Sword Art Online – Progressive - Volume 1 - Chapter 3.05

5 
WHEN THE BELL RANG OUT EIGHT O’CLOCK, THE tireless clanging of the hammer finally stopped. 
I rushed through the gate of the east plaza of Urbus and made my way across the open space, avoiding the lighting radius of the streetlamps. I reached the line of leafy trees planted at the eastern border and put my back against a thick trunk. 
In my player menu, there was a shortcut icon at the bottom of the main screen that corresponded to my Hiding skill, which was set in my third skill slot. A small indicator appeared in the bottom of the view reading 70 percent—my avatar was now 70 percent blended into the tree at my back. A number of variables affected that number: my armor type and color, surrounding terrain and brightness, and of course, my own movement. 
I was risking the exposure of my “evil beater” persona by wearing the Coat of Midnight, but the black leather coat’s bonus to hiding would be of more use than my usual disguise. The area was dark and there was no one else nearby, maximizing my stealth efficiency. The number seventy wasn’t great because my Hiding proficiency was still low. Increasing that skill was a long and boring process, so I wouldn’t max it out for quite a long time. 
Even at starter status, the skill was powerful enough to work easily against the mobs on the first two floors (as long as they were sight-dependent), but that number felt awfully low against a human being. A perceptive player like Asuna would probably see through 70-percent camouflage without any trouble. On top of that, hiding in town was considered poor manners, so getting revealed by other players could lead to trouble, especially if it was one of the recent “game police” type who took it upon themselves to uphold proper etiquette. 
It wasn’t my style to sneak around and spy on people, but this was a special circumstance. I was about to embark on my very first attempted trail of another player. 
As I waited behind the tree, a player-crafter closed up his shop at the eight o’clock bell. It was Nezha, of course, the first blacksmith in Aincrad to sell his wares in the street. 
He extinguished the fire in his portable forge and put away the ingots in his leather sack. His hammer and other smithing tools went into a special box. He folded up the sign and set it down on an empty spot on the carpet, then straightened out his display of weapons for sale. 
Once every object related to his business had been neatly packed on top of the six-by-six-foot carpet, Nezha tapped the corner to bring up a menu screen and hit the “store” button. The carpet rolled up by itself, absorbing the countless items on top of it. In just a few seconds, the only thing left was a thin, round tube. 
The short blacksmith picked it up easily and hoisted it over his shoulder. The magic Vendor’s Carpet was always the same weight, no matter what items were locked within its internal storage. When I first learned about that, visions of unlimited space for potions, food, and loot in the dungeon floated through my head, but reality was not so generous. The carpet only worked in towns and villages. On top of that, it couldn’t be fit into a player’s inventory, meaning that the four-foot-long, four-inch-thick rolled carpet had to be carried everywhere by hand. 
Normally, this item bore little use for non-merchants or crafters, but some enterprising people found unexpected avenues for fun. Back in the beta, there was a brief period where pranksters used the “items on carpet cannot be moved by anyone but the owner” rule to block off major streets with large furniture, sowing chaos left and right. This was addressed very quickly in a patch that limited use of the carpets to the corners of public spaces over a certain size. 
Magic carpet on his shoulder, Nezha heaved a sigh of exhaustion and started plodding off, head down, toward the south gate of the square. 
I waited for him to be at least twenty yards away, then pulled away from the tree. My hide rate indicator dropped rapidly until it hit zero, at which point the hiding icon disappeared entirely. I still stayed in the shadows, trying to cut down on any unnatural footsteps as I trailed him. 
Of course, I was not following Nezha home in order to confront him about his failure to improve Asuna’s weapon, or to threaten him away from prying eyes. 
If anything, it was that feeling of wrongness. 
As far as I knew, he had failed twice—no, five times—to upgrade a weapon over the course of the day. The destruction of Asuna’s Wind Fleuret and the four consecutive tries on Rufiol’s Anneal Blade, rendering it a “spent” +0. Of course, this outcome was possible from a statistical standpoint, but it struck me as a little too easy. Or a little too hard, depending on how you looked at it. 
The only reason I’d visited the eastern plaza of Urbus in disguise in the first place was because I heard rumors in Marome that an excellent blacksmith had set up shop there. I packed up enough materials to boost my chances to 80 percent and was pondering whether to bump up sharpness or durability when I happened across the scene with Rufiol. I would have gone up to him directly afterward to have my weapon upgraded if I hadn’t happened to run into Asuna at that precise moment. 
Would my weapon have failed just like theirs? I couldn’t help but feel that way, although I had no proof backing my suspicion. 
