The myth made real. The legendary game champ. The world’s best solo player. Tales of his deeds had been proclaimed fantasy even in the heightened reality of the internet — even, they said, if he really did exist.

Something — it looked like bones — was littered around his feet. Drop items from the Skeleton Chariots, no doubt. The man they called King Kirihito paid them no mind and simply stood there, sword in hand.

Ichiro looked at Felicia. She was staring at the man intently, as if sizing him up.

At last, King Kirihito turned to look at them.

“Ah, sorry.” Surprisingly, his first words were an apology. “I brought two of them with me.”

What could he be talking about, the group thought in unison as they peered down the hallway past him. Then they realized.

“Z-Zombie Legions...” Kirihito (Leader)’s voice was thin with despair.

A sign of the end times. A blasphemy upon all that was sacred. The mountain of bodies creaked under its own weight as it strode through the wide corridors, inspiring trembling, goosebumps, and nausea that went far beyond its Stench of Stagnant Rot. This was corruption incarnate.

Kirihito (Leader) had described the monstrosity of the Zombie Legion just minutes ago. And now there were two of them walking slowly out of the depths of the corridor, striding towards the group. Even Felicia, whose attention had been focused on King Kirihito, stiffened at their appalling visage, a sight so grotesque that it couldn’t be laughed off as “only a game.”

It was odious from head to toe, and it was all she could do to resist the feeling of loathing welling up inside her, to keep the scream from rising past her throat.

“Huh, so that’s a Zombie Legion?” The abrupt words carried a tone of wonder, as one spotting a serow while mountain climbing.

It was Ichiro Tsuwabuki, his usual cool completely unfazed. He remained there with one hand in his pocket, having done nothing to change his posture. “Hey, Kirihito. Let me begin with a thank you. You’re the one who cleared up those Skeleton Chariots, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, that was me,” King Kirihito said, standing over the bones that littered the floor.

“I see. Then it seems it’s my turn to help you.”

“You, old man?”

“Yes.” Ichiro slowly walked forward, his Monetary Blade in hand, to stand beside King Kirihito.

“Hmm.” The Zombie Legions moved slowly enough that King Kirihito had time to take Ichiro’s measure.

Even to a heavy user like him, the man’s equipment was unfamiliar. The black formal wear that covered him from head to toe seemed more appropriate to a formal ball than a combat situation. He quickly gave up on analyzing him and snapped his attention back to the enemy.

“Well, all right. But if you die, don’t blame me.”

“You may not be aware of this, but I don’t die,” Ichiro laughed in response to King Kirihito’s quip.

Kirihito readied his sword. It was an unadorned straight sword, but it was different, too, from the tie-in weapons mass-produced for players of the same name on the surface. This was an instrument of battle, casting aside physical grace in the name of simple functionality. The dull gleam of the blade was like the consciousness of the fighter itself, designed only for combat.

The underground maze shook. The air, with its faint odor of mold, chilled them to their core. The miraculous merger of human and program had created a sense of tension stretched as taut as a piano wire.

Kirihito dashed across the floor.

Not even an agility stat raised to the maximum could produce initial velocity like that. He was a human bullet, hacking into the Zombie Legion’s body with the speed of a whirlwind.

Despite his straightforward attack, the sluggish Zombie Legion couldn’t keep up. He was a tornado. He was lightning. He hurled himself into striking distance faster than the speed of sound, dug his sword in and pried it out.

Bodies began to fall.

His sword flashed three times, sending gobs of flesh flying before he arrived on the other side. He then turned, his boots ringing out on the floor, and slashed into it again, mercilessly, from behind.

“Uoooooo... ooooo...” the monster’s soul-chilling cry filled the air.

But the assault wasn’t over.

He dashed across the floor in a renewed charge. The speed of his strikes belied their power as he hit it with three consecutive blows. There was a damage visual of a spray of blood, and a giant arm made of piled-up corpses swung down at Kirihito like a pendulum.

He didn’t dodge, but simply met the assaulting ball of corpses head-on, using sheer swordsmanship to cut more flesh away from it.

Ichiro stood a ways away, watching.

The way Kirihito kept moving, cutting away at the Zombie Legion’s flesh before its attacks could land... The simultaneous lightness of his body and heaviness of his slashes were what made the feat possible. It was a stark yet utterly efficient series of blows, so magnificent that even Ichiro was left in awe.

But what was really surprising, even from this distance, were the Arts he was using. Judging by his actions and the flashy damage visuals, it was easy to imagine that he was using multiple Skills. But the only sword technique he employed was the basic attack for physical-oriented classes, Bash.

