The recoil in my elbow and shoulder was much lighter than I expected, and two of the shots landed on Uemaru’s shoulder and side within the transparent circle. The other three disappeared into the grass behind him, but the two that hit must have broken through his armor to do damage. The HP gauge in the upper right lost a bit of ground. Uemaru stumbled and stopped for just a moment.

That was all I needed.

The instant I was within sword range, I twisted myself to the right—

And launched myself off the virtual ground with all the added velocity of my sprint, slamming the enemy directly in the chest with what would have been called a Vorpal Strike back in SAO.

The blade of light easily sank into his chest up to the hilt, roaring and rattling like a jet engine. For an instant, I felt all of that energy squirming around in his body without an outlet.

The next moment, a cone of ferocious light and sound erupted from my right hand, and the enemy’s body turned into countless tiny polygons, expanding into nothingness.

I slowly got to my feet, feeling the lasting numbness of battle in every inch of my body. Out of habit, I waved the lightsword back and forth and nearly stashed it over my back until I came to my senses and quickly shut it off.

Only when the sword hilt was clicked onto the snap ring on my waist and the handgun was back in its holster could I let out the breath I’d been holding. Up in the evening sky, a giant message of congratulations was displayed over the hanging clouds.

Somehow, I’d won my first-round match. The fact that I could defend against the bullets with my lightsword was a very good sign. But that kind of high-speed sword work required phenomenal concentration, and I could feel my nerves popping and smoking.

Four more of these exhausting battles?

I slumped my shoulders as the blue teleportation effect swallowed my body. The lonely whistling of the wind died away, to eventually be replaced by the bustling noise of the crowded waiting area.

Apparently I had been teleported back to the same box seat against the wall. I looked left and right, but neither Sinon nor Spiegel was present. Sinon was probably still in a battle, but I couldn’t help but be curious where her male acquaintance had gone. I eventually spotted a familiar-looking urban camo closer to the center of the dome. He hadn’t noticed my return, and was watching the monitor hanging from the ceiling with great interest.

I looked up to see that the giant screen, which had previously been running the pretournament countdown, was now displaying a number of battles at once. They were showing off players blasting rifles and pistols in desert, jungle and ruin settings with all the style and impact of an action movie.

Most likely, these were only the ongoing battle scenes out of the hundreds of matches happening concurrently. When the occasional player took too much fire and burst into pieces, the crowd watching from the floor gave a great cheer.

I took a few steps forward, hoping to see if I could get a glimpse of Sinon in action. I started checking each one in order from the upper left corner, but the camera work was so frantic that it was nearly impossible to tell them apart. It seemed like a better idea to concentrate on finding her distinguishing light blue hair.

Which is why my heart nearly stopped when someone abruptly spoke into my right ear. It was as if the low, raspy, metallic voice was bypassing my eardrum to go straight to the sensory center of my brain.

“Are you, the real thing?”

“…?!”

I jumped back and turned around out of sheer instinct.

The first thought that crossed my mind was Ghost.

Not a real ghost, of course. Around the sixty-fifth floor of Aincrad, which was themed after old castle ruins, there were common ghost-type enemies. They were covered with tattered dark gray cloaks, the hoods pulled low over absolute darkness except for faintly glowing red eyes.

The person standing before me in the dim light of the dome was extremely similar in appearance to those ghosts. My unconscious reaction was to leap backward and draw my sword. The urge was so strong that I couldn’t prevent my hand from twitching.

With a faint grunt, I looked down at his feet. Through the scraps of the ripped cloak, I could barely make out the tips of faded, grungy boots.

This was a player, not a ghost. Recognizing that obvious fact, I let out a slow breath. Upon closer examination, the red eyes weren’t little glowing hellfires, but simply lenses within the black goggles that covered his entire face. Irritated at both my amateur reaction and his lack of manners in accosting another player at point-blank range, I didn’t feel in the mood to be polite.

“What do you mean, ‘real thing’? Who are you?”

But the gray-cloaked player did not name himself, and took another step forward to close the distance again. I didn’t back away this time, staring right back at the robotic gaze from just eight inches away.

His unpleasant voice, obviously affected by some kind of voice modulator, rasped again.

“I saw, your match. You used, a sword.”

“Y…yeah. It’s not against the rules,” I replied. The AmuSphere unhelpfully re-created the unease I was feeling, causing my voice to crack. The gray cloak approached even closer, as if recognizing that weakness.

The next statement came so quietly that I could barely hear it without concentrating, even at that distance.

“I’ll ask, again. Are you, the real thing?”

Before I even had time to process and understand his question, a bolt of lightning struck my brain out of the blue, stopping me still.

I know him!!