run down her back as she waited for him to finish.

“……Those are Chinese and Koreans.”