“Tsk...” King Kirihito got up again quickly. He readied his weapon again and was beginning to approach guardedly when Ichiro spoke up.

“Right.” Ichiro readied his fists again. “I’ve decided on what I’m going to do. What about you, King?”

“Don’t ask me,” King said with a smile.

Ichiro dashed along the ground again, but the move he executed with his Monetary Blade was neither Breaker nor Strash. He focused power in his open hand, and unleashed the fire-based attack spell, Sword of Surt.

This hellfire sword, wielded by the guardian of the Kingdom of Flame, went far beyond low-level or even mid-level magic. Its flames could roast a horde of undead monsters in a single blast. Even its graphic visual far outstripped other high-level spells in terms of flashiness.

And with that, his objective was clear.

The impressive fire spell that Ichiro had unleashed was not intended to deal damage at all. It was just to distract him. The flashy visual diverted a lot of power from the image processor. Of course, if such a thing were enough to cripple him, he wouldn’t have the reputation he did... but it would be a way to slow his reaction time.

Then, a beat later... the Breaker came!

Kirihito tore through the flame graphic and countered yet again with Bash!

The hits landed simultaneously. The numbers canceled each other out, leaving some numbness in each of their arms. In the brief time it took Ichiro to land, he opened up config and called up another Monetary Blade.

“You’ve still got more?” Kirihito groaned.

“I have as many as I need,” Ichiro replied smoothly.

Then they rushed at each other for another clash.

Blasts of air, streaks of light, roars of sound. Shattering fire, dancing lightning. And wherever the two shockwaves collided, no objects would be permitted existence. It was an extraordinary sight. It seemed unreal...

Of course, it wasn’t real. That was a fact. But would any of those standing there, watching those two avatars locked in joyous combat, really agree? The spectacle was nothing but an illusion, a mirage created by lines of code. This was a truth that most people would readily acknowledge. But deep down in their hearts, would they really agree?

The two greatest players on the Asgard Continent were colliding. Everyone was watching with bated breath.

One, the Human Fighter, Kirihito.

The other, the Dragonet Magi-Fencer, Ichiro Tsuwabuki.

The battle had been raging for quite some time now. Each had chipped the other’s life bar down to nearly nothing, and the fatigue mounting on both sides was starting to confer negative modifiers and slightly laggy motion patterns on each. Even so, neither’s confidence had dimmed.

King Kirihito’s strike sent Ichiro’s Monetary Blade flying, but the audience gasped as Ichiro opened up the menu screen and, with smooth motions, called forth yet another. As always, he bought as easily as he breathed; perhaps the gasps were really ones of envy.

“Pretty bourgeois...” said Kirihito. If there was any player who could speak honestly what was on his mind, it was him.

That was what Ichiro had thought when the boy had politely explained the reason why he used only Bash. That was why the Dragonet man had so quickly lashed out with the flashy visual of Sword of Surt as a smokescreen. The image processor of the Cocoon that Ichiro was using could easily process that effect.

It was things like these that made rich people so disagreeable.

“Nonsense,” Ichiro said. “It is true that I have a bit more money than you, but do you have a problem with that?”

Kirihito raised an eyebrow in response. “Nah, not really.”

“I thought not.”

This had been their understanding from the start.

Ichiro’s power came from the money he had earned through his own talents, poured into the game.

King Kirihito’s came from his player’s inborn talent and lengthy time investment.

Each had, in their own way, earned the game’s form of “strength,” and though the means differed, they had come to the same end. The only difference was the way that they invested their talents. Each was applying his own ability in his own way to compete to become the strongest on the Asgard Continent.

Ichiro selected “Config” from his open menu window, switched to the microtransactions menu with a practiced motion, and bought a number of items whose price would make the average person swoon.

The sudden influx of new items caused consumables to overflow from his inventory and crash to the ground. Potions bottles bumped into each other, but neither cracked nor broke apart. The items piled high, creating a clinking mountain of glass. The sight left even King Kirihito dumbstruck.

“Hey, old man, ain’t you gonna use those potions? You shouldn’t waste ’em.”

“Nonsense. I decide what’s waste and what’s not. This mountain of potions is not wasted... Not if I use them to beat you.”

Felicia couldn’t hide her groan at watching Ichiro’s shameless wastefulness. “This is disgusting, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Kirihito (Leader) agreed, nodding.

