Sword Art Online – Progressive - Volume 5 - Chapter 2

2 
DESPITE THE FACT THAT I FORGOT TO SET A WAKE-UP alarm, my eyes opened just three minutes before we were scheduled to meet. 
In the real world, I’d never make it in time with that little to spare, but in here, there was no need to wash your face, brush your hair, or pick out what to wear. I just rolled out of bed, equipped the coat over my shirt, and left the room. 
The sound of the door opening and slamming was louder than I expected, and for a moment, I wondered if I was still a bit dazed with sleep. But no, my fellow guest in the room next door had emerged at the exact same time. 
Asuna and I shared a look for about two seconds. It seemed like she’d just woken up, too, and her brain wasn’t running at full capacity yet. In the silence, I heard the number plates of both doors click and rattle as they shuffled their puzzles. 
“Good—” I started to say, but Asuna swept her cape aside and raced past me toward the stairs. 
Why did she run away?! 
But the answer occurred to me immediately. She was going to get to the restaurant a second ahead of me, so she could smugly accuse me of being the one who slept in. 
“N-no fair!” I shouted, starting to run, but I couldn’t catch up to Asuna at full speed, given her (likely) higher agility stat. Her long hair shone in the morning sun as it vanished around the end of the hallway. 
I was going to lose the race. 
Resigned to bad behavior, I launched myself off the floor and took one, two, three steps along the nearest wall, dragging the edges of my soles along the flat stone. This was a non-system skill I called Wall-Running. Three steps was the best I could do without an equipment bonus, but with an Agility dump stat, people like Argo the Rat could probably go much longer. 
Still, it was enough to get me to the corner of the hallway, so on my third step, I pushed hard and leaped to the far wall around the corner, then jumped off that to the handrail on the stairs. I landed right behind Asuna, who’d slowed down at the hallway turn that sat at the stairs’ landing. With one more huge jump, I slipped past her and rushed into the first-floor lobby. 
“Hey, no fair!” she shouted behind me, but athletic competition was inherently unfair. The entrance to the restaurant was past the reception desk. I lowered my center of gravity in preparation for the last fifty feet of the race— 
“Hi-yah!” went an unsettling cry over my shoulder, and I felt myself being pulled backward. My soles lost their grip and slid along the polished floor. Asuna had grabbed the hem of my coat. 
“Hey…foul! Foul!” I wailed as I fell onto my butt, but there was no referee’s whistle. 
Right beside my face, I heard her say “Later!” as white leather boots raced past me. 
Yes—there were no rules or referees in this battle. Only our good consciences limited what we would do. And I was the kind of person who was furthest from the concept of a good conscience: I was a teenage boy and a former beta tester. 
I reached out without a word and grabbed Asuna’s left ankle. 
“Heywha?!” the fencer exclaimed, a strange abbreviation of Hey, what are you doing? and she lost her balance. A second after we both rolled over onto the floor, the NPC lady behind the counter called out, “Please, no disruptions inside the building.” If it wasn’t my imagination, her voice seemed colder than usual. 
We sat at the farthest table in the back of the restaurant and ordered the breakfast platters and coffee. 
Asuna sighed. “Haaah…The last thing I need in the morning is to get all tired out…” 
“W-well, you were the one who started running first.” 
“I was just picking up my pace, that’s all.” 
I knew she was lying, but the food arrived before I could call her out on it. The breakfast platter varied depending on the town and establishment; this one had two buttered rolls, green salad, cheese, ham, and eggs, which was a fairly orthodox combination. 
Asuna neatly sliced the square of cheese into two triangles and noted, “You don’t have to solve a puzzle to get your food.” 
“Oh, would you prefer it that way? For lunch, I know a place that sells a meal served in a puzzle box…” 
“No, thank you,” she said, picking up the hard cheese with her fingers and taking a nibble. We ate in silence after that, and it wasn’t until the both of us were half-done with our plates that Asuna spoke again. 
“…So why are there so many puzzles all over Stachion?” 
“Oh. It’s because the theme of this floor is puzzles,” I said, finally revealing the detail I’d forgotten to tell her last night. The fencer blinked in surprise. 
“You mean…it’s not just the main town, but it’s the entire floor that’s like this?” 
