by Blitz Kiva
“...What are you doing on the front line, Tomakomai?”
“Heh heh... Behold, my hidden power...” The High Elf Philosopher, who at some point had roused himself from the ground, ran side by side with Stroganoff, a half-crazed smile on his lips. Though there was something cold about it, Stroganoff let it wash over him as something he didn’t have time to think about. If Tomakomai wanted to be on the front line, he would let him do it.
He charged, wedging in with “Helm-Splitter” followed by the canceling Art “Switchover” in a swift two-strike combo. He followed it up with “Art Cancel” to ignore the sharp buildup of fatigue and blasted through his cooldown time to ready another attack on the enemy.
“Screeeeee!” Tomakomai’s piercing cry could be heard even by the heavily armored Knights slashing their way up from the back lines.
Beautiful blond hair in disarray and eyes bloodshot, he cut away with blades made of his hands and feet. Perhaps it was due to his Philosopher’s stat-buffing, or perhaps it was merely a sign of how high he’d leveled his Grappler’s Skills and Arts, but the damage visuals sparked by his hits were easily on par with the DPS spec classes.
As the others unleashed offensive spells and fired off their ranged weapons from behind, Tiramisu added in strikes of her own. It was the Paladin-exclusive weapon attack Art “Punishment.” The Grand Boss, being both Demonic and Undead, was especially vulnerable to it.
Its four arms moved. The front-liners all prepared for the hit.
A second later, four attacks in quick succession buffeted them from above. Tiramisu thrust her Celestial Shield forward and dug in. A shockwave exploded over them, followed by a damage visual. Tiramisu gritted her teeth and hung desperately on as her HP drained away.
In the end, she held the front line with 30% of her health bar remaining. Tomakomai immediately dragged her back and healed her with his magic. His eyes were still bloodshot, but he had not yet lost his reason, it seemed; he could still do the least of his duties as a Philosopher.
We can do it. The corner of Stroganoff’s mouth twitched as he realized it. We can hold this cycle.
All they had to do now was keep an eye on the expiration of buffs to make sure to maintain them properly while the rear guard kept on the watch for ambushes.
But what of King Kirihito? Could he hold off so many enemies at once, all alone?
One glance made it was clear there was nothing to worry about there.
Who was it that had called him the ultimate solo player?
No matter how the game’s balance settings might be biased towards the player, in the MMO genre, for one person alone to so easily handle a horde of mobs that gave trouble to even the game’s elites...
Even the Skeleton Chariots, clacking their teeth as they charged, were just building block toys before him. Rather than using Weapon Guard to reduce damage dealt to him, King just kept hitting them with Bashes targeting for the instant just before their moment of impact. He pulverized one Skeleton Chariot after another, then broke into a dash, like a bullet out of a gun. The black whirlwind cut another Zombie Legion to ribbons.
“Amazing...” The words slipped unbidden from Tiramisu’s lips. And indeed, it was.
The red-haired giant, himself known as “Monstrous,” recalled something Matsunaga had once said to him.
Hey, Stroganoff, no matter where you are, you know it’s impossible to remain the strongest, right?
Do you nevertheless believe you can remain the strongest group of players?
Strength was not everlasting. Stroganoff knew that, of course. Even just in this game, as long as leveling up existed, the standard for “strong” would be ever-changing.
Even so, Stroganoff had worked hard to maintain his status. He had scraped together competent players and continued to reign over them as the best among a group of elites. When it came to combat strength and game achievement, he had assembled the strongest team this world had ever seen. This band that he had built could now visualize a path towards victory against a foe of unprecedented strength.
Yet the sight of King Kirihito, mowing down that demonic army all by himself, dealt a blow to Stroganoff’s pride. Was it possible that Matsunaga had once felt this way himself? That threat to the perception of one’s own strength...
Stroganoff shook his head. They were in a battle right now; he had to focus on that.
