PART I: BLOODWATCH

The forests of the 53rd floor are a danger to unsuspecting players in multiple ways. For one, the gryphons that inhabit the canopy, though typically not overly belligerent towards ground creatures, possess sharp claws and an uncanny ability to fly through the narrow spaces between the tight-knit tree trunks, meaning that should one ever have its eye on you, running is rarely a viable option. Should they develop a taste for human flesh, one's only option is to make a stand and hope to get a blow in whilst the gryphon attacks with lethal diving runs. Deaths by gryphon are uncommon, but not an outright impossibility.

For two, even stronger monsters than gryphons make their home on the ground far below.

Arachnids, giant snakes, fire ants – the 53rd floor has one of the most impressive examples of in-game biodiversity amongst any of the floors. Yet the most perilous of those specimens do not come in the form of four-legged beasts or winged threats, but in a more uncomfortably familiar, human form. They are arguably a player's greatest enemy, because they often don't seem much like enemies at all. But give them an inch, and they'll take a mile – and your life.

There is a small cottage situated in the middle of the forest, several yards away from a clearing in the thicket. The cottage is derelict and unassuming at first glance, but on closer inspection one sees that the walls of the cottage are doubly reinforced with metal, not only to deter attacks from the more daring of beasts, but also to prevent most sounds from leaking out from within. There are no windows, only a door latched shut by a brass bolt. Far too secure of a proposition for anyone who merely wishes to live there – if, of course, that is all there is to the cottage.

A faint scream emanates from within. The scream is chiefly one of pain, but more significantly, it is one of fear. Fear of the end; fear of what comes after. A scream that is heard by none but those that stand before the one from whose mouth it is emitted, and by the figure who has now materialized outside the cottage's entryway.

The figure is clad in robes of white, trimmed with red, a wash of vibrant color marred only by a single black cross stitched near the hem. The mithril wrist-guard on their right hand, concealing a short blade that can be revealed with the press of a button installed in the palm of their gloves, is primed and ready. Their gray eyes narrow as the scream is abruptly cut short.

The figure breathes, taking in the crisp forest air. Then, they raise their right foot, and aim it squarely at the center of the door.

The door is battered down with a swift kick. As the dust settles, the figure analyzes the situation inside the cottage. Three men are sat around the middle of the first room. The markers that hover above the heads of each man are orange. Good, the figure thinks to themselves. No repercussions, then, should any of those men die.

The man closest to the door gets up, but before he can reach for the sword on his belt, the figure spears a knife into the man's forehead. The man falls backwards, his health bar shrinking to zero in a matter of moments, his body exploding and vanishing before it can hit the ground.

The other two yell frantically and hastily unsheathe their weapons, but by then the figure is already upon them, curling their fingers and slamming their blade into each of the men's chests, pushing them to the ground as they splutter and cough from the shock of the impact. Their bodies follow the lead of the first man's corpse, splitting into millions of tiny pieces, any trace of their existence in the game permanently erased.

The door to the next room is forced open, and a fourth man emerges. He is unarmored, but wields a giant iron mace that he now swings as he charges towards the figure. The figure, unperturbed by the incoming danger, ducks under the man's wild swings and plunges his blade into the man's abdomen. Two more thrusts to the chest follow, and the assailant is gone as quickly as he arrived.

The room from which that man appeared is slightly smaller than the first, and contains nothing but a broken table and a wooden bed. Upon the bed lies a boy, his armor in tatters, his arms and legs tied to the corners of the bed, leaving him splayed across the mattress like a hunted animal being prepared for a feast.

The figure cuts the ropes tying the boy down and helps him to his feet, handing him a healing potion. In his shock, he can hardly speak, but fortunately still retains the use of his limbs. They eventually manage to limp out of the cottage together, and return to the 53rd floor's teleport gate.

The figure tells him that he is safe now, and that he no longer has to worry. He appears on the verge of tears, and the figure comforts him.

Upon reaching the plaza of the 55th floor, they leave the boy in the company of several of the figure's red-robed fellows. The boy asks how he can ever thank the figure.

There is nothing to thank, the figure replies. They only do what they must.

The figure's white-and-red robes flutter in the breeze. The single word hidden beneath the cross on the hem is uncovered.

Bloodwatch.

"Caenor, come here."

The black-haired, gray-eyed boy of unassuming stature departed from his station near the bookshelf, heading towards the desk in the center of the room. "Yes?"