“Yep. Most of the dungeons are full of puzzles and tricks. It was a floor that really divided the player base during the beta, I can tell you that.” 
“Uh…huh…” 
There was something odd in Asuna’s look, but with my low Communication skill, I couldn’t make out what it was. 
“…What does that expression mean?” I asked her, sticking ham inside of the slit in my mini-loaf of hard bread. Asuna shrugged. 
“Well, it’s not that I hate puzzles themselves…I like the sudoku number games from the square—and jigsaw puzzles and disentanglement puzzles and the like. But…when I think about the fifth-floor boss, I get worried…” 
“Oh. Good point…” 
At last, I understood why she looked upset. The floor boss we’d just defeated yesterday—Fuscus the Vacant Colossus—started off like your archetypal RPG golem monster but turned out to be horribly different—a creature fused with the very chamber itself. It then deployed a number of complex gimmicks and tricks that were a huge headache for the raid party. 
“So does that mean if the floor’s theme is puzzles that the boss is the same way?” Asuna asked. 
“Kind of,” I admitted. “The boss in the beta was kind of like a Rubik’s Cube with arms and legs. The row you attacked would rotate, and once you got all the sides aligned, its armor would break off. But because everyone just went ham on it, the colors would get more and more out of alignment…” 
“…” 
Asuna sighed deeply, her fork paused in midair with a cucumber-like vegetable on it. “That’s exactly the kind of thing that Lind from the DKB and Kibaou from the ALS are going to argue over—who gets to call the shots in battle. Maybe it’s better that we tackle this boss with the same group as the last one?” 
It was bold, but I had to shake the idea off. “No, no way. We had no other choice in the matter to prevent the ALS from rushing ahead…but the entire point of boss fights is to use a full raid party and go in at maximum strength. And you never know if it might’ve been changed since the beta.” 
“Probably to make it more annoying, if anything.” 
This time I had to agree. I didn’t want to imagine a setup more annoying than the Rubik’s Cube, but if any pattern had held true so far, it was that nothing had been made easier since the beta. 
On top of that, I had another problem to deal with regarding the boss battle beyond just the potential puzzle tricks. 
Asuna sensed something in my expression. She chewed on a slice of cucumber and waved her fork like a little flag. “Speaking of which…what are you going to do with that thing you’re holding?” 
“Dunno,” I said. She made a face that said she figured that was the answer. 
The “thing” I was holding was the Flag of Valor, an ultrarare item that the fifth-floor boss dropped—otherwise known as the guild flag. 
If you registered the flag under your guild name and stood it upright on the floor, any guild member within a radius of fifty feet would enjoy four different kinds of status buffing. The reason Kibaou’s ALS had attempted to sneak into a fight against the boss first was because they were afraid the DKB would get the guild flag and the incredible bonus it conferred. 
But the impromptu raid party that Asuna and I had scraped together beat the fifth-floor boss first, and the flag in question came into my possession. Lind probably didn’t know about the very existence of the flag yet, so I was going to set up a meeting with the chief DKB members later that day to explain everything. Understanding the man’s pride, there was no telling how he would react. 
When Kibaou barged into the boss chamber right after we defeated Fuscus, I gave him the conditions that would need to be fulfilled before I handed over the guild flag. 
One: I would hold on to the flag until another one of them showed up, at which point I’d give it up so that the ALS and DKB would each have one. 
Or two: If the ALS and DKB merged, I would give them the flag immediately. 
Either one of these would be satisfactory to me, but I knew that neither was a realistic outcome. It was such a game-changing item that players called it “broken,” so there wouldn’t be multiple copies of that kind of thing dropping left and right—in the beta, only the one on the fifth floor ever showed up. And the DKB and ALS, who held opposing ideologies, merging into one? Even more unlikely. 
“…If we give the flag to either guild, it’ll destroy the balance we’ve got now. It’ll permanently destroy any chance at peace between the two sides, and in the worst-case scenario, it could wipe out half the power of the frontier-advancing group,” I mumbled, staring at the parsley-like green left on my plate. I sensed Asuna nodding along. Then I plucked up the leafy thing and twirled it in my fingers. “But it’s also so powerful that letting it rot away in my inventory would be a waste…At the present moment, we have hardly any means of adding combat buffs, and this will provide four different kinds, just from sticking a flag into the ground…” 
“What specific buffs, exactly?” 