Tiramisu, having finished her healing, rejoined the front lines with the rest of the tanks and resumed their fierce attack on the Devil Zombie.
One of the more surprising contributors to the DPS was Tomakomai, who, despite the tragic hit he had taken from the Zombie Legion, had rallied a screech. Frothing at the mouth, he used his hands and feet like whips to strike again and again. It was rather creepy, but the rate of damage was noteworthy, even among the front-liners.
Of course, he couldn’t stand up to Stroganoff in terms of damage of per hit, but again and again he used the Switchover-Art Cancel combo to ignore fatigue buildup, unleashing an uninterrupted chain of attacks. From time to time, Tiramisu had to stop and prepare for a Devil Zombie attack, but the Punishment delivered by her Celestial Sword proved to be the ideal attack to use on the Devil Zombie.
The Red Sunset Knights had cleared the last three Grand Quests. Now, in the face of the anniversary, the moment of their greatest triumph was now in sight. As that realization dawned on them, a cheer began to rise up among the ranks.
Just then...
“What... is that?” one of the Knights murmured as he looked at the sky.
A point of light appeared, visible through the sand and miasma that clouded the air above. It must have been flying quite high. Its point of origin was far in the distance, coming from the direction of the dungeon and flying straight for them.
There were not many ways that players could fly in this game. Mages had “Levitation” and “Flight,” and Dragonets and Machinas had Dragon Wings and “Vernier Units” respectively. But as it was hard for a player to maintain their balance while flying in three dimensions, many players just didn’t bother.
What was the point of light, then? A player, a mob, or a visual signifying another event?
Some of the players used their Far Sight skill to check the identity of the point of light. One by one, other onlookers turned to face it, straining their Perception stats to the limit in vain. No matter how much they zoomed in, it was simply too distant — but it was bridging that distance now at tremendous speed.
“What’s that?”
“A bird?”
“A plane?”
“No...”
Wreathed in a flashy visual, the point of light crashed into the middle of the main thoroughfare amidst the mobs that King Kirihito was currently engaged with.
The force of the landing produced a shockwave. It apparently also dealt physical damage, reducing the Skeleton Chariots in the vicinity to a powder that merged with the rubble and sand kicked up by the impact. From the epicenter, they heard a high-pitched scream that sounded like a girl’s voice.
The dust cloud plumed outward, carrying the shockwave with it. It sent a Zombie Legion flying — its own mass a lethal weapon — back towards the Devil Zombie.
And the damage that came with it...
A devastating blow.
Two damage visuals lit up. The Devil Zombie and Zombie Legion spewed out gobs of flesh as they both vanished into points of light.
An inappropriately cheerful victory fanfare rang out, proclaiming the defeat of the Grand Boss and the end of the Grand Quest.
What in the hell just happened? Stroganoff’s mind refused to accept it. The enormous Devil Zombie was now gone without a trace, leaving an ostentatious wealth of drop items on the ground where it once had been.
Was it... over?
All of it?
He didn’t have the presence of mind to feel despair, emptiness, or even shock. The calm part of his brain told him that he was simply numb with surprise.
“Hey, it’s me,” said a bri
ghtly smiling young man standing at the origin of the blast.
The suit jacket and slacks that he was wearing did not suit — to put it mildly — the enormous dragon wings that extended out from his back. The other players stood there in disbelief as understanding slowly dawned on them. This was the man who had fallen from the sky and sent the Zombie Legion flying. In his arms was the crumpled silhouette of a girl.
“T-Tsuwabuki...” The word squeaked out of Stroganoff’s throat.
King Kirihito slapped a hand to his forehead. “Old man... Y’know, I was working really hard not to step on any toes...”
“Oh? Have I done something inexcusable? Ah... It appears I have. Sorry, Stroganoff,” Ichiro said lightly as he noticed first the remains of the Devil Zombie scattered across the ground, then the ranks of gaping Knights.
