Cantabile

Giltstein, the settlement on the 25th floor, was notable for a couple of things. Notable, that is, unless you had actually reached the higher echelons of the floating castle – at least, the higher echelons that had actually been cleared thus far by what remained of the player-base that was dedicated enough to keep plugging away at the Labyrinths, burning through monsters and bosses day by day, week by week, month by month, and even year by year. The first notable aspect was that the settlement once housed the headquarters of the Knights of the Blood, one of the realm's most powerful clearing guilds, and an organization of which Cantabile and Altorius remained nominally members. But if one knew anything about what was going on in the upper floors, one had probably already learned that little piece of trivia long ago.

The second notable aspect concerned the topography of the floor itself, a labyrinth of crooked rocky corridors, colossal trees whose gnarled branches spun downwards towards the ground and snaked across the dirt, and exceedingly powerful monsters – at least, relative to all the floors beneath it – that prowled the maze, waiting to prey on the unsuspecting and unprepared. That was to say nothing of the network of pitfalls and trapdoors that could open under one's feet at a moment's notice, sending them plunging into a toxic deluge from which escape was simply not worth the trouble. Giltstein was a haven of safety in an otherwise comprehensively unsafe region, a place where the sun shined and the grass gleamed, oblivious to the dangers that lurked beyond the town walls.

It was hence the perfect place for Cantabile to call home. As was her right as a guild member, she still had her quarters in the Knights of the Blood's current headquarters in Granzam on the 55th floor, a far more sumptuous and extravagant-looking building than the old stone cottage in the middle of Giltstein the guild had operated out of in their infancy. But she no longer felt secure being around Granzam, let alone sleeping there. Who knew what eyes were watching, and what those eyes might say? Who knew what else lurked in the shadows, waiting to catch her unawares and strike when the chance was ripe?

Ever since that fateful night, she had decided it would be better to trust no one than to worry about a knife being shoved in her back at any given moment. She and Altorius had decided to rent a small house together, and it was from this unassuming abode that they would continue the work that now mattered most to her. As ever, she was grateful that Altorius was willing to put up with her whims, following her into the heat of battle just as he'd always done.

She sometimes wondered – privately, of course – just how exactly it was that their relationship ought to be defined. They were close friends, no doubt about it, and they constantly looked out for each other. His being mute, courtesy of a traumatic childhood accident that had left deep physical and psychological wounds, did hinder their capacity to communicate somewhat. But she did his best to keep up with him, learning a few bits of Japanese Sign Language here and there, and he typically endeavored to return the favor by typing messages as fast as was humanly possible so as not to keep her waiting for a reply. Theirs was an odd companionship, no bones about it, but she would not trade it for anything else – or anyone else – in the world.

It was now early afternoon, and the restaurants and shops of Giltstein were in full bloom, scents and smells of every kind wafting through the open windows, enticing Cantabile forward despite her having already had lunch in Granzam. She unwittingly gravitated towards a stall with a colorful assortment of cream puffs lined out, Altorius following silently behind her.

"These look great." She waved the stall keeper over and pointed at one of the pink varieties. "Is this strawberry?"

"Raspberry, actually," the stall keeper replied. "But it tastes just as good, I can guarantee you that."

"If you say so. How much?"

"15 Cor, if you please."

She tapped the notification that sprung up in her vision, and the stall keeper handed the puff over to her. "Enjoy!"

"Thanks." Continuing on their way, Cantabile hummed happily as she took a bite out of the puff, savoring the cloying yet mildly sour taste as she swilled the cream around her tongue. It might be fake, a digital mimicry of "real" flavor, but that sure as hell didn't prevent it from tasting as good as anything the real world had to offer. "Mm, that's nice. Sorry, Altorius – I know you don't like sweet stuff. You wanna get something as well? Maybe an arboreal fish skewer?"

Altorius shook his head and held up a hand. No thanks.

"Suit yourself." Cantabile stuffed the rest of the puff into her mouth, swallowed it in one big gulp, and let out a satisfied belch. "Where were we supposed to meet?"

A notification popped up from her menu. "Near the blacksmith in the teleport plaza," read the incoming message.

"We're not far, then, though maybe we should pick up the pace." They began walking more briskly. Before long, they had arrived at their destination, a rickety old store emblazoned with a placard containing a pair of crossed hammers. From inside, they could hear the rhythmic clanging of metal on metal, and the low churn of the grinding wheel as it sizzled and sparked under the touch of hot steel. Easing onto one of the many benches that ringed the plaza, she casually scanned the throng of people milling about the expanse, her attention fully focused on any of the telltale signs of the person they were due to meet. The fact that all of the players here had been forcibly programmed to look like their real selves – in other words, like average people – meant that any changes in hair color, tattoos and the like were all the more pertinent.