“Increased attack power, increased defensive power, shortened cooldowns, and increased resistance to all debuffs.” 
“Wow…” 
Her voice was hushed with awe. Asuna was still new to the general concepts of RPGs, but even she could recognize what tremendous benefits this combination of effects represented. 
“Of course, in sheer numerical terms, the individual values are pretty small, but it can also affect any number of players—and for an unlimited amount of time…And the craziest part of all is that the guild flag itself is categorized as a polearm weapon with a number of possible upgrade attempts…” 
“Oh…h-how many?” 
“Ten.” 
Again, an incredulous look crossed Asuna’s face. “And…I’m guessing…that’s not to increase its power as a weapon, but…” 
“It should also affect the buffing percentages. I’m almost afraid to imagine what it would be like if you successfully upgraded it all ten times.” 
“Hrmmm,” the fencer grunted uncharacteristically. She pointed her fork and knife at me. “Then what about this idea?” 
“What’s that?” 
“Why don’t you start a new guild, register the flag, and absorb both the DKB and ALS?” 
A sound that if transcribed would be spelled something like blrmpph shot from my mouth. Thankfully, I avoided spraying half-chewed parsley mist into Asuna’s face, but something seemed very buggy in the game’s taste emulator—my mouth felt weirdly textured. I took a swig of coffee to reset, inhaled and exhaled several times, then expressed myself more rationally this time. 
“Absolutely not. Zero percent chance. Zero-point-zero-zero-zero-zero!” 
“……” 
The look on her face said What are you, a child? She took a delicate sip of her coffee. “It was only a suggestion. I know it’s not to your liking, and I have no desire at all to be the subleader of any guild. The most practical version of the idea would be to ask Agil…but even that seems unlikely to work…” 
She lapsed into silence, thinking hard. I considered asking if she would actually agree to be my vice-captain in a hypothetical guild, but I wasn’t sure it was a good idea to bring up. I decided to keep it locked away in my mental inventory for now. 
“…Well, Agil’s already leading a guild of his own…but if we had him expand the Bro Squad into a larger organization, I feel like he’d force them all to use two-handed weapons…” 
“Ah-ha-ha-ha, no way.” Asuna laughed, only to suddenly stop. She must’ve imagined herself as a member of the Bro Squad, wielding a huge war hammer. She shook her head. “A-anyway, we ought to think of a way to effectively use that guild flag. Let’s hope that Lind has some constructive ideas in mind…” 
“Yeah, no kidding…” 
At that, the clock hit ten. Our meeting with the DKB was at twelve thirty and would be held somewhere in Stachion. So factoring in travel time, that left us with about two hours to kill. I tossed the last scrap of bread into my mouth, mumbled a thanks for the meal, and gave my partner a suggestion. 
“Um, to round out the morning, why don’t we go all over Stachion, accept all the quests we can, and clear out one or two of the easy ones? Or we can practice dueling, like we talked about yesterday. Which do you prefer?” 
“Hmm,” Asuna murmured, but her answer came very quickly. “Practice. I don’t want to put it off and then regret it later.” 
“Oh…c-cool,” I said, taken aback by her choice. “In that case, let’s find somewhere we can be alone. If people overhear or spy on our practice, it’ll only have the opposite effect.” 
“Sounds good…but do you have a place in mind?” 
“I might.” I grinned, leaping to my feet. 
Unlike last night, the teleport square was bustling with players. More than a few had parchment and quill in hand, staring at the numbered tiles. It wasn’t yet clear if these were going to be the new generation of sudokers, but I wished them a silent good luck and hopped through the glowing blue gate at the center of the square. 
Our destination was Zumfut, the main town of the third floor. But the town itself was not what I wanted. I led us right past the three giant baobab trees out into the map and off the trail. Once I was certain there were no players following us, I took us at a sprint southwest, into the deep forest. 
Monsters targeted us now and then, but at this point, Asuna and I were strong enough that an ambush of small treants or giant spiders in the Forest of Wavering Mists needed no more than two sword skills to clean up. We ignored them and continued running, leaving them all in the dust. 