It was an expensive investment for a cheap provocation. As they watched, they could see the potions continue to pile up behind Ichiro, higher and higher. It was a sight to make an Alchemist — the class that spent day in and day out creating potions — go mad.

“I believe Mr. Tsuwabuki must have considerable respect for King,” Kirihito (Leader) murmured with an expert’s air. “After all is said and done, he is his polar opposite. Still, summoning all those potions there... what on earth is he thinking?”

But, Felicia thought, he’s right.

Sera Kiryu had been dealt a meager hand in life, yet was fighting to the utmost with that limited selection of cards. By comparison, Ichiro Tsuwabuki had been dealt a large hand, and could fight while holding many other cards in reserve — a quality that, ironically, meant that he could never hope to imitate Sera’s way of doing things. Maybe he really did respect her friend, and this was just a sign of that.

But it was still disgusting.

The atmosphere among all those assembled — both the fighters and the spectators — was stretched taut. Kirihito adjusted his grip on his sword and held it at eye level, glaring at Ichiro.

Stroganoff whispered as he gazed at the two, “Looks like they finally intend to finish it.”

It seemed plausible. Their HP and fatigue bars were nearing their limit. As they’d continued trading blows and slinging mud at each other, the result had become less certain. A single hit might finish it on either side.

Ichiro seemed to be thinking the same thing. He charged up magic power in one hand, and held his Monetary Blade in a reverse grip in the other.

Were they simply going to hit each other with all the power they had?

Given the way King Kirihito had constantly blocked the Monetary Blade Breaker, that would put Ichiro at a slight disadvantage. But the young heir’s smile did not fade.

An audible gulp rang out among all assembled.

A moment later, something tore through the air.

Kirihito had been the first to charge forward. His speed was incredible. Ichiro was late out of the gate.

Just as the crowd realized he had manipulated something in his inventory, items began dropping around him, one after another. In addition to the contents of the microtransaction packs he’d been buying, Monetary Swords came raining down from the sky. Ichiro then released the magic he had been charging up into the ground. There was a visual of flying rubble.

Kirihito’s movements visibly slowed.

But it wasn’t just Kirihito’s. Nearly everything in the area had slowed down. It was likely that very few of the players assembled knew for sure what was going on. But Felicia thought back on what Amesho had said back in the dungeon...

“VRMMOs are just like mobile games, huh? With lag and slowdown and stuff... Going through that in virtuality is no fun!”

Slowdown.

Yes, this was slowdown.

Having a large number of items pop up, combined with the rendering of the flashy rubble and sand effect, required significant graphics processing that was inflating the data bus and burdening the server. It wasn’t enough to completely lock up the game, but it was more than enough to produce lag.

And what effect would the explosion and the flying rubble and sand have on each warrior’s ability to fight?

Ichiro could see King flying through the sand, the point of his sword slashing through the air, cutting down all in its path.

The moment his opponent had produced all those items, Kirihito had known what he was planning. He’d been more or less expecting something like this. His opponent had seen what he could do, and it was likely that he might see his weakness and how to exploit it. But the way in which he’d done it was utterly outrageous.

Ichiro had dumped all the items to overtax Kirihito’s image processor. There were already a ridiculous number of potions on the field, and more kept coming. Any further graphical burden or inflation of the data bus would produce unavoidable lag.

As sacrilegious as the strategy was, King couldn’t be annoyed — a good thing, as excess emotion would just increase the data bus. He would navigate his way through the bps and FLOPS, as though threading a needle.

Clutching the hilt of his straight blade, King took a step forward from his swiftest stance. In the same instant, Ichiro hit the ground with his magic blast.

Sand and rubble went flying. The showy explosion visual ate up the last of his remaining memory at once. The time it took for the system to send electric signals to the brain was fatally slowed. The frame rate of the scenery around him became choppy, and it became hard to precisely perceive his opponent.

The lag made his opponent appear to move in slow motion, but he knew that wasn’t really the case. The battle was continuing in real time, and since the environment was rendering perfectly on Ichiro’s side, it was probably King whose actions were being easily anticipated.

In other words, when he perceived Ichiro readying his sword for a Breaker after completing the spell Arts, that had probably happened a few milliseconds ago.