If rumors of his skill had reached Marome, then Nezha’s chances of success must be noteworthy. There was no way to test for myself, but his numbers must surely be better than the standard NPC blacksmith. However, if he was somehow able to fulfill a condition that guaranteed failure, there must be some hidden reason behind it. It was possible that some malicious trick lurked behind this series of events. 
This was all personal conjecture—perhaps even paranoid suspicion. Even if there was some kind of knack to what he was doing, I couldn’t possibly guess how it worked. He had put Asuna’s materials into the forge, heated her sword in it, then moved it to the anvil and hammered it—all before my eyes. It was all according to the book, nothing out of place. Besides, what could he possibly stand to gain by downgrading or destroying other players’ weapons …? 
Even as the possibilities swirled through my mind, I kept a bead on his back as he walked. Fortunately, he seemed to have no idea he was being followed and didn’t spin around or force me to come to an awkward halt. On the other hand, I had no experience trailing another player, so a cold sweat ran down my back the entire time. If I got my Hiding skill higher, I could follow at a much greater distance without trouble, but at this point, the only experience I could rely on was spy movies. 
I darted stylishly from shadow to shadow for seven or eight minutes, a certain impossible theme song ringing in my ears. Nezha plodded his way almost to the town walls at the southeast edge of Urbus before stopping at a faintly glowing sign. I stuck close to a tree lining the street to watch. Anyone witnessing this scene would find it extremely suspicious, but I didn’t realize that until later. 
The sign clearly said BAR in the light of the oil lamps. Again, I felt a strange suspicion. Nothing was out of place for a hardworking player to settle down with a drink after a long day of work … but something was wrong with Nezha’s demeanor. He wasn’t racing up the steps in anticipation of a nice cold mug of ale. In fact, he stood still outside the swinging door for over ten seconds, as though hesitating to even go inside. 
He’s not going to turn around, is he? I thought in a panic. Nezha adjusted the roll of carpet on his shoulder, then set a heavy foot forward. He put out his hand and slowly pushed the door open. His small form disappeared into the bar, the door swinging shut behind him. It only took two seconds—but even at my distance, I could faintly hear what came from inside. 
There were a great cheer and applause, and a man’s voice shouting, “Welcome back, Nezuo!” 
“…?!” I sucked in a deep breath. 
This was not what I expected. My spur-of-the-moment decision to trail Nezha was only meant to find where he was spending the night. Instead, he went to a bar at the edge of town where at least four or five people knew him personally. What could it mean? 
After a brief hesitation, I left the shadows and raced up to the swinging door of the inn. Unfortunately, even with my back to the wall next to the door, I could hear nothing from inside. By nature, all closed doors in the game were soundproof; the only way to hear through them was the Eavesdropping skill. Even the swinging door, with its wide-open gaps above and below, was no exception. 
I swore under my breath. There were only two options here, and entering the store disguised as a customer was not one of them. I could either give up and leave, or … 
I steeled my nerves and reached out to gently push open the door a crack. Five degrees, ten—there was no sound from within. Once I got it to fifteen degrees, the man’s voice from earlier floated up to my ears. 
“Might as well chug it, Nezuo! None of the beer in this place actually gets you drunk, anyway!” 
In contrast to his statement, he seemed to be plenty drunk already. It was true that you could drink gallons of beer in Aincrad and never take in a single molecule of alcohol, but it was fairly common for players to get “drunk” on the atmosphere of the situation. The excited cheers and yelling that floated through the doorway were no different from what could be heard from groups of college students walking through a nightlife district after a few rounds of drinks in the real world. 
I strained my ears and heard a hesitant “okay” in a quiet voice. The chattering died down for a moment, only to be followed by an excited cheer and applause. 
Based on the evidence, I assumed that the five or so people waiting for Nezha in the bar were close friends of his. This came as a surprise to me, as in my experience, crafters tended to be lone wolves—or in Nezha’s case, sheep. I was curious as to the player builds of his friends, but there was no way to identify their playstyles based on voices alone. 
I decided to take another risk and peer over the top of the swinging door for just an instant. I blinked quickly, like the shutter of a camera, then pulled my head back. 
As I suspected, there was only the one group in the cramped interior. If I’d tried to waltz in pretending to be a customer, I would have drawn all of their notice. There were six of them sitting at the table in the far right corner. Nezha had his back to the door. The other five all appeared to be fighters clad in leather and metal armor. 
This wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. It was completely normal for MMORPG guilds to have fighters and crafters mingling naturally. The official guild feature of SAO wasn’t unlocked until a particular quest on the third floor was beaten, but many players had gathered into organized groups already. In fact, solo players like Asuna and me were already in the minority. 
Having a crafter or merchant in the group made equipment maintenance and selling loot much easier for the adventurers, and the crafters could get the materials they needed for cheap, if not free altogether. So there was nothing wrong with Nezha having friends who happened to be fighters … but the lump of suspicion in my chest did not show any signs of disappearing. 
Just as I was trying to figure out the exact nature of what troubled me, one of the friends who was just entertained by Nezha’s downing of an entire mug of beer said something that caught my ear. 
“… So, Nezuo, how was business today?” 
“Oh… um, I sold twelve new weapons … and got a few visitors for repairs and upgrades.” 
“Hey, that’s a new record!” “We’ll have to scrape together some more ingots!” two other men shouted, and there was another round of applause. It was the very picture of a close-knit band of friends with a network of support. I didn’t recognize any of the other five, which meant they probably weren’t front-line players, but they might rise to that rank soon with a talented blacksmith on their side. 
Maybe I really am being paranoid … 
I felt ashamed. If Nezha really was using some kind of bug or trick to intentionally downgrade or destroy other players’ weapons, it would have to be planned and supported by his entire group, and I just couldn’t see a logical motive for them doing that. 
With considerable pain, I recalled that Diavel the Knight, leader of the first-floor boss raid party, had gone through a secondary negotiator in an attempt to buy my Anneal Blade +6. Only in his final moment of life did I learn that he’d done it to deny me the Last Attack bonus on the boss. 
In hindsight, I did score that very last hit on the kobold lord and earned his unique Coat of Midnight for the feat, so there was a kind of logic behind Diavel’s attempt to lower my attack output. 
But on the other hand, Nezha and his friends were not even on the front line. They weren’t in any position to be concerned with the boss’s LA bonus. There was no benefit to ruining Rufiol and Asuna’s weapons. 
I guess it really was just a series of coincidences … 
I sighed silently to myself and was preparing to let go of the swinging door and allow it to close, when something stopped my hand. 
“… I don’t think we can keep doing it,” came the sound of Nezha’s frail voice. 
The men carousing inside the bar suddenly went quiet. After a short silence, the first man responded, but in a whisper too quiet for me to make out. I pushed the door in again, moving the angle to twenty degrees. 
“—ust fine, you’re doing great.” 
“That’s right, Nezuo. Nobody’s talkin’ about it in the least.” 
I held my breath. I had a feeling they were talking about the failed upgrade attempts, and focused all of my attention on the words. Nezha protested against their apparent encouragement. 
“It’s too dangerous to keep up. Besides, we’ve already made back our cost …” 
“Are you kidding? We’re just getting started. We’ve got to rake it in so we can catch up with the top players while we’re still on the second floor!” 
Made back the cost? Rake it in…? I leaned forward, unsure of what they were discussing. 
Was it really unrelated to the upgrade failures? After all, Nezha should have lost money buying back Rufiol’s spent sword, and he only made the standard fee in Asuna’s case, nothing more. How could that make him any money …? 
No … No, there was a way. Perhaps I was looking at this from the wrong viewpoint … 
Just then, a suspicious voice arose from the bar. 
“… Huh? Hey, look at the door.” 
I closed the door as smoothly as I could and immediately jumped off to the right, flattening myself against a nearby tree and employing my Hiding skill. Almost immediately, the swinging door burst outward. 
The face that emerged was of the leader-like man who’d been sitting next to Nezha and egging him on. He wore banded armor that made his already hefty form look even more rotund, and a bascinet helm with a pointed top. While the overall effect was humorous, the sharp look in his eyes was anything but. His thick eyebrows squinted, scanning the surroundings of the bar. 
The moment his eyes passed over the spot where I was hiding, the indicator dropped to 60 percent. I wasn’t in any physical danger within the safe zone of town, but I didn’t want to alarm them—I was just starting to peel back the curtain on Nezha and his five friends’ plot. The tools at my disposal were poor, but all I needed were answers. 
My hide rate dropped continuously while his eyesight was fixed on the tree. If it got down below 40 percent, he would certainly detect something wrong with the tree’s outline. I kept an eye on the number and slowly, slowly tried to rotate around to the back of the trunk. Inch by inch I crawled, trying to keep the fluctuating value from creeping below 50. 

Once I was around the backside of the tree, he must have looked away, because the hide rate jumped back up to 70. A few seconds later, I heard the creaking of the door swinging shut, and dashed through an alley until I was a block away from the pub. 
