That afternoon, Caenor paid a discreet visit to Lindarth on the 48th floor, making sure to use the alleyways and the most sparsely-populated roads on his way there.

There wasn't any particular need to be secretive about visiting the person who had somehow become his go-to for his smithing and crafting requests. But the more paranoid and anxious part of him couldn't help but imagine the consequences of Laughing Coffin, having possibly learned of his team's mission, now seeking to go after him and everyone he knew – which included the pink-haired blacksmith who now stood in front of him, smiling broadly as she rapped the desk in front of her.

"The armor you wanted is ready," Lisbeth said. "Try it on."

Caenor took the item Lisbeth had handed him and placed it in his inventory, pulling out its information. "This is exactly what I needed," he said as he perused the armor's details.

With a tap, he equipped the new armor onto himself. At once, his standard Knights of the Blood uniform glowed and sparkled until it had been absorbed into the light, dissipating into the blinding silhouette. When the light faded, he was clad in what at first glance looked like a slimmed-down, default version of his original garb, with a few of the extra ornaments and fancy trims removed. At a distance, he would be indistinguishable from any other guild lackey. However, a closer look revealed the innovation behind the veneer of normalcy: streams of linked chains coiling around his arms and upper body, hidden behind the white and red cloth, running up and down the sleeves and through the rest of the robe, stretching down to his knees.

The steel chainmail would not survive a heavy blow from a boss or large monster, but it would do just fine against the relatively light swings of a sword or some other human weapon. In other words, it was the perfect counterbalance against player killers.

"I also have the three other standard chainmail sets that you requested," Lisbeth added, manifesting the extra armor onto the table and spreading them out. "They're thin enough to fit under most cloth or leather armor, but should also be able to withstand a lot of abuse. Judging from what you've told me about your teammates, I separated the sleeve sections from the body sections so they'll be able to use their full range of arm motion. I did the same for your armor as well."

"Thank you so much, Lisbeth… Liz." Caenor's relief was evident on his face, and Lisbeth couldn't help but grin.

"You're the one who got those materials for me – the least I could do was help my new buddy out. You can thank me by getting those teammates of yours to come here for their checkups and weapon or armor purchases."

"You don't have to worry about that. I'm sure they'll be impressed by these." Caenor stored the chainmail sets into his inventory and clicked his menu shut. "Could you check my wrist-blades as well?"

"Didn't I have a look at them last week? I don't think they'll break that easily." Lisbeth sounded hurt at the thought of her craftsmanship being put in question, though Caenor could tell that it was in jest.

"Yeah, but I just want to make sure they're 100% ready. It's going to be a massive week ahead – probably the only week that's really going to matter for our team."

"Sounds like it's all kicking off," Lisbeth noted nonchalantly as she took Caenor's weapons and peered at the menu that popped up before her. "I don't know the details, although Kirito told me a little bit about you guys. Laughing Coffin, huh? They're real pieces of work. I remember Silica told me she got roped in with an orange guild once, before Kirito helped her leave them. That sounded bad enough, so I can only imagine what a guild that actively goes around killing people and looting their belongings would be like."

"They're as dangerous as you think they are, if not several times worse. I had… a run-in with them once."

"You did? I'm glad you made it out in one piece." Lisbeth frowned. "I guess it makes sense that you'd want to go after them, then. But wouldn't it be better just to act as a guard for your guild's raiding parties, or something along those lines? Why go through the trouble of wiping them out completely, especially if you only have four people?"

"Because… because it won't end until they're gone."

"What won't end?"

"The problems that we're facing right now. We…" Caenor trailed off. He wondered how much he ought to tell Lisbeth. He did not feel good about saddling her with any additional worries – though Lisbeth could ostensibly handle herself in a fight, she did not have the same experience with player killers that Silica or Kirito had. But if she ended up being too gullible to tell friend from foe and perishing because Caenor had tried to spare her from the truth – as Kirito had done to his former guild – then he had no choice but to explain himself to her.