Even if he trusted in his quantum connection and tried to send image data, timing the Bash to hit his target just before impact detection would be close to impossible. All he could do was predict his opponent’s attack path based on his previous habits and send an image of dodging in that instant.

The image processor slowdown was still going. The question of when to evade was basically gambling.

But Kirihito took the bet. He imagined moving his immobile body. In his slowed-down time, he imagined dodging his opponent’s strike, then using Bash to break his opponent’s Monetary Blade.

Then suddenly, the world around him sped up, making up for the slowdown time as it caught up to the present. Electronic signals flooded into Kirihito’s brain.

A cloud of sand and a flash of light. Piercing through it was Ichiro, his new Monetary Blade in hand, unleashing another Breaker.

The slash scraped his cheek. The scenario Kirihito had imagined now played out in flesh.

Ichiro’s eyes narrowed.

Bash! The rising strike broke Ichiro’s sword and send it flying back. The timing of his experiences were catching up with reality. The broken tip went flying off into the sand cloud. Kirihito took a two-handed grip on his sword once more.

He had gambled... and won! Now, a counter with two Bashes in a row. A single overhead blow would—

But as he put his imagination into motion...

“...hrk!”

...Ichiro abruptly pivoted and thrust a fist straight at him.

It was a high-level Dragon Claw, the Dragonet bare fist converted into a lethal weapon. The hand reached his throat and then stopped short.

It was millimeters away. Ichiro could stab his windpipe and take off his remaining HP before Kirihito could even try to unleash another Bash. The dust cloud that had whipped up around them settled, revealing the tableau of the two of them, standing there as still as statues.

“Does this mean I lost?” Kirihito said before the eyes of all the onlookers who couldn’t quite tell what had just happened.

“Yes, you lost, and I won,” Ichiro said.

Why hadn’t he simply finished him off? It could have been compassion, drama, or perhaps simply a whim... but his other items aside, King was grateful he wouldn’t have to lose his weapon or armor.

With his usual cool expression, Ichiro withdrew his fist and began placing the items on the ground into his inventory.

I lost, huh?

Kirihito watched Ichiro from behind, quietly letting out the breath he had been holding. The loss brought with it no sense of humiliation or shame. The measures his opponent used had been rather cheap, but somehow, he didn’t find that it cheapened his loss. Next time, he would just have to train so that he could find a route to victory, even during slowdown.

Was this what was known as the exhilaration of loss? He’d never thought of himself as the sporting type...

The moods among the crowd ran the gamut.

The players who had lost a lot of money in the pool were grousing and ripping up their tickets in anger. It was hard to feel pity for them, though, and King didn’t feel sorry at all. The players who had bet on Ichiro were taking their winnings, looking quite pleased with themselves.

One girl was standing in the crowd, looking at King Kirihito. He turned towards the meddlesome girl and raised a hand to her in greeting. It was as if he was saying, silently, “Hey, I’m okay.”

“I was expecting that to be easier, though,” Ichiro murmured.

“Then you underestimated me, old man.” Kirihito shot back. But then, he’d still lost, so he couldn’t sound too high-and-mighty.

“Well, when shall we have the next round?” Ichiro asked.

“Hmm?” King asked.

Having finished recovering his items, Ichiro threw a large number of potions at King, one hand still in his pocket. King, having lost most of his HP, accepted the potions gladly.

“Don’t you want to schedule a rematch?” Ichiro asked.

“Oh, that?”

Was he already thinking about that? The old man certainly worked fast...

“I do want revenge, but I don’t know about agreeing to something like that. Why don’t we just see how we both feel the next time we meet?” Kirihito asked. That was how he really felt.

Ichiro just nodded in understanding, and didn’t say any more on the subject.

With an empty potion bottle in hand, Kirihito looked up at the sky. It had been a long time since he’d admitted to losing. For so long, the game had been nothing but a tool to help him face the real world. The feeling of not wanting to lose again spurred him on to true strength. That motive hadn’t changed, he was sure.

He had assumed that defeat would just be a pathetic end, but for some reason, he didn’t feel that way now. It was indeed frustrating, and he wanted to pound the Dragonet into the ground the next chance he had... but there was none of that emotion, like black smoky flame, that Kirihito had previously felt towards “the enemy.”

Perhaps it was a sign of maturation.

The miasma had lifted, and the sky above the Necrolands was clear and blue.