Chapter 70 - The Aftermath

They were behaving strangely. Well, stranger than normal. Kizmel had yet to fully understand her human companions, and she doubted she ever will. But she could tell something was weighing on their minds, although they still greeted her with smiles when they met on the 6th floor.

Their progress was impressive. The guardians of Aincrad's floors had killed countless elves over the ages, but the weird humans who had one day appeared in the castle were unstoppable. In the less than two months she had known them, they had slain three floor guardians. It was truly a pity she couldn't fight alongside them in what were surely battles worthy of being told around fires for centuries to come. However, her duties as a Royal Knight of Lyusula kept her busy.

Thinking of the newest quest her queen had bestowed her, Kizmel sneaked another glance at her companions. She was to investigate the veracity of some worrying reports they had received, claiming that the fallen elves were congregating in alarming numbers on this floor. For that, she had been offered command of a battalion of the finest Lyusula had to offer. Kizmel had declined.

When she first heard the contents of her mission, the dark elf's mind immediately shot to Reaver's Requiem. She had only known them for a short period of time, but there was no one she would rather have her back.

So that was how she found herself leading all ten of the humans through the jungle of the 6th floor, towards the tree dwellings their spies said the fallen elves were using as their headquarters.

"Awooo!"

Hearing the howl, Kizmel halted. She gestured for her friends to do the same. Kirito and Asuna crouched next to her, the others a little behind. From the bushes ahead of them, a large gray creature appeared. Kizmel affectionately scratched Feredir's head.

"Good job, friend."

Her brother-in-law's previous partner rubbed against her contentedly. Kizmel patted him one last time, then signaled to the Reavers. Feredir indicated there were enemies ahead.

"How many?"

The dark elf shrugged, an action she had learned from the humans, and was growing founder of each passing day. Shrugging was useful. It could transmit many meanings, without actually needing to say a word.

"I do not know. My connection with Feredir isn't as strong as Locke's was. But there are fallen elves ahead."

Kizmel didn't ask if they were ready, for she knew the answer. She just walked out, sword in hand.

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Kizmel was a welcome addition to their group. Drifter hadn't realized how much he missed the dark elf's presence until they finally met her again. The original six felt much the same.

Now, the spearman was starting to hope Kizmel hadn't been kidding when she said she would join Reaver's Requiem after her assignments - read, the << Elf War >> campaign - were completed.

Watching the knight deftly slash the throat of a << Fallen Elf Scout >>, he realized that no, it wasn't simply because she was a good fighter, though that certainly impacted his judgment. But it was more because she was Kizmel. She was a friend. NPC? The Reavers hadn't thought of her like that for weeks.

Another enemy charged at him, and Drifter spun to meet him. A downward cut was deflected away with the tip of his spear, and he stabbed. The fallen elf grunted as a hole, not even five centimeters wide but twice as deep, was left on his chest. And Drifter wasn't done. Pulling back his spear, he passed it over his shoulder, supporting the shaft with his left arm, before swinging like a pendulum. Unprepared, the << Fallen Elf Scout >> was caught on the legs, just below his knees, and fell like a chopped tree. Without any hesitation, Drifter raised his spear above his head and stabbed down twice with << Double Tap >>, piercing the mob right in the mouth. And, to finish it all off, a << Martial Arts: Hiza >> to the face just as the fallen elf was scrambling to get up.

Sometimes, Drifter found it quite uncanny just how fluidly he could complete this - and others - sets of motion. He was just a twenty-year-old man who had never touched a weapon until three months ago. He still had two years of university to go through. He had just been fired and was still looking for a job.

But he was also Drifter, spearman and vice-guild leader of Reaver's Requiem. A Clearer and a Frontliner. And he would never be the same again.

It wasn't just skills. No, it was much more than that. It was muscle memory, or whatever passed by it in SAO. It was instinct, instilled into him by hundreds of life-and-death battles. Even after he left Aincrad, he would still have all that. He would still know how to fight. How to use a spear. How to kill. And he would never be the same again.

Drifter tried not to think too much about that.

A second << Fallen Elf Scout >> attacked him. Or was it the third, fourth, fifth? He didn't know. He had stopped counting. Even after several days, he couldn't take his mind off what happened. Of Morte. Of death. He was just glad there were mobs he could stab and use as an output for his anger at the player, and at himself for being weak-minded.

A << Snake Bite >> met the charging enemy, all the joints in his limbs working together to bypass the small round shield he put up. Fingers, wrist, elbows, shoulders, and waist, all twisting and turning in different directions, to make the spear almost bend and swerve, dodging the shield to pierce the elf's left shoulder.

Most of it was just the system at work, guiding his virtual body through the correct motions of the skill. But then Drifter pulled back his spear for just a mere moment before shooting it forward again. Another Snake Bite caught the mob on the right side of his body, right below the ribs. Only, this time it was not a skill. It was Drifter. All Drifter.