And sure enough, a flash of yellow and brown soon caught Cantabile's attention, its source quickly disappearing behind one of the nearby taverns.

"There she is." She pointed towards the gap bisecting the tavern and the adjacent shop. "As elusive as always, that rodent. She enjoys sneaking up on people and scaring the shit out of them a little too much."

Altorius raised his hand and made a gesture. Same. In other words, "Let's give her a taste of her own medicine."

"You read my mind." The two of them hopped to their feet and nipped into the alleyway between the blacksmith and the neighboring general store, flattening their backs against the wall as they trained their ears towards the nearby street, listening for a particularly familiar shuffling of footsteps. Before long, those footsteps detached themselves from the chatter and approached, coming to a stop just meters away. Cantabile edged as close to the corner as she dared, and then peered around it.

There, clad in her usual brown robe and green slacks, her ochre hair catching the fire of the midday sun, was the unmistakable figure of the one Cantabile had called here. It never ceased to amaze her just how much like her nickname the information broker, who had been aptly named "The Rat" by the denizens of Aincrad, actually looked – as she watched, her target sniffed the air, her pointy nose twitching, her golden eyes darting left and right, watching, waiting, never still.

It was a shame, unfortunately, that she didn't have eyes at the back of her head.

"Hey, Argo!" Cantabile suddenly yelled, catching a few curious glances from nearby pedestrians. "Been waiting for you!"

Argo let out a frightened, high-pitched squeal and spun around, placing her gloved hand on her chest to calm herself as she glared at the duo. "C-Cantabile!" she stammered as she lifted an accusatory finger. "D-Don't scare me like that! That was just plain rude of ya!"

"Just returning the favor," Cantabile replied, unable to hide the look of triumph that spread across her features. "How'd you like that? See how it feels every time you jump us from behind?"

"Ya know I ain't mean ter do that!" Argo huffed crossly, patting her robes down to check everything was still in place. "People in a profession like mine can't afford ter be too careful, ya hear?"

"Come on, Argo. Surely you know us well enough by now that you don't have to worry about us pulling a fast one on you. Plus, Kirito recommended us as customers, didn't he? You should trust his word, even if you don't trust mine."

"Kii-bou's got nothin' ter do with this," Argo muttered, though she didn't outright disagree. "Anyway, what were ya wantin' from me today? I'm busy, ya know. New rooms in the 68th floor Labyrinth been opened up, and I'll fall behind if I don't get there sharpish. So make it quick."

This time, it was Cantabile's turn to feel aggrieved. "I don't wanna hear that from someone who fed me incorrect information for the sum of a couple hundred Cor. Maybe if you didn't rush so much, you'd actually check whether the details you got were genuine or not."

Argo's whiskered cheeks instantly went flush with barely suppressed indignation. "Ya better have a real helluva good reason for saying that, or you'll be findin' yerself a different info broker tomorrow," she warned.

Cantabile looked around to check if anyone was listening, before leaning in and hissing, "You told us about the player killers that were picking people off on the 41st floor. They weren't there. Care to explain?"

Argo shrugged, her small brow furrowed in bemusement. "That tidbit was as sure a bet as ya could get – I even headed out there myself and interviewed some folks who'd lived there a while. Ya sure they didn't just get picked off by someone else?"

"It's the 41st floor. No one strong enough to take out that lot ever bothers visiting that floor. You know that." Cantabile squinted as she scrutinized the petite information broker. "You didn't sell that info to someone else as well, did you?"

"I ain't mind too much ya sayin' my info was wrong, but if yer questionin' my integrity, then we're gonna be havin' some serious beef." Argo clicked her tongue in apparent disgust. "Of course I didn't double-sell my info. Who do ya take me for?"

"An unscrupulous gossip peddler who can't be bothered finding a real job."

"Alright, I'm outta here." The Rat turned to leave, flinging a perfunctory wave of farewell behind her as she did. "Take me seriously, or don't take me at all."

Cantabile reached out and caught her shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze. "I was just joking, don't be a sourpuss. You've been right on the money about everything else so far – I just wanted to hear from the horse's mouth that the info was absolutely correct."

"Well, ya heard it. That all ya be wanting from me today?"

"Not quite." Cantabile paused. "You got any other news?"

"Thought ya'd never ask. That'll be three hundred." Argo held out a hand.

"Three hundred?" Cantabile asked incredulously. "I could buy a week's worth of food with that kind of money!"

"Two hundred fer the info, and a fifty Cor finder's fee," Argo replied matter-of-factly. "And fifty fer callin' me a fraud."

