As usual, cats and children noticed him first.
A striped tom cat sleeping on a sun-warmed stack of wood, shuddered, raised his round head, pulled back his ears and hissed, and bolted off into the nettles.
A three-year-old, Dragomir, fisherman Trigla's son, who was sitting on the hot's threshold doing his best to make dirtier an already dirty shirt, started to scream as he fixed his tearful eyes on the passing rider.
The witcher rode slowly, without trying to overtake the hay cart obstructing the road. A laden donkey trotted behind him, stretching its neck and constantly pulling on the cord tied to the Witcher's pommel tight.
In addition to the usual bags, the long-eared animal was lugging a large shape, wrapped in a saddlecloth, on its back. The grey-white flanks of the ass were covered with black streaks of dried blood.
The man was not old, but his hair was almost entirely white. Beneath his coat, he wore a worn leather jerkin laced up at the neck and shoulders. As he took off his coat, those around him noticed he carried a sword, not something unusual in itself, nearly everyone in Aincrad carried a weapon, but no one carried two swords strapped to their back, as if it were a bow or a quiver.
The stranger did not sit at the inn's table with the few other guests. He remained standing at the counter, piercing the innkeeper with his gaze.
"How much for the Kikimora?" the player asked the innkeep.
"Dunno, have ta talk to the castellan" replied the balding man, whom was perhaps in his forties. His eyes didn't even leave the tankard he was cleaning
The player brought up his menu and paid for a drink, which the NPC provided, though there was clear disdain.
He drew from the tankard. "We'll give you a hand" a pockmarked man hissed.
He knocked the tankard from the stranger's hand and simultaneously grabbed him by the shoulder, dug his fingers into the leather strap which ran diagonally across the outrider's chest. One of the men behind him raised a fist to strike.
The outsider curled up on the spot, throwing the pockmarked man off balance. He drew the upper left sword that hissed in its sheath and glistened briefly in the dim light.
The place seethed.
There was a scream, and one of the few remaining customers tumbled toward the exit. A chair fell with a crash and earthenware smacked hollowly against the floor. The innkeeper, his lips trembling, looked at the horribly slashed face of the pocked man, who, clinging with his fingers to the edge of the counter was slowly sinking from sight.
The other two's bodies had already burst into shards of digital glass.
A woman's hysterical scream vibrated in the air, piercing the ears as the innkeeper shuddered, caught his breath, and vomited.
The stranger retreated toward the wall, tense and alert. He held the sword in both hands, sweeping the blade through the air. No one moved. Terror, like cold mud, was clear on their faces, paralyzing limbs and blocking throats.
Three guards rushed into the tavern with thuds and clangs. They must have been close by. They had truncheons wound with leather straps at the ready, but at the sight of the corpses, drew their swords. The player pressed his back against the wall and, with his left hand, pulled a dagger from his boot.
"Throw that down!" one of the guards yelled with a trembling voice, "Throw that down you thug, you're coming with us!". A second guard kicked aside the table between himself and the player. "Go get the men, Treska!" he shouted to the third guard, who had stayed closer to the door.
"No need" said the stranger, lowering his sword.
"I'll come by myself".
"You'll go, you son of a bitch, on the end of a rope" yelled the trembling guard.
"Throw that sword down or I'll smash your head in" the first repeated.
The Witcher straightened. He quickly pinned his blade under his left arm and with his right hand raised toward the guards, swiftly drew a complicated sign in the air. The clout nails which studded his tunic from his wrists to elbow flashed. The guards drew back, shielding their faces with their arms. One of the customers sprang up while another darted to the door. The woman screamed again, wild and ear-splitting.
"I'll come by myself" repeated the player in his resounding, metallic voice. "And the three of you will go in front of me. Take me to the castellan, I don't know the way".
"Yes, sir" mumbled the guard, dropping his head. He made towards the exit, looking around tentatively. The other two guards followed him out backward, hastily.
The stranger followed in their tracks, sheathing his sword and dagger. As they passed the tables, the remaining customers hid their faces from the dangerous stranger.
As soon as the stranger stepped out the door, a message flashed up in front of him. Pressing the read button, his eyes flew across the words.
'Thank you for trying the demo quest for the SAO-Witcher partnership. We hope you enjoy the launch and exclusive content'.
"Fuckin' EA" the man muttered as his surroundings changed. The inn he had just left became brighter, and the bodies inside disappeared. The guards began going about their business once again.
The town was sparse. Very few people, players or NPCs, were present. The large lake that had been hidden by mist before was now visible beneath the sun.
'Better log out for the day' thought the player as he saw the time.
Swiping two fingers through the air in a downward motion caused five menus to appear. He tapped on the final one and began logging himself off.
Light surrounded the player as his senses were transported. His eyes, covered by protective material, opened to the roof of a large house.
In his room was very few items. A work desk was in the corner with an alarm hanging on the wall that displayed the time and date on a simple piece of glass. A TV resided at the other end of the room, with a few systems connected to it.
Rolling onto his feet, the boy, perhaps eighteen years of age, removed the VR device from his head and allowed brunette hair to fall in front of his eyes and feet to touch the floor. A ping came from his phone and he saw that two messages had come through.
The first was from his father. It read 'Had to work late. Leave me a message about the demo and I'll see if anything needs changing'.
The boy's father was Akihiko Kayaba. Creator of Sword Art Online and NerveGear. The only parent he had ever known.
'It was great. The freedom of movement is a definite welcome but other players might have a problem without the sword skills' was the teen's reply.
The teen smiled his background once he had sent the message. It was of a fishing trip he and his father had taken eight years ago. He was smiling at the camera while holding a large roach, with his father behind him, hand on his shoulder and a proud look on his face.
The teen left his room and went downstairs to find some food.
The fridge was barren. A simple block of cheese was wrapped in cling film and placed at the top shelf. The cupboards didn't have much in them either. Half a loaf of bread was present and some chips.
Taking the bread and the cheese, the teen began making cheese on toast. His house was an expensive one. It came equipped with an oven and grill, which came in handy with his current meal.
A beeping came from his phone. The caller ID displayed the name Kirito.
Hitting the answer button, a static image of castle Aincrad came up.
"Hey man" the teen called out as he flipped the bread over.
"Hey Andrei, how was the demo?" came a high-pitched voice from the phone.
"Pretty good, you wouldn't like it though" he replied.
"Why's that?" Kirito asked.
"You have to put some actual effort in"
There was a moment of silence, before Kirito's chuckles through the speaker. "You jerk" he replied.
Sitting down at the table, I looked at the calendar in my room. It showed a date marked three months away, simply labelled "launch".
After two, the game's beta would end and then launch the next month.
"A whole month, I can do that"