"I knew we should've never gotten involved with you. I fucking knew it."

The rain lashed against the glass, submerging the room in a blanket of rhythmic clattering, all but drowning out the noise of conversation. The torches flickered as the wind whistled through the gap beneath the door, but no amount of fresh air could lift the atmosphere of despondence currently permeating through the office.

They had returned to headquarters upon reading the note, sullen and dejected, not even caring whether anyone might have spotted them. It wouldn't have made a difference in any case – they had been dealt a killing blow just as they had gotten their feet off the ground. Even if they had trimmed Laughing Coffin's numbers somewhat, their momentary victory had been traded for the loss of their one key advantage: surprise. Whatever they did now, they would always remain a step behind.

All five of them were slumped in their chairs, their respective seats scattered haphazardly across the room. Caenor faced the window, watching as the world outside drowned in the roiling storm.

"I'm… sorry." Wing seemed stung by the notion that the potential collapse of the team's objectives could solely be attributable to her, though it was evident that she had other, more urgent worries. That slip of paper had clearly been addressed to her, which inevitably led to a number of pressing questions. What part did Wing and her brother play in Laughing Coffin discovering their plans? Had her absence been noticed, or had she somehow allowed the truth to come out, intentionally or otherwise? Could they still trust her – that is, if they had trusted her at all in the first place?

Cantabile clearly had not, and she had also seen nothing to dispel her doubts. To be fair to her, she was entirely entitled to be suspicious, especially right now. "Sorry won't cut it. What the hell do we do from here? We had no idea which hideouts were fake or real to begin with – assuming you were telling the truth, which I highly doubt – and now we don't know if we can even afford to make any guesses, since all of them could either be empty, or full of player killers out for blood." She sighed. "The 42nd floor is going to be a trap. I can smell it from a mile away. We can't go."

"But… my brother will…"

"Fuck that. As callous as it makes me sound, I value my life – all our lives – a lot more than your brother's. I want to live long enough to be able to enjoy this game properly before it ends, and that means staying out of bullshit that I 100% know is gonna get us killed. If you wanna go there on your own, be my guest."

"Cantabile's right." Caenor rubbed his temple, willing his burgeoning headache and concomitant undercurrent of panic to subside. "We haven't been to the 42nd floor in a long time. The chances of all of us surviving a trip there are next to zero. But… I don't think we can just leave them alone."

"What do you suggest we do then? Walk in there and die without getting anything done? You're free to do that if you want." Cantabile's tone of voice dripped with her hallmark causticity, but Caenor was in no mood to rebuke. They were stuck between a rock and a hard place, and as team leader, it fell to him to discover a solution to their troubles.

But what would that be?

"Either way, it's back to the drawing board for us." Caenor stood and moved over to his desk, tapping the list of coordinates upon which their entire mission, and their entire team, had been founded. "We have to rethink how we've been doing things. Up until now, we've pretty much been doing what they've expected us to do, presuming that they've known about our plans for a while. The problem is that we have no idea what they know or don't know, aside from the fact that we're going after them. They won't be as lax as they were on the 46th floor – they'll probably have guards, lookouts, scouts covering the area around each hideout. Push comes to shove, they'll build new safehouses, and then they really will be out of reach."

"So… maybe we just have to do something unexpected."

Caenor and the others glanced up. Seki had an oddly determined look on her face – one that bordered on desperation, but still a far cry from the uncertain veneer she had been wearing for so long. He'd only seen that look once before: the day Ferramo had been killed.

"Like what?" he asked.

"They're expecting just the five of us to go to them," Seki explained. "Given their numbers… they'll have more than enough people to handle us if they're all together. So, we need to match them up somehow."

"Far easier said than done." Cantabile folded her arms. "Haven't you seen how difficult it's been just to find five people? If we're being generous, Laughing Coffin probably have up to thirty or forty people, and likely a lot more. We'd need an entire team's worth of people – an actual team, I mean – to get anywhere near that. It ain't happening."

"It'd take a hell of a lot of convincing, that's for sure," Caenor agreed. "But even putting the matter of rescuing Wing's brother aside, that would likely be one of the only ways we'd be able to move forward. Most of our guild-mates are above-average fighters, so I reckon a slight numerical disadvantage could be easily overcome. Still, we'd probably need to have around twenty in total."

"We have to try. We've come this far." Seki's jaw quivered, and her eyes seemed undecided on whether to water. She pressed on. "It's not over yet. Not as long as we're still here. Still alive."

Caenor smiled. This was more like the Seki he knew. Squirrelly and prone to worry, but still a determined and diligent soul at heart. You had to be if you wanted to get far in this game. Plus, it did take players of a certain caliber to join the Knights.