Eventually, a valley came into view, the mist trailing through it in ropes even thicker than usual. I left my map open and continued running right through the valley for another minute. 
Suddenly, the mist vanished like it had never been there, and tall black banners appeared before my eyes. They featured a scimitar and a horn, and beyond them was a hollow in the valley, inside of which were nearly twenty dark purple tents of various sizes. But this was no ordinary village—it was the campground of the dark elf warriors, a place that only players aligned with the dark elf faction of the multi-floor “Elf War” campaign quest could visit. On top of that, it was an instanced map generated for each separate party, meaning the game system itself prevented any other player from even seeing it, much less getting inside. 
Asuna bowed to the expressionless guards as she passed them, then murmured to me, “It’s been over ten days since we were last here. It’s nice to be back…but why now? Are you saying there’s nowhere private we could find in Stachion or Karluin?” 
“There are…but there was one other thing I wanted to clean up.” 

“What’s that…? Isn’t the next destination for the ‘Elf War’ quest on the sixth floor?” 
I nodded. The general story of the campaign, which had started on this floor, was that the dark elves and forest elves were fighting for six secret keys that opened the gate to a place called the Sanctuary that existed somewhere in Aincrad. But behind this conflict lurked the Fallen Elves, who were secretly after the keys as well. 
We’d gained the Jade Key on the third floor, the Lapis Key on the fourth, and the Amber Key on the fifth. The elite dark elf knight Kizmel used a spirit tree, a special means of travel just for the elves, to transport the keys to a fortress in the northwest region of the sixth floor, where they were stored now. Once we reached that fort, the sixth-floor portion of the campaign would launch—but I had stuff to take care of before we did that. 
“This errand has nothing to do with any quests. I just wanna power this guy up,” I said, reaching behind me to brush the hilt of my sword. Asuna murmured in understanding. 
In the center of the long hollow in the valley was the massive dining tent, in front of which was a tiny commerce area. Along the path was an item shop, a tailor, a leatherworker, and a blacksmith. It looked the same as it did the last time we visited, except that the normally passive and brusque elves actually called out to us this time, greeting us and asking how we were. I was so taken aback by this that all I could do was nod back, but Asuna flashed them a smile and said, “Good day!” 
I guessed that some kind of affinity value with the dark elves was rising as we proceeded further in the campaign quest, and that it meant our fame and wanted value among the forest elves was rising along with it. We hadn’t interacted with them on the fifth floor, so I just had to pray that the pattern would hold for the sixth as well. 
I stopped us at the fourth shop in the row. Out in front was a stern-looking man wearing a heavy apron and long gloves, his hair tied in a ponytail, beating a piece of red-hot metal on top of an anvil with rhythmic strikes. After the change in the other elves, I assumed he would be more friendly as well, so I waited for a pause in the work before calling out, “H…hiya!” 
The man glared at us, snorted, then went back to work. 
“…Well, he hasn’t changed a bit,” whispered Asuna, holding back her giggles, but I wouldn’t be broken yet. 
I took the entire sheath off my back and said, “Um, I’d like to strengthen this sword.” 
He snorted again. The only indication this wasn’t a refusal of my request was that a special NPC blacksmith window had appeared before me. 
I swear, I’m gonna get this guy to like me someday, I thought as I entered my work request into the window. 
My Anneal Blade +8 had been my trusty sidekick since shortly after the start of this game of death, but it broke in half in the fight against the forest elf commander during the battle at Yofel Castle on the fourth floor. Now I was using the Sword of Eventide, a one-handed longsword that had been a reward for winning that fight. On top of its excellent base stats, it had a magic effect that added +7 agility. With it equipped, my ability to Wall-Run stretched from three steps at best all the way to nearly ten. 
However, powerful weapons were also difficult to upgrade as a general rule. So I’d been using it without attempting to increase its power all through the fifth floor. Now that we were going to tackle the sixth, I wanted to at least get it up to +3. And as far as I knew, the best NPC blacksmith I could call upon was this fellow. With skill like his, a little unfriendliness wasn’t going to be a problem…I hoped. 