"If you're not busy, then I'll tell you what happened to me," he finally said.

Lisbeth put the wrist-blades down and returned his gaze, her eyes softening as she studied his demeanor. "If you don't mind sharing, then I've got all day."

Sleep had never come easily to Caenor, given the velocity with which thoughts typically raced through his head, but tonight it was particularly unforthcoming. Normally, he would lay in bed, blanket tucked up to his chin, in a desperate yet ultimately futile attempt to beckon slumber to claim him. He would then succumb to his insomnia and sit in contemplation, either in his room or in his office, watching as the virtual moon trudged across the sky. Tonight, however, he did not bother with any semblance of sleep.

He was once again in the chamber that had become his second home, checking and double-checking his team's preparations for the days to come. The torches on the wall had become old friends, flickering in affirmation whenever he posed a question to himself out loud, as though telling him that what he was doing was right, that only a thorough cleansing of those who strayed from the path of cooperation and mutual benefit espoused by most of the game's players would suffice.

Sometimes, it felt as though a monster had been awoken within him. It was one who told him that until Laughing Coffin as an entity was erased from this game, he was allowed to think of nothing else; one that forbade him from enjoying the company of others, from savoring life's small delights even within the terrifying pseudo-reality of his virtual prison. The sumptuous holographic food he ate was bland and bereft of flavor; the brilliant views of the game's meticulously-crafted landscape were monochrome and devoid of life.

He would not return to normalcy until his enemies were eliminated, but even when they were, the monster could not be sent back to sleep. The abyss had stared back, and Caenor was forever frozen under its gaze. The difference was ultimately whether he would keep the shadow under wraps, or let it loose and become, in essence, no different from those he sought to defeat.

After hearing his story in the afternoon, Lisbeth had offered perfunctory words of comfort, but she had appeared strangely detached from then on. She was cognizant of the evil that Laughing Coffin represented, but like the vast majority of players, she remained reluctant to entertain the notion of taking the life of another living, breathing person. Despite players' appearances as constructed 3D models – or perhaps especially because they took such forms – the idea that murder in-game would translate to murder in real life was beyond the voluntary acceptance of most of the community, particularly given that most of them were still adolescents or young adults, barely weaned off the innocence of youth.

Lisbeth saw the shadow as Caenor did, but instead of embracing it, she was fearful. It could not be her, just as it could not be anyone who had never experienced their first kill.

All the more reason, then, for Caenor to take that burden on his own shoulders.

Finished with his affairs for the night, he left the office and made his way back down the hallway. However, instead of weaving towards his quarters as he would normally do, his feet, perhaps by some subconscious instruction, led him down the stairs and into the guild's private dungeons.

The cells located in the underground level were rarely used, seeing as it was difficult to imprison or otherwise inhibit the movement of people within the Anti-Criminal Area without applying excessive force and hence triggering the Area's protective effect. Nevertheless, there were loopholes and other means by which undesirables could be kept there… one of which was simply to ask them to voluntarily incarcerate themselves.

The first cell next to the stairway was his destination. He withdrew the key to the cell from his inventory and unlocked it, peering inside. Normally, he would have looked through the window first, but by now he felt little need to worry about a potential escape by the inmate who seemed to reside here quite happily.

The cell's only occupant sat at a rickety old table in the far corner, reading a book by the candlelight. Upon hearing the door open, she looked up and gave Caenor a small smile.

"Evening, Vice-commander," said Wing, putting down the book.

"Hey. Sorry for disturbing you." Caenor sat on the bed, hoping not to make her too nervous. "What were you reading?"

Wing showed him the cover, letting its gold lettering glint in the dim candle glow. "A book on the history of Aincrad. I'm surprised… that they went to such lengths to expand the lore for this game. But that's… what makes this game great. History is important. It gives our lives meaning."

"You like history?"