"Fine, fine. Sorry about that." Cantabile reached into her inventory and pulled out a pile of coins, stuffing them into Argo's outstretched palm. "There you go. Now, spill."

Argo nimbly sifted through the coins to make sure the requested amount was there, and then stuffed them haphazardly into her pouch. "Yer gonna like this one," she said, her usual excitement having been freshly restored by her latest commission. "And before ya ask, yeah, ya bet I confirmed this one myself. Even asked a higher-up in one of the clearing guilds – which I won't name, fer confidentiality reasons – so ya can rest easy."

"I'm all ears."

"Dunno if ya heard, but word is there's been a number of peeps getting' jumped by orange guilders in the upper floors. Weird enough in itself, since ya usually get that sorta nonsense in the lower floors, where those scumbags know they can pick on anyone dumb enough ter go outside without knowing what they're dealin' with. But upper floors, where everyone's jacked with stats and rare weapons? Nah. That ain't happenin'."

"You're not wrong. I'll need something more specific than that, though."

"That's where yer gettin' yer money's worth from me." Argo lowered her voice to a whisper. "I've been collectin' a little hearsay here and there from people who've come a cropper but somehow lived ter tell the tale. They all been sayin' different things, but they all had one thing in common. When I heard that, I knew I had ter get that ter ya quick."

"And what would that be?"

Argo's eyes narrowed as she stared up at Cantabile.

"Skull masks," she muttered. "Laughing Coffin. They ain't done with yer lot just yet."

Wing

Wing was abruptly awoken by the shrill sound of screeching and squawking, barely a stone's throw away from where she slept.

Grabbing the daggers by her side, she scrabbled to her feet and peered through the wall of vines she had constructed to conceal herself from the line of sight of any creatures who happened to pass by. She could deal with the majority of them in a fight to the death, but one could never be too careful, especially when many of them traveled in packs. She recognized the source of the noise, however, and when she caught sight of the Greater Shrike's familiar orange crest gleaming in the glow of the nascent dawn, she duly returned her daggers to their sheaths. Greater Shrikes were large, unwieldy beasts, capable only of short flights and slow trudges due to their sheer weight, and – most importantly – they were vegetarians. Ideal prey for the other mobs on this floor, and certainly not a threat to her.

With a sigh, she slumped back down onto the makeshift mattress she had constructed out of the long reeds that populated this area. She hadn't had a full night's sleep in weeks, whether that was due to her own anxiety keeping her awake, or whether some other environmental machination such as this one invariably came knocking on her door. Compared to her current hideout, the quarters of the Knights of the Blood's headquarters felt like heaven, and yet also felt a million miles away. Even holing up in a jail cell would be vastly preferable to this.

Ultimately, after a few minutes of attempting to return to bed, she decided it would be best to pack her belongings up and set out for the day instead. Restoring the items strewn around the tiny space back into her inventory, she equipped her armor, pulled the vines down from the roof of the entrance, and departed.

She emerged into the lush, humid jungle that sprawled across the southwestern corner of the 58th floor, a cornucopia of lumbering animals, colossal vegetation, and all manner of trees and shrubs, ranging from the smallest, daintiest flower to the tallest, most weather-worn of conifers. That, of course, made it stand out all the more when compared to the rest of the floor's geography, an arid, barren, dust-colored wasteland where scarcely a weed could be found growing from the dry dirt. It was presumed that somehow, all the nutrients within the soil of the 58th floor had been funneled into feeding that sliver of tropicality, although how exactly that was achieved was a question best posed for the creator of this game. Maybe they could ask him, Wing mused, just before they bashed his skull in and freed themselves from their cognitive incarceration.

The susurration of spring water roused her attention, and she turned and followed it to its origin. Closer and closer she came, until she spotted the telltale twinkle of foam rushing over rock. Approaching and bending down over the stream, she cupped a handful of the sweet nepenthe, savoring the cool, almost minty liquid as it dribbled down her throat. She had been parched – it had been a few days since she'd had water – and she would partake for as long as her body desired more.

Yet her moment of respite was not to last. A dull, throbbing pain began to develop in the pits of her stomach as she drank, clutching her intestines, cramping her gut. She ignored it, continuing to pour more and more of the water into her mouth until finally it became impossible to ignore, an inferno of agony that seared her nerves, branding her brain with the fire of its overwhelming potency. Staggering back and keeling over, she gritted her teeth and clenched her eyes shut, all the while resisting the urge to scream. Unbearably painful this might be, but that did not compare to the consequences of attracting the curiosities of the other inhabitants of this jungle. And so she curled up in a ball and squirmed, massaging her abdomen slowly, tears falling freely from her eyes, choking quietly on the saliva and water leaking from her gaping maw.