"Drifter, switch!"

He didn't stop. As the << Fallen Elf Scout >> swung his sword, Drifter dove in and tackled the mob, the weapon grazing his armor but doing nothing. An elbow - not a skill, just a normal hit - struck the fallen elf in the face, and he stumbled to the left. And right into Merida's greatsword.

Had it been real life, the mob would have been torn in half. As it was, he still lost a third of his already low HP. Merida saw to it that what little remained disappeared with a second overhead swing. The Reaver stood amidst the fluttering shards of the << Fallen Elf Scout >> and raised an eyebrow at Drifter.

"That was an interesting switch."

The spearman shrugged - like Kizmel had learned, it was a very useful action.

"It worked."

"It sure did. Seems like the others are almost finished too. Break?"

Drifter looked around. Kizmel, Nautilus, Liz, and Yuna were teaming up to slay two heavily wounded fallen elves. Kirito, Asuna, Yuuki, and Ran were also close to ending their group of mobs. Sinon, who had been supporting Drifter and Merida, was taking potshots at the mobs whenever an opening appealed. He nodded.

"Break."

The last mob was killed by Feredir in the short span of time it took Drifter to pull out the food from the shared guild inventory. It was a mixture of health-recovering food sold by the NPCs, and Asuna's latest attempt at cold fish sandwiches, made with meat from 4th floor mobs. While the effects weren't as good as the food NPCs sold, they were a lot tastier.

"Hmm... You made this, Asuna? It's really good!"

The fencer blushed at Kizmel's praise. The dark elf had yet to taste Asuna's cooking. Until now.

"Thanks, Kizmel, but it's really not that good. I've got a lot to learn still... Ouch! What was that for, Yuna?!"

"Take praise where it's deserved, Asuna. They are really tasty."

The songstress had reached over Yuuki to smack Asuna on the back of the head. The fencer pouted, and then blushed again.

"Right. Thanks. But I was being serious when I said I still have a lot to learn. My << Cooking >> is just at 350. And I haven't figured out how to make mayonnaise or soy sauce yet."

"What?! You are trying to create mayo?!"

Everyone stared agape at Asuna, and Kirito shouted before flushing and apologizing to a frowning Asuna. Drifter stared at the fencer, and then chuckled. Of course she was trying to create sauces. While Asuna didn't live SAO like Kirito did, she was probably the closest. She and Yuuki.

"Pardon me, but what are these mayonnaise and soy sauce you speak of?"

Kizmel raised a hand and tilted her head curiously.

"They are condiments from where we are from, Kizmel. You can put them on basically every type of food. Well, not every type, some combinations are just disgusting, but you have to try..."

Liz, Kirito, and, surprisingly, Nautilus, went on trying to explain to a confused dark elf the wonders of mayo and soy sauce. The spearman shook his head and reclined against a fallen trunk. He didn't close his eyes. Not in the wilderness. But this bit of levity helped disperse some of the dark clouds in his mind.

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Kibaou was drinking. Heavily. It had been two days since Morte betrayed them. Two days since someone under his command, someone he chose, killed two of his own.

Everyone had yelled at him. Accused him. He, who spent months defaming the beater. Who spent every awake moment saying the boy was a selfish, ungrateful little bastard. But in the end, it was from his guild that the traitor came.

So Kibaou was drinking. It was only for the 30 minutes the 'drunk' status effect was on, but he forgot everything. He forgot the - admittedly, though begrudgingly, deserved - tongue-lashing he received from Drifter. He forgot Morte attacking the info-broker. He forgot one of his subordinates murdering people and laughing. He forgot...

Nothing. He forgot nothing. It was all still there. And it would always be.

"Grr!"

Snarling, Kibaou threw the bottle in his hand at the wall. The container shattered, and [ Immortal Object ] message appeared from the inn's wall.

He would never forget. And he shouldn't.

Equipping his sword and buckler, Kibaou kicked the door open and stormed out of his room. Morte was going to pay. And that was a promise.

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A week. Seven days. That was how long it took the players to understand that Morte was not behind every corner ready to murder them. It was how long it took for clearers and frontliners to get back to their jobs. And when they did, it wasn't timidly. It wasn't hesitantly. It was ferocious.

Reaver's Requiem weren't the only ones who felt angry. They weren't the only ones who chose to continue fighting. They all did. And they fought.

On the eighth day, the labyrinth had been found. On the eleventh, it was mapped. On the twelfth the Reavers completed the << Elf War >> campaign on this floor and bid farewell to Kizmel. The Assault Team waited for them. And on the thirteenth... On the thirteenth day, they fought the floor boss. They brought it down.

And the world watched. Not cowards, scared of their own shadows. Not broken warriors, terrified of taking a step forward, into the unknown. The world watched. And they saw frontliners.

Morte had won once. He had beaten them. But he had not shattered them. For they were frontliners, and no one could stop them.