Because Bash was a basic technique, it could be invoked from multiple stances, and there were a large number of patterns and effects attached to those various stances. As a result, the cooldown time between moves was very short. Despite being a basic technique, a high enough Art level could make it a potent source of damage, and it was an excellent link move, as well. Many high-level combatants composed powerful combos using Bash.

But to take out a Zombie Legion with Bash alone... that was truly astonishing.

The use of “Reduce Cooldown” combined with Bash completely negated the cooldown extension generated by Stench of Stagnant Rot, which made it the right choice of Art. Still, the blows were more powerful than a mindless hammering of Bash would suggest. It was enough to cause a stun effect, which invoked when a certain amount of damage was caused, and as a result, Kirihito was able to unleash a never-ending string of attacks on the Zombie Legion.

As if it were just a single Art, he unleashed a long flurry of moves, followed by a pause. Controlling even the flow of the air itself, he changed his grip on his sword, then cut up with a diagonal slash.

Having taken remarkable damage, the Zombie Legion’s giant body began to fall. The dumbfounded trio of Kirihitos, on the verge of being crushed, disappeared in a flurry of effect visuals.

So this was King Kirihito, the ultimate solo player.

There were few people in this world so gifted. His lightning reflex speed almost made it seem like his mind was directly connected to the Miraive Gear.

“Well?” After his swift extermination of the Zombie Legion, King Kirihito turned to Ichiro. “Weren’t you going to help me?”

“Oh, that’s right. I’ll finish the other, then. And just so you know, I am 23 years old. You can determine for yourself whether that qualifies as ‘old.’”

“That’s pretty old.”

“Good. If you think that, that’s all that matters.” Ichiro had gotten a clear sense of King Kirihito’s ability, but now it was his turn to show off his own skill. It was a compulsion he couldn’t fully explain.

No, actually, he could explain it... The corners of his mouth turned upwards as the feeling began to sprout in his heart.

This wasn’t an enemy that could be subdued with Breaker alone. Ichiro equipped an attack spell on his open hand, then ran along the floor at the Zombie Legion.

He led with Breaker, hitting the monster for 1,200 yen worth of damage.

Feeling the increased cooldown time inflicted by Stench of Stagnant Rot, he followed up with the high-powered fire spell “Sword of Surt.” The flame’s power, augmented by “Ground Zero Magic,” incinerated a large mass of zombie corpses.

The wide passageway was quickly becoming an oven. The Kirihitters and Felicia watched, faces red from the heat.

Ichiro took decisive action with “Strash,” using his bare fist against the Zombie Legion, which was already wreathed in flames and writhing in pain. While forcibly accelerating his cooldown time with “Cast Break,” he fired off a second Sword of Surt. In addition, he employed “Shining Fingers,” which increased the damage dealt by magic attacks. He continued his ceaseless attacks, ignoring his mounting fatigue, and eventually pushed the Zombie Legion to break down and expire.

Behind him, King Kirihito whistled.

“Old man, are you a whale?” he asked, his words containing no trace of praise or gratitude.

“I am.”

“When did you start playing?”

“The beginning of the month. Can I assume from your question that you prefer not to pay for content?”

“...Yeah, I don’t. I can barely afford the base monthly fee.” There were barbs behind Kirihito’s words and hostility in his eyes as he looked the immaculately dressed Ichiro up and down. Despite his attempts to project an air of disinterest, in the end, he couldn’t hide it.

“Let me see if I can guess what you’re thinking.” Ichiro held up one hand at shoulder height, the other thrust into his pocket.

“Please don’t.”

“Since this service began operation, you’ve been using every waking moment between classes to drive yourself further into this world. You’ve reached the status of legend as the ultimate solo player, and even the elite players consider you something of a myth. You did this all without spending a cent, and you’re proud of that.”

Kirihito said nothing. He glared back at Ichiro, not even trying to hide his hostility now.

“Then, today, you met me. I’ve been playing Narrow Fantasy Online for a mere week. You see a person approaching your level through repeated microtransactions, and you feel slightly threatened. That’s more or less the situation, correct? Or perhaps it’s just my imagination.”

Kirihito didn’t respond, but the emotion in his gaze seemed to affirm Ichiro’s theory.

Ichiro shrugged with just the one arm. “The truth is, I’m the same way.”

“What do you mean?”

“I thought I was the strongest and most impressive, but it’s possible you may be just a bit stronger than I am. I simply can’t take it. Ah, but don’t tell anyone. I’m swallowing my pride to make this confession,” Ichiro added quickly.

The truth was, he hadn’t intended to say any of this.

King Kirihito could be Sera Kiryu’s avatar, Felicia’s friend. But Ichiro hadn’t even looked at Felicia during this time. King Kirihito had all of his attention.