“Whew …” 
I leaned against the wall and wiped away a cold virtual sweat with the sleeve of my coat. If this was what Argo the Rat did every day in her profession, then I was in no mood to follow that line of work. 
I might have made a poor spy, but at least I’d succeeded at my mission. I found Nezha’s base of operations—probably the second floor of that bar—discovered the existence of his partners, and even gained a little fragment of information about the mysterious trick behind the failed weapon upgrades. 
That was assuming that the snippets of conversation I overheard were in fact related to such a trick. If it was true, they were somehow profiting from forcing other players’ upgrade attempts to fail. Profiting enough that they were even staying in the black by buying a spent +0 weapon at twice the going rate. 
If that was possible … was someone else paying them money to intentionally sabotage the orders of specific players? That was hard to imagine. It was such a roundabout way to get back at someone, and there was no guarantee that the target would ever come to Nezha for his services. If this mystery client was going to spend money, they’d be much better served following Diavel’s plan and contacting the target directly. 
But if that wasn’t the case, what other explanation could there be? 
The thoughts raced through my head so fast, I could practically feel the steam shooting from my ears. The scene from less than an hour ago replayed in my head. 
Nezha taking the Wind Fleuret from Asuna. Accepting the materials and putting them into the forge with his right hand, sword in the left. When the forge was full of blue light, he pulled the sword from the scabbard and laid the blade into the fire. Once infused with that blue light, he moved it to the anvil and struck it with his hammer. A few seconds after that, the sword shone like a death scream, then shattered and disappeared. 
I watched the entire string of events. I couldn’t believe that there had been some sleight of hand there. If I had to assume that deception had occurred, perhaps it was in the materials. But there was no way to mimic the bright blue light that flashed out of the forge— 
“Ah …” 
Wait. Wait … I thought I had seen the entire thing, but there was one moment. One spot, invisible to both me and Asuna … 
That meant it wasn’t the materials that he’d falsified. 
“Gah … !!” 
My mind jumped over several logical steps and landed at a conclusion. I grunted and slapped my main menu open, checking the time readout in the corner. 
The digital clock said 8:23. 
There’s still time! 
My right hand flashed to the instant message tab, but I reconsidered and brought it down, closing the window. It was impossible to describe what I was about to do in text. I had to state it directly in person. 
“There’s still enough time to pull this off!” I said aloud this time, bursting out of the alleyway and racing north down the street. 
The route that took eight minutes to cross during my attempt at spywork was less than three in a blazing sprint. I reached the familiar eastern plaza of Urbus but shot straight through it to the north without stopping and back into the streets of the town. Past the bench where Asuna had cried, then a hard turn shortly after. I burst through the door of her inn and raced upstairs, taking three steps at a time. 
Thanking my lucky stars that I’d asked for her room number, I charged over to room 207 and slammed on the door as if to break it down. It followed the same physical rules as any other closed door, but several seconds after knocking, it would allow voices to pass through. 
“Asuna, it’s me! I’m coming in!” 
I turned the knob without waiting for an answer and practically pushed the door down. Instantly, my eyes met those of a figure who leapt from the bed inside like a shot. Her hazel eyes were wide, and she was sucking air through her lips when I slammed the door shut. 
“Eeyaaaa!!” 
The scream was completely smothered by the closed door. I felt almost like a criminal—what I did was practically a crime—but this was all for Asuna’s sake. 
She clenched her fists over her chest and continued to scream. She wearing a white sleeveless shirt on top, and some kind of poofy, rounded shorts below. This didn’t seem to be underwear, so I gauged that it was safe to walk over and grab her shoulder. 
“Asuna, this is an ultra-emergency! There’s no time, just do as I say!” 
She finally stopped screaming, but I could see in her face that she was simply deciding whether to resume screaming even louder, or to start attacking me directly. But there was truly no time for anything else—I had to get to the point immediately. 
“First, call up your window and set it to visible mode! Now!” 
“Wha… wha …?” 
“Just do it!” 
I grabbed her hand, still clutched in front of her chest, and moved it in the appropriate motion, pushing out two of her fingers and sliding them through the air. A purple window materialized with a soothing sound effect, but it only looked like a blank, flat board to me. I guided her finger over to the general location of the button that would display the contents of the window to other players. 
“But, um, I … I thought I locked the door …” she murmured. I answered without thinking. 
“You’re still partnered up with me, remember? The default setting on inn room doors is to allow guild and party members in.” 