"I want to ask you about your report on the raiding party you led two days ago." Asuna, his guild team leader and vice-commander, pushed her flowing maroon hair behind her ears and pointed at one of the many pages scattered in front of her. "The one on the 51st floor. You mentioned that the three of you were cornered by a large pack of Blood Wolves, and almost lost your lives."

"Yes."

"Then, you mentioned that you were helped by a stranger, who decimated the pack almost without any help. Yet the stranger is not talked about again in the rest of the report. Why's that?"

"Well…" Caenor scratched his head. "The stranger disappeared before we could thank them."

"Disappeared?"

"Yes. They simply left without saying a word. We were too busy killing the remnants of the Blood Wolf pack to chase after them."

"That's strange, but not unusual. Still, a player of their skill could be worth meeting. Defeating an entire pack of Blood Wolves is no small feat, and as large a guild as we are, we lack people with the sufficient skill to change the tide of a boss fight on their own. Clearers, in other words. That's not a slight on your abilities, of course, but unfortunately that's the harsh truth."

"I understand. But how should we attempt to seek out this stranger?"

"Do you remember anything about what they were wearing? Or the weapon they were using?"

"Hm…" Caenor blew out a breath as he cast his thoughts back to the battle. "They had on a blue cape with the insignia of an eagle emblazoned on the back, and they used a scimitar paired with a square buckler. That's all I remember."

"The eagle insignia means that the cape was made in the town of Taft, on the 11th floor. One of the workshops there is run by a pair of siblings who imprint the symbol of an eagle with outstretched wings on everything they make."

"Outstretched wings." Caenor's eyes lit up. "Yes, I believe the eagle had wings."

"Then that should be it. Make for the workshop this afternoon, and see if you can find any clues. Bring Seki and Ferramo with you; tell them to get ready. You should depart before the bell strikes two."

Caenor nodded and left the room.

Asuna leaned into her chair and stared at the ceiling, where a brass chandelier hung from a network of steel chains, before turning her gaze to the crystalline rapier stashed on the rack beside the window. Many times had she drawn and sheathed the weapon; many times had beasts and monsters fallen before her. But, as the green cursor that floated above her head seemed to indicate, she had yet to point her blade towards a fellow player in non-dueling circumstances.

She often wondered if she would have to do so eventually. Even if Asuna were defending herself, any hostile action towards a player with a green cursor would result in her own cursor turning orange – a death sentence for those who were not well-versed in the ways by which to revert one's cursor color.

This led many such players to exile themselves and form their own guilds, roaming the wastes and preying on the unsuspecting. The most infamous of these "orange guilds" was the group known as Laughing Coffin, renowned as the only "red" guild in Aincrad for its blatant disregard of the ramifications that a changed cursor color might bring. Unlike most other orange players, the members of Laughing Coffin not only voluntarily became criminals, but also desired the lifestyle that came with being an orange cursor player.

While it was convenient to brush Laughing Coffin aside as a horde of demons, devoid of any humanity, the growing ranks of Laughing Coffin and other orange guilds made that facade increasingly difficult to maintain. Asuna's duty as a vice-commander of the Knights of the Blood thus involved not only leading raids and devising strategies, but also ensuring that the mental health of her subordinates remained at a manageable level.

Nevertheless, despite her lofty status within the guild, Asuna still felt that she did not have the patience for such a role. That was more appropriate for someone like her closest friend, the infamous Black Swordsman, who hid a gentle and caring personality behind an aloof and reticent exterior.

That dichotomy was one of the many reasons she had grown close to him in the first place.

"I wonder what Kirito is up to?" she mused.

Caenor fidgeted as he waited atop the marble steps that led downwards from the door behind him. He had told Seki and Ferramo, two lay members of his team and his closest friends in the game, to be ready by the double striking of the bell, but ten minutes had elapsed since the clock had tolled, and the pair of them were still nowhere to be found. Just as he considered re-entering the guild headquarters to look for them, the door opened, and a pair of flustered figures emerged from the shade.

"Sorry about the wait," panted Seki.

"What took you so long?" Caenor asked.

"I couldn't find my axe, so I borrowed one from the treasury."

"Isn't your axe being replaced? I remember you leaving them at the workshop. You know, after the whole Blood Wolves thing."

"Oh." Seki put a hand to her mouth. "You're right."

Caenor shook his head. "Anyway. Ferramo, you ready?"

Ferramo nodded. "I got everything."

"Let's head out then."

The trio made an odd and incongruous group by the Knights of the Blood's standards. Seki was a petite, red-haired specimen, an adolescent like Caenor himself, with a slim frame and thin face to match. But what made her appear even smaller was the hulking figure who stood next to her, a large, heavyset, balding creature approaching thirty years of age whose square jaw barely jutted past his neck.