She knew what was happening to her. The reservoirs that fed the organisms here were filled with a unique blend of mineral poison, a deterrent to which the plants and animals had long since developed an immunity to, but which would bring even the strongest of foreign adventurers to their knees. Truly drinkable water could only be found in Kanaljia, the town situated on the opposite end of this floor. But given the strength of the NPC guards who watched over Kanaljia's gates and their well-known hostility to any players whose cursors did not glow green, attempting to quench her thirst there was essentially impossible.

This, then, was the trade-off she faced on a regular basis as long as she remained on this floor: endure the hour-long, mind-numbing pain, or stay thirsty. And when one went without water for long enough, the former became an increasingly attractive option. It was all well and good that one could not die from hunger or thirst in this game, but that scarcely alleviated those most basic of human needs when push truly came to shove. Not at all, really.

If only she had an antidote with her. But her supply of them had run out long ago, as had her supply of most other essentials. All that was left was a rapidly decreasing store of health potions – five remaining, by her last count. In all likelihood, that number would have to shrink to four following her latest drink.

After what seemed like an eternity, some of the distress began to fade, and in the face of the pain that had preceded it, any relief at all was an unbelievably liberating feeling. She attempted to stand, grasping onto a nearby tree trunk as she clambered to her feet, panting and heaving with the strain of that simple act. Wiping the foam from her mouth, she swiveled around to see if any unwelcome guests had made their way near her, then slowly but surely began to walk again. With every step, her strength seeped back into her, until she was strolling briskly through the woodland once again, hopping over stray branches, meandering her way around the naturally-formed maze.

Popping a potion in her mouth and sighing as the mixture worked its magic, bumping her health bar back up to near-full, she cast her gaze over the dense thicket. Aside from the stream, which still glistened innocently as it slithered by her feet, there was nothing to suggest that she was anywhere near what she had come here for. Yet she had no choice but to carry on forward, for there was nothing left behind her but the impending, creeping fear of death – or worse, of capture.

And so she kept on walking. Seconds turned to minutes, then to hours. All the while, she continued trudging through the glittering murk, searching left and right, up and down, her eyes pricking with every errant noise, even if it emanated from her own boots rustling on the forest floor.

Just as she was minded to sit down and take a break, a flash of gray stopped her in her tracks. There, up ahead in the half-lit shadow, was a protrusion, sticking its pointed tip out from amidst the canopy like a curious beast.

She quickened her pace, running over to the aberration with as much haste as her tired legs and cautious thoughts would allow, clambering over any fallen trunks and branches in the way. As she climbed onto a particularly large specimen, her pants leg snagged on a splinter, and she tumbled over the trunk and was sent crashing face-first into the soil.

Hacking out the globules of dirt that had collected in her throat, she propped herself up on her elbows. To her surprise, she realized that her arms were resting on solid, rugged stone.

She looked up. There it was, in all its weathered, moss-smothered, dilapidated glory. A ring of totem-like structures, two shorter stubs flanking one taller obelisk, faded blue runes and swirls carved on the rocky surface. A further cluster of concentric circles drawn into the ground, and a dot at their collective center. All of which was elevated by a platform upon which Wing now knelt, awestruck, prostrate before that which she had been looking for all this time.

In times long since passed, her brother had, on occasion, mentioned to her the existence of this artifact. It was a mere legend to be dismissed by most that discussed it, but it was a far more substantial and worthy topic for those who were in the know: those who had spent far longer outside city limits than within them, exploring and mapping the virtual landscape, seeking out the horizontal in a realm where the only value, on the surface level, lay in the vertical. Her brother had been one of those people, and perhaps to reassure her that not all was lost should one stray off the beaten track, he had, in passing, told her what he felt she needed to hear.

"If you ever end up stuck far away from a city with no way to go back, see if you can find one of those," he had said during one of their many trips together. Wing, confused, had asked him what exactly it was she should be looking for.

With a smile, he had replied, "You'll know when you see it. It looks just like…"

…A teleport stone. And the relic which stood in front of her now could not be mistaken for anything else.

Gingerly, she set foot into the center of the circle. Immediately, the carvings on the rock were spurred to life, bathing her in a blinding haze of illumination, a bright beige tinged with turquoise that filled her vision, obscuring the forest beyond from view. The ground beneath her feet began to vibrate, rumbling and grinding as the dormant mechanisms hidden within the platform were awakened, churning and whirring as more and more of the enigmatic magic powering this device was funneled forth. She felt her legs growing lighter and lighter, until it was as though she were floating in the air, suspended by whatever ethereal forces had been summoned by her arrival, beckoned forth by the revival of their duty: to take her to pastures anew, wherever they might lie.

The world flashed pure white, and with that final flourish, she was gone.