Ichiro Tsuwabuki had been on the dungeon raid team. What was he doing here? Now? It hadn’t even been an hour since the Devil Zombie had first appeared. Of course, it had been tacitly understood that the members of the underground raid team could join the above-ground battle if they could make it, but... what on Earth was this? How had he made it here from the deepest level of the dungeon so quickly?
But Stroganoff quickly realized it was pointless to wonder. However he did it, the fact was that Ichiro Tsuwabuki had triggered the underground event and made it back up to the surface. That was all that mattered. And the girl he was holding in his arms was the girl named Felicia who had gone with him into the dungeon before.
“Hey there, Kiry... hito,” she said.
Despite everything, Felicia at least seemed conscious enough to hold up one hand and wave to King, and the brazenly aloof young male avatar could say nothing in response but, “H-Hi.”
“Tsuwabuki... What did you come here for?” Stroganoff demanded.
Ichiro waved off Stroganoff’s question, turning neither his body nor his face towards the man. His interest lay solely with the one player he had come in to see. “It wasn’t to steal your prey from you. I have no interest in such trivial things.”
Trivial?
Trivial?
Stroganoff and the others had put their pride on the line to face this threat, and this man had called it “trivial”! If he didn’t care about it, then what was it he had flown all this way for?
Ichiro’s cool gaze met that of King Kirihito. Their interest was mutual.
A new murmur rose up from the crowd, this one different from the previous.
“Isn’t he... you know.... the one Matsunaga blogged about...”
“The one who handled a dungeon solo...”
“Is he gonna fight King?”
“No way...”
But did he even care about those whispers? In that moment, to Ichiro Tsuwabuki, surely nothing else in the world had any meaning.
Nothing but the man who stood before him.
It was a difficult mindset for the average person to grasp. No sooner did the thought pass through his mind than Stroganoff realized that he was lumping himself in with the average person. Even that terrible Grand Boss and the glories to be earned from defeating it — to those two, it had held no more value than a pebble on the side of the road. It had been completely meaningless.
What was it, then, that had value?
That was simple: the knowledge that they were strong.
Stroganoff had thought he understood that concept before, but these two were on a different level.
He remembered those words Matsunaga had once said to him... and what had come next.
Hey, Stroganoff. The people’s perception of strength is absolute.
You can’t fight the hierarchy once it’s set. It’s decisive.
But in the end, it’s a fool’s game, because the question of who is strongest can be overturned at the slightest whim.
The only way to win is to take yourself out of the running.
That was the truth. But did those two agree? Those two, glaring at each other, showed no sign of belief in that commonsense principle. They both believed without a shadow of doubt that they were the strongest, and it was likely that all the onlookers believed the same thing. And after the display of potency that they had just shown, there could be no doubt that these were the strongest players in this game.
But the two of them could not be satisfied with that. Being judged “strongest” by others meant nothing to them. The only standard that had absolute meaning was their own belief that they were strong.
For both of them, no matter how others around might praise them, there was another man whose strength was comparable. The question in their mind — “which of us is stronger?” — could not be dismissed. The mere existence of that question was anathema to them. It was the height of hubris.
But this battle would put an end to all of that. It would establish their hierarchy. It would be decisive. One of them would stop being “the strongest.” If they did not challenge each other, if they did not fight, then both could remain the strongest.
That was something that Stroganoff couldn’t understand, but that lack of understanding itself was part of the reason he felt so outmatched.
The Dragonet Magi-Fencer and the Human Fighter — each readied their weapon and glared at the other. Each of them had drawn what seemed like the obvious conclusion in their mind.
But in the end, one of those two conclusions was false.
“Um...” King Kirihito — Sera Kiryu — scratched his head. He hadn’t been expecting to run into Asuha Tsuwabuki here. Rather than feeling awkward or embarrassed, he mostly felt bewildered.
“Tsuwabuki...” King Kirihito began.