Yet despite his in-game looks, Ferramo was probably the weakest of the trio in terms of actual combat. He could swing around a mace the size of Caenor's head, but nine times out of ten it would end up missing its intended target. He was hence often deployed as a tank, and his chief duties in battle mainly entailed standing at the front and making himself as big of a nuisance as possible. Which, to Ferramo's credit, usually worked.

The three of them made their way to Granzam's teleport plaza, which was located in the heart of the city. Granzam, renowned as the Steel City, was as uncompromising a settlement as you could get, with black and gray spires rising high above the streets, towering over those who bustled about beneath their shadows. However, the large number of smiths and craftsmen that resided in Granzam meant that many players chose to make their homes there as well, so they might have easier access to repairs, upgrades, and all the other basic necessities an adventurer might need on their travels. The Knights of the Blood, seeking to capitalize on this phenomenon and boost their recruitment in the process, had been headquartered here since October of last year.

They soon arrived at the teleport plaza, where a large number of people were gathered. Some were waiting for their guilds to return; some were themselves recruiting new members; some were merely sitting about, basking in the filtered light of the hazy afternoon sun, taking in the noise.

Caenor stepped onto the teleport platform, followed by Seki and Ferramo. He reached out and swiped the air, which opened the game menu. An option to teleport, which would normally not be there, was now present at the bottom of the list.

"Taft, 11th floor," he muttered to himself as he scrolled through the locations. "There we go." He confirmed his selection, and watched as the world around him faded into black.

When the light returned, he was in a more idyllic setting, an environment more befitting the lower-level status of Taft, the black towers being replaced by small, quaint brick houses with roofs painted disparate shades of yellow and red.

"Here we are," said Seki.

"Here we are," repeated Caenor as he looked around. There were far fewer people here, as most of the players who had survived this long were on the higher floors, searching for bigger fish to fry. Those that remained here did so because they had purchased abodes in the town, or simply had never bothered – or were too scared – to commit to the grind.

A sign hanging from above the doorway of one of the buildings near the teleport gate caught his attention. It bore an eagle's head with two wings splayed out on either side of it. "Oh, that's convenient." He pointed to the sign, and they walked towards the shop underneath it.

Their entry was greeted with the sound of hammers striking steel and the smell of an open fire searing molten metal. One of the smiths looked up from his anvil, threw his goggles unceremoniously onto the floor and slapped the countertop. "Can I help you?"

"I'm searching for a person who bought a cape made by your shop," Caenor said.

"Many people have bought capes from our shop." The smith wiped the dripping sweat off his brow and snorted. "We weave annealed iron fibers into the cloth so they can withstand dagger thrusts. Good for preventing backstabs. You're gonna need to give me more information than that."

"They used a scimitar and a square shield, around this big." Caenor drew a square in the air with his fingertips.

"Now that you mention it, I remember someone like that. Not many scimitar users in Aincrad, and even less that use square shields. It's usually a round buckler or a proper big shield for the stronger fellows out there. A bit like the one your friend there is using," said the smith as he pointed to Ferramo. "The guy didn't say much, but he said he was headed to the 60th floor."

"When was that?"

"Three days ago. I don't know what he's doing there, but that floor is full of stone and iron golems. Maybe he wanted a new set of armor or something."

"That's very helpful. Thank you." Caenor dropped a few Cor into the smith's hands and made to leave.

"Be careful, lad. The higher floors aren't just famous for their golems."

"What else is there?" Seki asked.

"Monsters that look like humans." The smith leaned forward and dropped his voice to a whisper. "Player killers."

The 60th floor was a far cry from even the gloomy and imposing environs of Granzam, situated only five floors below. As a floor without a human settlement, the steps of the teleport gate led straight into the dirt, and beyond that, darkness.

"Maybe we should head back and ask Asuna what to do next," mumbled Seki, who was visibly nervous, her hands clasped and shaking slightly.

"For a short jaunt like this? Come on." Caenor patted his sword. "The golems here are manageable – we're only a couple levels below them. We'll avoid any real fighting if it makes you feel better. The moment we see a golem, we turn and run back to this teleport gate. Happy?"

Seki nodded, though judging by the intensity of her lip biting, she was still unsure. "That's fine, I guess."

They stepped gingerly off the safety of the stone platform and onto the soil. Caenor produced a lamp from his inventory and lit its flame. It only had enough fuel left for about thirty minutes of illumination, so he would have to be frugal with its use. He had also neglected to bring teleport crystals – he had meant to replenish his supplies earlier in the day, but Asuna's sudden assignment had distracted him enough for him to forget.