He had found something simmering beneath Kirihito’s icy surface, and once he’d realized it was the same thing that was sleeping inside him, he could no longer stop himself. Their eyes remained locked: Ichiro’s face smiling, King Kirihito’s scowling.

There was a quiet passion in Ichiro’s smile. He had always possessed a natural confidence, a conceit, that he was the best at anything. Behind it was the need to always maintain superiority, even on someone else’s home ground. That need was the source of his cold smile.

Their gazes crossed. There was a tension in the air even greater than that inspired by the battle with the Zombie Legions. A tension as fragile as finely-spun glass.

There was a fire in their hearts, the first burning embers of a need to fight. For the sake of both of their prides, they would be willing to settle things here and now, even if it left one of those prides broken.

Such a feeling could not be contained for long. It was only a matter of time before it exploded...

Or so they thought.

“A-Amazing!” An awed voice broke through the sparks flying between the two.

It was Kirihito (Leader), interposing himself as thoroughly as if he’d drawn the sword on his hip and cut it between the two men. His eyes shone boyishly.

“Amazing... You’re amazing, King Kirihito! You really are the real thing!”

The other Kirihito looked taken aback. “Um... King Kirihito? You mean me?”

“You didn’t know? It’s what pretty much everyone calls you.”

“So lame...” King Kirihito didn’t seem to like the nickname.

“Kirihito? ...No, not you. I mean Leader Kirihito. It’s true that King was amazing, but was I not also amazing?” Ichiro asked.

“You’re pretty amazing, Mr. Tsuwabuki. But King is so amazing!”

“...Well, I suppose you’re entitled to your opinion.” In addition to the bitterness of nearly breaking his own rules, a note of dissatisfaction floated up in Ichiro’s voice.

The realization they wouldn’t be able to cross blades just yet filled Ichiro with a simultaneous sense of relief and disappointment. King Kirihito was looking like he felt cut off at the knees, as well.

With a somewhat deflated expression, Ichiro pulled a fatigue recovery potion out of his inventory and tossed it in King’s direction.

“Anyway, you can have this. I know you don’t like virtual goods, but think of it as a show of goodwill from me to you.”

“Thanks. And I don’t dislike virtual goods. I think I just don’t like you.”

“I hear that quite often,” Ichiro said with a wry smile. He then cast a glance at Felicia, who had been silent the whole time.

Her expression was severe. Ichiro never knew that Felicia’s — or Asuha Tsuwabuki’s — face could make such an expression. It greatly resembled anger. She had been glaring at King Kirihito from a slight distance away, but then strode up to him, suddenly and forcefully.

The word “uh-oh” — not usually a part of Ichiro’s vocabulary — entered his mind in that moment.

“As a matter of fact, old man, that Tsuwabuki name of yours—” King’s attempt to speak as he picked up the recovery potion was interrupted as Felicia slapped him across the face.

A small “1” damage visual appeared over King’s head.

“You’re Kiryu, aren’t you?” she asked sharply.

King Kirihito’s eyes opened wide as he stared at her dumbfounded, one hand on his cheek. The slap likely hadn’t hurt — even if it had, the damage done was very slight — yet King acted as though there was a lingering sting. He spoke up hoarsely.

“Tsuwabuki?”

“I was worried about you! What were you thinking?” Felicia’s voice was trembling. “Do you think all this posing and roleplaying makes you cool? Is that why you retreated into the game?”

“Hey, now.” Ichiro clamped a hand over Felicia’s mouth. “As Sakurako-san says, people do have sensitive areas that should not be touched upon...”

“Mmmgh!”

King had done nothing but stare blankly after having his cheek struck, but now he clicked his tongue and glared at Felicia. “I knew you wouldn’t understand, Tsuwabuki.”

“You...!” she cried.

The words from King — rather, Sera Kiryu — sounded like provocation, but there was a sense of self-recrimination in them, as well. “That’s fine. It’s good for you to be this way, Tsuwabuki. It’s one of the things I like about you. But...” He took in a breath, looking at Felicia with a complicated mix of emotions.

“But you didn’t have to come all the way into my world just to criticize me!”

With that, King ran off, coat fluttering behind him.

His incredible agility stat made it unlikely that any of the players currently present could catch up with him. As the footsteps faded into silence in the dim light of the dungeon hall, Kirihito (Leader) spoke up gravely.

“Miss Felicia, that wasn’t nice.”

“Oh, come on! I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true!” Felicia snapped back at him. “This whole thing is just escapism! You think so too, right, Itchy?”

“I’m not so sure,” he answered, sounding more cautious than he’d really intended. “That may be true, or it may not. Let’s return to the surface. If we don’t log out soon, we’re going to miss dinner.”

“Oh, come on...” Felicia murmured with dissatisfaction, her last words before they left the Forgotten Catacombs.