Wing nodded. "I was… a history major. At university. I was meant to graduate in a few months."

"You're a university student?" Caenor raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "You look a lot younger than that."

A chortle escaped from Wing's lips. "I'm not exactly the biggest person. I used to… get picked on a lot. When I was in high school, I had very few people I could call friends. Most of my time was spent… reading. Watching the world. Avoiding others. The only person I could trust… was my brother."

"He was in the same school as you?"

"Yeah. One year above me." Her face fell, and she clasped her hands together. "He would defend me, drive off the people bullying me, tell them to find something better to do with their time. At home… he would do the cooking when our parents stayed late at work. On the weekends, he would take me out… and get me to enjoy the world outside."

"Sounds like he's a great brother."

"He is. One day, he told me to try Sword Art Online. He… said I would enjoy it. I could find friends here, friends that I would never be able to find in the real world. People would not see me for who I used to be, but who I was, and who I could be. My brother has given me everything… including this game."

"And now Laughing Coffin have him."

Wing's eyebrows twitched, but she said nothing.

"What…" Caenor paused. "What would you do to get your brother back?"

For the first time since he had met Wing, she did not hesitate in her answer.

"Anything."

"Absolutely anything?" Caenor pressed. "Even killing those who have him? Even being forced to murder other players?"

"Anything," she repeated. She swiveled around in her chair, staring directly at him. In the fading, ochre illumination, her eyes were a searing green, her irises roiling as the candlelight danced and fluttered.

Caenor sighed. He had an idea of what he wanted to say next, but now that he was here, he was unsure if he meant to say it at all. He could already imagine his teammates' expressions. Foolish, foolish Caenor, doing something stupid again. Why would they ever follow a leader like him, especially if they were being sent to their deaths? He was not an autocrat – he ought to consult the others for their opinion first, even if he knew they would never agree. Yet the brutal truth of the matter was that he could not wait any longer. He needed more people, people who had that special something.

Motivation, yes. Skill, absolutely. But above all, he needed people who had it in them to kill. And there was no better way to get someone to shove their blade through someone else's heart than to tell them that their present victim had harmed the one they loved dearest.

"What weapon do you use?" he asked.

Wing blinked, clearly surprised by the change in topic. "Daggers."

"How high is your skill in them?"

"The maximum." Wing tilted her head quizzically. "Why?"

"Wow, impressive. I'm not sure how many of the others have maxed out their own weapon skills. I know Seki's almost there." He unconsciously put a finger to his mouth and chewed on the nail, deep in thought. "Cantabile is definitely going to kill me for this. Has anyone seen you in this cell? Do they know you're here?"

"Not… that I'm aware of."

"Good. Let's keep it that way." Caenor clapped his hands. "From tomorrow on, you're going to live in the office. I'll get a bed from the guild treasury, and we already have plenty of other furniture there. I'll also have the office door lock swapped so that it locks both from the inside and the outside, so you still won't be able to move around that much. But at least it's a lot more comfortable than being down here, and you get a nice view of the city."

Wing frowned. "But… why?"

"From the day after tomorrow, you're going to come with us on our hideout raids. We'll test you out in some of the smaller safehouses first, just so that we can handle things if you end up backstabbing us. After that, if you help us with enough hideouts, then we'll know we can trust you. When we're done with the whole list, we'll let you go free. Sound fair?"

"I…" Realization dawned on Wing's face, and her features lit up, her beaming smile brighter than any candle could hope to match. "Yeah. Yeah! I'll do it. Let me come with you."

Seeing her sudden joy, Caenor couldn't help but smile. Their team now had the prescribed minimum number of members they estimated would be required, and their operations were soon to commence in earnest. An unprecedented frisson of excitement shot up and down his back, and he had to resist the urge to pump his fists into the air. All his hard work, all the training, all the thinking and scheming… would finally become something substantial. Something worth fighting for.

He could only hope that circumstance would reward them for their efforts.