I set the materials that matched my weapon type on the menu screen and paused to think when I reached the additive materials section. 
The weapon-upgrading system in SAO allowed you to choose between five different parameters: Sharpness, Heaviness, Quickness, Accuracy, and Durability. Sharpness (or Toughness for blunt weapons) simply increased its damage, and Heaviness increased the chances of breaking an opponent’s weapon or armor. Quickness improved the speed of regular attacks and sword skills, while Accuracy improved the critical rate, and Durability increased the weapon’s own ability to withstand damage. Any of them would be an improvement, but the smart move was to choose values that matched your combat style. I often chose Sharpness and Durability for my upgrades, because they didn’t interface with system assistance the way the others did. 
I decided I would go for Sharpness twice and Durability once, so I selected the maximum number of additional materials that corresponded to Sharpness, then hit the OK button. When dealing with a player blacksmith, you had to manually choose the needed materials and extras from your own inventory, but with an NPC, it was all automatic. A little bag filled with the materials appeared over the window. I held it out with one hand and grasped my sword with the other, then I asked the blacksmith to go ahead. 
But the elf ignored the bag of materials in my hand and took just the sword. He pulled it from the sheath and let the blade catch the morning sunlight. A little furrow appeared between his brows. 
“…Is this the work of a Lyusulan master?” he asked abruptly. At first, I panicked, wondering if this was the start of some in-game event, but I had to be honest at this point. The kingdom of Lyusula was the dark elf nation that existed on the land before Aincrad was created, and they still called themselves the people of Lyusula. 
“Y-yes…I received it from the master of Yofel Castle on the fourth floor.” 
“Ahh, a piece from Leyshren’s family, then.” 
I leaned over to Asuna, feeling like I’d probably heard that name before, and whispered, “Uh…who was that again?” 
“Come on, pay attention and remember things. That was the name of Viscount Yofilis.” 
“Oh, right,” I said, but then I frowned, uncertain. The blacksmith had just referred to that dark elf noble by his first name in a rather casual manner, but I couldn’t tell if that was a notable thing or if it was simply the customary way of their culture. 
He didn’t seem to pay any attention to our whispers, though. He continued examining the beautiful sword. “You ordered an improvement to Sharpness, correct?” 
“Yes, to start with.” 
“Don’t bother.” 
“……Huh?” 
Now I was truly stunned. I could feel my eyes and mouth bulging wide. Old Man Romolo, the shipwright who built our gondola on the fourth floor, had been somewhat of a crank by NPC standards, but even he didn’t outright refuse a request for his services. Yet the elf blacksmith was going to turn down the order that I’d entered through the system menu itself. He’d never uttered a word of complaint when I had him augment the Sharpness of the Anneal Blade… 
“Um…wh-why not?” I asked. 
The blacksmith snorted with obvious annoyance, but at least this time he did explain himself. “This sword is already sharp enough. Sharpening it further will not improve it.” 
“I…see…” 
I guessed that meant that compared to the Anneal Blade, giving it +1 Sharpness would only provide a small extra boost of attack power. 
It was true that weapon upgrading ought to be appropriate for the type of weapon. Boosting the Quickness of a massive two-handed war hammer once or twice would barely register any change in speed—and increasing the Heaviness of a quick rapier or dagger would only wipe out its special nature without improving its ability to destroy other weapons and armor. 
But I’d never considered that there might be individual tendencies among different weapons in the same one-handed sword category when it came to upgrading. Taken aback, I asked him, “Then what kind of improvement would you recommend?” 
“Choose whichever quality you like, aside from Sharpness…is what I might ordinarily say, but if Leyshren owed you enough to give you this, I suppose you deserve keener advice,” he said icily. The blacksmith gazed closely at the Sword of Eventide again. “Accuracy would be good for this sword.” 
“Awww…” I blurted out like a petulant child. 
Upgrading Accuracy increased a weapon’s critical rate: This much was undeniable fact. The problem was that the debate about just what a critical hit was in SAO hadn’t been settled yet. 
Many monsters had defined weak points, which, if hit cleanly, suffered huge damage. Nearly all players understood this to be a critical hit. 