Caenor silently cursed his lack of foresight, but there was little he could do now. Not when he was the one who had made reassurances about their safety.

It would be alright, he told himself. Ten or fifteen minutes into their walk, he'd suggest that they turn back after having second thoughts. No harm done, and if they managed to find any hints about their mysterious blue-caped, scimitar-wielding rescuer in the meantime, then all the better.

As the torches that surrounded the teleport gate were gradually consumed by the 60th floor's perennial night, Caenor lifted his lamp and peered at the ground. It was relatively unblemished, but given that the ground was composed mostly of loose rock, he knew that any aberrations would quickly reveal themselves. As if on cue, a groove entered the pool of light that served as their sole guide into the unknown, its pronounced shadow making it seem larger than it perhaps really was.

"This…" Caenor kneeled beside the mark and placed a hand on it, tracing its exterior. "What does it look like to you guys?"

Ferramo peered at the groove. "It doesn't look like a footprint, at least."

"Maybe I'm just being paranoid," Caenor snickered, and rose to his feet. Yet as he swung his lamp around, he noticed a second groove not too far from the first. Pointing at it, he said, "What about that one?"

"Another one," Ferramo grunted. "That doesn't look like a footprint either, though. Not a golem footprint – golems' feet aren't that small."

"You're right. Unless…" Caenor stood between the two grooves and waved his lamp over the space between them. "You see?"

"They're…" Seki gasped. "They're part of the same print."

Something rumbled in the distance, barely audible, but deafening in their ears. The three of them glanced at each other.

"We have to make a run for it." Caenor yanked his lamp upwards in desperation as he tried to ascertain his location, but all he could see was the same plastered mud and dirt stretching as far as the eye could see – which, in this case, was not very far at all. "Which way's the teleport gate?"

"That one's the first groove, so I think over there." Seki pointed to her right.

"Let's get a move on!" yelled Caenor.

The trio began to run. Their boots kicked up the packed mud and splattered it all over the hems of their robes, but that was near the absolute least of their concerns. They willed their legs to carry them forwards as quickly as they could go, and all they could hear was the thudding of their feet on the ground, the beating of their hearts in their ears, and the ominous, cacophonic rumble that, despite their best efforts, seemed to be gaining in volume.

The rumbling soon echoed so loudly in their ears that even the floor began to shake. Caenor knew that they had little option but to turn and face their enemy, and he would rather choose to do so than have the choice made for him. He planted a boot into the dirt, screeching to a halt as he drew his sword.

"Seki! Ferramo!" he called. "We can't outrun it! We have to fight!"

Ferramo turned and pulled his tower shield from the strap on his back. The shield was a gold trimmed steel aegis almost as large as Ferramo himself – an item passed down to him from a commander who had chosen to learn the way of the two-handed sword and thus had no use for it any more. Only someone with Ferramo's brute strength, much like the commander himself, could wield a monstrosity such as this.

"Seki! Light! Ferramo, guard her!"

Seki produced a yellow crystal from her inventory and muttered a command. A plume of light billowed out from the crystal, and as it reached the source of the rumbling, the true scale of the task that confronted them was brought into uncomfortably sharp focus.

The golem, as it predictably turned out to be, was made of earth and stone as all golems were. However, the one that currently faced them was further reinforced by sheets of iron that had been hastily clobbered together, as though the golem itself had glued the makeshift armor onto its body by some mystical means. One of its thick, rugged arms was lined with spikes and shards of scrap metal protruding from the rock, a painful proposition for any who were unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of its flails. The golem's eyes glowed a deep crimson from behind its helmet.

"An Armored Golem," Caenor breathed.

The golem found the source of the light and raised a limb, poised to strike.

"Ferramo!"

"On it!" Ferramo darted in front of Seki with an agility that belied his stocky physique, raising the tower shield and kneeling behind it so his knees would absorb the worst of the blow. The golem brought its great arm crashing down, but Ferramo's defences held.

"Switch!" yelled Ferramo.

Caenor dashed towards the golems and, with a flourish, thrust his sword deep into the golem's knee joints. A mistake, as it turned out. Caenor attempted to withdraw the sword, only to find that it was now stuck inside the stone.

The golem peered down at him. Caenor had no time to react before he was swatted aside, the strike sending him sprawling several meters away. He landed agonizingly on his elbows, the bones in his arms grinding against his flesh as they bore the brunt of his fall. He watched as his own health bar rapidly shrank, turning a deep ochre.