“Wh… what? Why didn’t you tell me that—” 
I swiveled around next to the fencer, peering at the now-visible contents of her main menu. It was arranged just like mine but with a floral pattern skin selected. For a moment, I was surprised, remembering that my own window was still in the default setting, then scolded myself for getting distracted. 
The right side of the window featured a familiar equipment mannequin. It was mostly empty, as she was not wearing any armor. I scrolled past the something-or-other camisole and whoopty-doo petticoat to look at the right-hand cell: no item selected. Meaning that Asuna had not equipped a new weapon since giving her Wind Fleuret to Nezha. 
“Okay, first condition complete! Now the time …” 
The clock in the bottom right corner read 20:28, despite how fast I’d run. 
Asuna and I had returned to Urbus after our Windwasp hunt at 19:00. We had finished eating dinner around 19:30. Immediately afterward, we had moved to the plaza and asked Nezha to upgrade her weapon… meaning there was only a minute or two to spare! 
“Crap, we gotta make this quick. Just hit the buttons as I tell you. Move to the storage tab!” 
“Uh … um, okay …” 
Asuna faithfully followed my order, perhaps so confused by the sudden turn of events that she had no time to resist. 
“Next, the settings button… search button … now there should be one that says Manipulate Storage …” 
Her slender finger flashed over the buttons, diving deeper and deeper into the menu. After three or four selections, we finally reached the button I wanted. 
“There, that’s it! Materialize All Items! Hit it!!” I screamed. She hit the tiny button, bringing up a yes/no prompt. At maximum volume, 
“Yesssss!!” 
Click. 
Asuna muttered to herself as she hit the button. “Hmm… mm? Materialize all items …? When it says all items … does it mean …?” 
With the satisfied smile of a man who did his job, I replied, “All, everything, the entire shebang, the whole nine yards.” 
The next moment, all of the rows of text in Asuna’s inventory vanished. 
And then— 
Clunkclankthudwhamwhudclinkflopflipfwapswishfwuf came a cavalcade of sound from hard and heavy to light and airy. Every single item contained in Asuna’s player inventory had been materialized into the game world to fall onto the floor in a great messy pile. 
“Wha …wha… wha-wha-wha?!” 
The mess’s owner couldn’t contain her shock at what had just happened, but I knew it was coming—this was what I’d run all the way from the other side of Urbus to do. The only hitch was my slight underestimation of the volume of her inventory—just a mere two or three times what I’d expected. 
The amount of space for storage varied depending on the player’s strength, Expansion skill, and the presence of certain magical items. For a moment, I marveled at how Asuna, a low-level player with no Expansion skill and an agility-heavy fencer build, could have packed so many items in. The answer soon became apparent. 
Capacity was determined not by volume, but weight. Metal armor and weapons, liquids such as potions, and stacks of coins all put a major dent in item storage. On the other hand, lighter items such as leather armor and accessories, rolls of bread, and parchment scrolls could be packed in there with ease. The majority of Asuna’s inventory was taken up with those loose effects, big and small … meaning clothes and undergarments. 
I stared at the four-foot-tall pile of stuff, feeling slightly self-conscious. The heavier items had fallen out first, so the metal equipment was on the bottom, followed by leather goods, then various clothes and finally, resting on top, a small mound of frilly white and pink underwear. What was the point of keeping so many of them? Avatars in Aincrad had no bodily waste functions, and the only thing that took durability damage in battle was the outer armor. You only truly needed one set of underwear. I had three, for battle, everyday use, and sleeping, but that was probably on the high side for a male player. 
And yet. 
I couldn’t stop here. If my suspicion was correct, and we’d hit the command in time, it would be here … piled at the bottom of this mountain. 
“Pardon me!” I said, ever the gentleman, and started shoving the piles of cloth out of the way. I heard a trembling voice over my shoulder. 
“Um, excuse me … Do you have a death wish? Are you one of those people who dream of dying in battle …?” 

 

“No way,” I said in all honesty, still scrabbling through the pile. I got through the clothes to the leather armor, gloves, and small boxes, and finally reached the metal layer at the bottom. 
With great effort, I pushed them aside and got to the very last section of the little mountain. The heaviest item Asuna owned—though light as a feather compared to what I had slung over my back—a single rapier. 
Wind Fleuret +4. 
I grabbed the green scabbard and lifted it out of the pile, then turned around to face Asuna. Her eyes had the look of one deciding a suitable means of execution, but they grew wide when she saw the sword she’d thought was gone forever. Her lips trembling, a tiny little squeak escaped her throat. 
“… … No way …”