But aside from that, when hitting non-weak spots, there was a very rare chance that the striking effect would be just a bit flashier than usual—and deliver just a bit more damage. It was easier to do this with sword skills than normal attacks, but it was also not the same thing as the “power boost” technique you could take advantage of by throwing your arms and legs further into the movements the system helped you make automatically during a sword skill. This was something where the exact same sword skill in the exact same spot on the enemy might or might not cause the effect—it was completely up to chance. 
If you listened to the critical hit fundamentalists who’d been studying crits since the beta (we called them critters), hitting an enemy’s weak point was a skill, and major damage scored through player skill was not a critical. They were searching for that random extra damage roll, the true critical hit from RPGs of yore—the thing that couldn’t be affected by clever technique. 
Beyond this point was a bottomless swamp of data, idealism, and cultish fanaticism from which escape was nearly impossible. The critters would tell you that a true critical was determined by how truly serious the NerveGear detected the player was; that it was easier to score the more wood your weapon contained; that the fewer HP you had left, the higher the rate; that a full moon increased your chances; and on and on…There wasn’t enough time or life to rigorously test any or all of these theories. 
And in all honesty, I had no desire to get anywhere near that swamp, but the problem was that I knew there were true criticals that were different from weak-point criticals. The pleasure of seeing the 20-percent exaggerated effect and major damage was addicting once you got used to it. I wasn’t a critter by a long shot, but on the other hand, I’d been keeping my modification slot open for the five days since I reached 150 proficiency in one-handed swords because I couldn’t choose whether I wanted Shortened Skill Delay or Critical Rate Increase, which I had to assume affected the chances of a true crit. 
You’d think that if it was this tempting, I should just go for the critical rate boost, but the problem was that upgrading weapon Accuracy affected only weak-point criticals, not true criticals. 
When a weapon’s Accuracy had been boosted, the system automatically adjusted to improve your aim when trying to hit a monster’s weak spot. Some players, like Asuna, could master this system and use it like second nature. But I didn’t hang with any kind of system assistance that took control away from me. During the beta test, I tried out an Anneal Blade with Accuracy increased to +8, and the sensation of the sword curving straight for the monster’s weak spot made me feel like I was wielding a living weapon with a mind of its own. 
So…how was I supposed to explain to the dark elf this very particular quirk of mine, based on preference rather than rational gain? If I insisted on Sharpness, that might solve the matter, but it seemed like there was a 1—no, a 10-percent chance that this particular NPC would say “Then I won’t do it.” Instead, I just glanced back and forth between the sword and his face. 
Finally, Asuna broke the stalemate with a perfect, simple solution. 
“Why isn’t Sharpness the best choice?” she asked. 
The blacksmith nodded. “Of all of Lyusula’s great blades, this one is especially sharp—and thus fragile. To preserve and protect the blade, it is best to dispatch the enemy with as few strikes as possible. That means Accuracy would be best, followed by Durability.” 
“Ah, I see…So the Accuracy is to make fighting more efficient,” Asuna said, echoing my own reaction. 
The sword’s Durability wasn’t bad at all according to its specs, but ever since I’d started using it, I noticed that it seemed to deplete on the quick side in battle. The Sword of Eventide was better at slicing away at uncovered or undefended spots than at smashing through layers of armor, presumably. If one focused on hitting weak points from the very start, then the effect of the system assistance kicking in might not be that disorienting, after all. 
It hadn’t eliminated all of my misgivings, but if this was a sword forged by a dark elf, it was probably best to accept a dark elf blacksmith’s advice about it. “Okay…I understand. Then let’s upgrade its Accuracy, please,” I said. 
“Very well,” the blacksmith replied, and the window popped up once more. I reset the items and values, hit the OK button again, and grabbed the bag of materials that appeared. 
The blacksmith took the items and tossed them into the furnace that seemed to be made of wood. The materials melted instantly, and the orange flames began to glow blue. He stuck the Sword of Eventide in, and it promptly took on a blue glow of its own. 
Then he transferred the sword to the anvil—I couldn’t tell why he chose the specific timing of it—and began to smack it with his hammer. With just ten strikes, quick enough that I didn’t have time to get nervous, the sword promptly flashed brighter. 
“It is done,” he said, thrusting the sword toward me. 