He rummaged in his inventory for a health potion and popped it open, letting the contents pour down his throat as quickly as he could without gagging on the liquid. As the feeling crept back into to his limbs, he rose to his feet unsteadily and surveyed the situation. Seki, silver two-handed axe in hand, unleashed a flurry of swings against the iron armor to no avail; Ferramo took blow after blow, wincing and clenching his teeth as the golem battered his shield without relent. Caenor's sword jutted out from the golem's knee, reminiscent of Excalibur trapped inside the magic stone that held it.

There was little Caenor could do without his sword – he had no shield, and his backup dagger would not help much. Reliable as his teammates were, he was not sure if they could handle an Armored Golem on their own.

"Seki!" he called. "Go for the knee! I'll try and get my sword out!"

Seki nodded. Ducking under the golem's wild swings, she aimed her weapon at the golem's outstretched knee. The axe glowed red as it collided, shattering the exposed rock and sending the sword clattering onto the floor.

The golem fell onto its severed leg, and Caenor rushed over and grabbed the sword, taking advantage of the golem's lowered height to lash the blade against the golem's neck. Steel won over stone, and the golem shrieked in pain as the sword cut deep into the exposed portion of its head.

This time, there would be no getting stuck. Another cleave, and the rest of the head was severed. The golem's body, now unanimated, collapsed in a limp heap.

For a moment, the entire world seem to fall silent. Then, Ferramo let out a throaty laugh.

"We did it!" he exclaimed, smacking the back of his shield in delight.

Relief flooded into Caenor's chest, and he chuckled, placing his hands on his hips.

"Well done," he said, patting Seki on the shoulder. Seki blushed, but said nothing. It was obvious from the lack of color in her cheeks that she'd need some time to recover from the shock of the fight.

However, their muted celebrations were soon to be cut short.

Multiple rumbles rang out from the darkness. Caenor and Ferramo froze.

"It can't be," croaked Caenor.

The light of the lamp, which had been discarded during the fight, cast its diminishing yellow glow on a second golem foot. And a third. And a fourth. And a fifth.

They were completely surrounded.

As Caenor raised his sword and prepared to make his final stand, something flashed from behind one of the golems. He barely had time to wonder what it was before the golem closest to it let out an unearthly wail, its colossal frame dragged to the floor with unnatural ease as if it were made of candy floss.

The other three golems rotated their unwieldy forms to face the new threat, but they, too, were mowed down in quick succession, falling one after the other and slamming into their compatriots like a row of dominoes. They crumbled into piles of dead rock, shattering the earth and clattering with such force and noise that Caenor suspected the entire floor could hear the sound of their demise.

The dust lifted slightly, and a silhouette slowly emerged from the debris.

"You guys alright?" said the figure, a young man who sported cropped brown hair and faded gray leather armor.

Caenor breathed his second sigh of relief in as many minutes. At this point, the rollercoaster of emotions he was experiencing threatened to turn his legs into jelly. "Yes, we're fine."

"Don't think you should be out here, just the three of you. This is no place for players of your level." The figure entered the light, and as his armor came into view, Caenor saw the familiar square buckler and scimitar dangling from the figure's hip.

"You're the one who saved us from the Blood Wolves," Caenor noted.

"That was you as well?" The figure shook his head. "You lot should be staying out of trouble."

"What's your name?" asked Seki, her eyes brimming with nascent tears.

"I'm Max. And you?"

"This is Seki," Caenor said. "I'm Caenor, and that's Ferramo."

"I see." Max peered at their armor. "I recognize that uniform. Knights of the Blood, right? You lot are pretty famous in these upper echelons."

Caenor nodded. "We're just grunts, really. We were sent here to find you."

"Find me? Well, what an honor. Whatever would you want me for?"

"I told our vice-commander about you taking out that pack of Blood Wolves. She said we could use someone like you in the ranks."

"You'll have to tell her I'm sorry, then. I'm already in a different guild." Max raised his eyebrows as if to apologize. "Does she know the three of you are here?"

"No, she doesn't." Caenor shook his head. "She told us to go to the 11th floor, where you bought your cape. The smith there told us that you'd be here."

"I see, that's good." Max smiled. "She doesn't know, huh?"

It was then that something caught Caenor's eye, something that he would come to curse himself for not seeing sooner. Above Max's head, where the fog had now fully cleared, hovered the cursor that marked the presence of all players within the bounds of Aincrad.

It was bright orange.

"You-"

Max leapt forward, and before Caenor could utter another word, plunged his scimitar deep into Ferramo's abdomen.