“You don’t want me,” Asuha said. Asuha Tsuwabuki... Felicia... seemed unsteady on her feet — perhaps she had taken damage to her inner ears — and she found herself speaking frankly to Sera-Kirihito. “I’m not the one you should be saying hello to right now, Kiryu.”
She pointed to the Dragonet boy, who raised one hand, as if waiting to be introduced.
Yes, of course...
King Kirihito fixed his eyes on the laid-back man standing in front of him and simply nodded. He wanted to finish things, too.
“Hey, old man,” King Kirihito greeted him, with a bit of a bashful grin.
“Hey, King,” Ichiro responded, with his usual cool smile.
Those were the only words they exchanged. But with that alone, each seemed to understand everything, and they took their stances. King Kirihito with his trusty straight blade, Ichiro with his bare fists.
While the outsiders remained bewildered, the understanding between the two was complete.
Ichiro Tsuwabuki, Asuha’s second cousin. He was an incredible person in real life... someone to whom Sera could not compare.
But here the game, Sera was his equal. If King Kirihito could push Ichiro Tsuwabuki aside, Sera’s superiority would be confirmed. And then that strength would become Sera’s own.
Loss was unacceptable.
King Kirihito tightened his grip on his beloved sword.
Sera had never once come into a fight with the slightest thought as to the possibility of losing — at least, when it came to a video game. Sera had always been called a natural talent, an eternal victor... and had always believed it wholeheartedly. The man standing before Sera now was, for the first time, shaking the very foundations of that belief.
This wasn’t about winning. It was about not losing. And it was the first time King Kirihito had ever felt that way.
“Oh, yeah,” King said, as if suddenly remembering something.
The atmosphere, so thick you could cut it with a knife, was instead cut through by King’s voice. He opened his item inventory from the menu window and selected several items. It produced several bottles about ten centimeters long, which he threw over to Ichiro.
Fatigue restorers.
“Paying you back for the ones I used in the dungeon,” King said.
“Ah, you didn’t need to pay me back...” Still, in the interest of politeness, Ichiro stashed them in
his inventory.
“I don’t care what you think, old man,” King shot back. “I’m paying you back because I want to.”
“I see,” Ichiro said.
In the world of the game, victory was the sole determiner of righteousness. For that righteousness to mean anything, the conditions had to be fair. They were the words of the person who had taught Sera Kiryu how to play.
“Hey, old man.” King Kirihito voiced the one question he wanted to ask before crossing swords with this man.
“Yes?”
“Has Tsuwabuki told you about my real-life situation?” King demanded.
“Yes.”
So he knew. King experienced a momentary wave of awkwardness.
No matter how strong Sera was in the game, Ichiro was by far the superior in real life. That was something Sera would have preferred to keep locked away...
But those thoughts were all dissipated by Ichiro’s next words.
“Shall we finish this?”
In that moment, Sera Kiryu knew.
Right now, to this man, my real-world circumstances mean nothing. There will be neither mercy nor contempt nor ridicule from him. All there will be is admiration... for the strength of King Kirihito.
In that moment, Sera Kiryu disappeared inside of King Kirihito; it would not be inaccurate to say that they had merged into one. Sera was wielding King Kirihito’s strength as naturally as could be. And that made one other thing certain...
I can win.
It’s not that I want to win. It’s not that I don’t want to lose.
I can win.
“Okay. Let’s do it,” King said.
A gust of wind blew by, carrying with it visuals of swirling sand and miasma. They could not simply glare at each other forever; the pressure balance between them would break with the drop of a pin.
The actual catalyst was the sound of Felicia getting out of the way. The moment they both realized she was just far enough away not to get drawn into it... that was the signal to start the battle.
The two of them suddenly launched across the field, as if propelled by springs.
Definitely a strong opponent, Ichiro thought.
Kirihito unleashed Bash attacks with a wide variety of speeds, impact times, and waits on cooldown time. He combined stances and derivative actions so skillfully that the one Art used over and over again came off as complicated swordplay.