“Um,” I said without taking it, “I’d like another round of Accuracy, actually, followed by Durability.” 
Even maximizing the amount of materials you could put into the process, upgrading couldn’t get higher than a 95-percent chance of success, but the blacksmith easily cranked out three perfect attempts. It was my nature to want to keep the streak going, but that was sadly the end of my stock of mats. I still had three moo-moo planks (the cow-branded metal pieces) that could boost your chances to maximum in one go, but I was saving them for when it was really necessary. 
Instead, Asuna decided to get up to +7 on her Chivalric Rapier—the scary part was that she still had eight attempts left—and then we thanked the blacksmith, who gave us a disinterested snort and returned to his business. I was curious about why he called Viscount Yofilis by the name Leyshren, but we didn’t have time, so that would have to wait for another day. 
We also stopped at the leatherworker and the seamstress for some upgrades to our armor—both of these were women and at least five times friendlier than the smith. When this was done, Asuna and I moved to the outdoor training grounds at the western end of the encampment. It was now 10:40, so even accounting for travel, we had a full hour to practice. 
There was no way I could teach her every little trick and lesson I’d picked up over my time with the game, and that was likely to backfire with Asuna anyway. Teaching her more about the essentials, about the mind-set that one needed, was far more likely to help her make use of her own creativity and proactive capabilities. 
The problem was that giving a lecture on mental outlook was much harder than talking about technique. And it was all the more difficult when the teacher was just a dumb kid like me with no experience teaching. 
I came to a stop at the entrance to the empty training grounds, glanced at Asuna, who was standing at a thirty-degree angle from me, and came up completely short on how to start even the first sentence. All I could think about was the way Asuna had said I don’t want to do this when we tried practicing dueling on the fourth floor. 
“Soooo……ummmm……” 
I hemmed and hawed, trying to find an entry point to the topic. 
Suddenly, Asuna giggled and said, “Listen, Kirito.” 
“Y…yes?” 
“I went into the bath with Argo when we were in the town of Shiyaya on the fifth floor.” 
“Y…yes?” 
It sounded familiar to me, I just couldn’t wrap my head around why she was bringing it up now. I looked at her suspiciously. “R-right, I seem to recall that. You and Argo were having a little girl-on-girl chat in the…” 
“We were doing no such thing!” she said, pouting briefly. Then she grinned. “No, Argo and I had a duel there.” 
“……Wha—? In the…bath?” 
“In the bath.” 
“……With…no gear?” 
“With swimsui…Wait, that’s not the point!” 
She jabbed me in the gut with her first two fingers pressed together. Belatedly, I recalled that we weren’t in a town safe zone—but to my relief, she didn’t do anything worse than that. 
“…But when I say duel, all we did was smack each other with the bundles of fragrant herbs they put in the bathtub. Argo asked me…if I was afraid of dueling.” 
“…A-and what did you say…?” 
“I was honest. I told her I was scared, but thinking on it, Argo uses all of her points for agility, so she’s got even less HP than me. Yet, in the duel, she fought hard with just a bundle of plants and didn’t seem nervous at all. She heads into the latest dungeon without an ounce of hesitation…So in return, I asked her, ‘Aren’t you afraid?’” 
“……A-a-and she said…?” 
“‘’Fraid I can’t tell ya that for free,’” Asuna said, a remarkable imitation of Argo the Rat’s speaking style, and headed for the other end of the grounds. 
I called out after her. “Um, c-could you explain what that story is supposed to mean?” 
The fencer turned back, her long hair swishing, and gave me a devilish grin. “What do you suppose it means?” 
How the hell should I know?! I shouted inwardly. Chances were, Asuna was trying to say that she was all right now. So I just had to teach her as much as I could in the short time we had. Once she got over her fear of fighting another human player, there was nothing left to hold back Asuna’s potential and the sharp point of her +7 Chivalric Rapier. 
I glanced up at the forest surrounding the camp and whispered a warning to the man in the black poncho and his friends, wherever in Aincrad they were now. 
“Next time I’m gonna get you.” 
“Huh? Did you say something?” Asuna shouted. 
“Nothing!” I shouted back, hurrying over the short grass toward my partner.