"Well, we won't get anything done moping about," he said. "All of you should go get some rest for today. You've earned it."

Cantabile pulled a face. "Doesn't really feel like it, but fine." She raised an eyebrow. "What about you? Not like you have any more planning to do, at least for now."

"Well…" Caenor did have something in mind, thanks to Seki's words, though the bulk of what he wanted to do would have to occur tomorrow. He could, however, prepare for it today. And he would have to if he was to stand any chance of success. There would be no tougher crowd to please, so the least he could do was ensure that he was convinced of what he was going to say.

"That's not entirely true…"

"…which is why I've called all of you here today."

Half a dozen scrutinizing, skeptical faces peered at him as he finished speaking. The only expression that did not look entirely hesitant and unconvinced was that of Asuna, who knew enough about his situation not to act as though this meeting was a waste of precious time, but nevertheless obviously still harbored some doubts about what he had just told them.

It was part of a vice-commander's prerogative to be able to call a meeting of all their fellow vice-commanders once every two weeks, a privilege that could normally only be exercised unconditionally by the commander, Heathcliff. Most vice-commanders did not bother doing so, chiefly because they had no reason to or were too busy to either call or attend such meetings. It was just Caenor's luck, then, that he had caught all of the other team leaders on a morning where everyone happened to be free – though judging by the collectively annoyed response to his request, he was not sure if this was as much of a blessing as he initially thought it was.

One of the vice-commanders, a portly, middle-aged man named Daizen who was responsible for overseeing the guild treasury, leaned forward in his seat, his armor buckling and creaking as it struggled to hold his sizeable frame. "Vice-commander Caenor, I understand your concerns, and I sympathize with your subordinate and her brother. However, we cannot risk our resources for the sake of someone who is not even part of the guild. If I were in charge of a raiding team of my own, I know I would hesitate to dedicate any of my human capital to your… cause. I do not speak for the other vice-commanders, of course."

"No, you're right, Daizen." Godfrey, the heavy-set, bearded leader of Team A, gestured towards Caenor. "I'm sorry, lad, but none of us know you well enough for us to leave our men and women with you for the week, not least in a position where they might be killed by those thugs. We're busy enough as is on the front lines, and the last thing we need is our numbers thinned by some… distraction."

Murmurs of agreement rang out amidst the rest of the conference room. Caenor thought he heard someone whisper, "You're not even a real vice-commander," though he could not pinpoint the source of that comment. Regardless, he resolved to try again – he owed it to each of his teammates not to give in so early. All he needed was perhaps two or three of the team leaders present to acquiesce, and he would likely have the people required to meet his admittedly imaginary quota.

"I'm not asking for very much," he said. "I just need assistance with a task that we – my team – already know how to do with sufficient proficiency."

"You mean murdering other people," muttered one of the others.

Caenor ignored the barb and carried on speaking. "It will only be for two or three days at most. I can personally guarantee that anyone who comes with us will live to tell the tale. We know how our enemies operate, in the same way that you know how bosses work, what mechanics they have, and so on. There are risks involved, of course, but risks are an inherent part of this virtual realm that we inhabit."

"But these are not bosses," Godfrey protested. "They're other human beings. Would a diplomatic answer to this affair not be the way forward? Why the need for all this bloodshed?"

"With respect, Vice-commander Godfrey, you have not known these… human beings… as I have." Caenor gritted his teeth as he felt his patience begin to wear thin. While he still needed a favor from the other team leaders, he could not afford to lose his cool. "They do not negotiate. They have been driven to the brink by this death game, and there is no turning back for them."

"But how do you know, lad?" Godfrey continued brusquely. "How do you know they aren't just looking for a way out? Orange cursors live the way they do because they have no other choice."

"Again, with respect, that is – to put it bluntly – a naïve way of looking at player killers, and at Laughing Coffin," Caenor replied quietly. "They do not pursue their lifestyle of crime because they 'have no other choice'. They indulge in the suffering of their victims. They feast on the weaknesses of green cursors, of players who play the game as you and I think it ought to be played. And their parasitical way of doing things is not as unattractive as you might be tempted to consider it to be. If you want to take that from anyone, take it from me. I know them, and I have met with great tragedy by their hand. And, as I said earlier, I really am not asking for too much."

"To you, Vice-commander, it may not be much," Daizen chirped. "But we are a clearing guild, not a player-killing guild. The front lines are what matters to us, and all our manpower should be expended towards pushing forwards, not looking back. There is little meaning in facing the other direction, as you seem to be doing."

A taut string seemed to snap inside Caenor's head, and it took all he had not for him to slam his fists on the table of the conference room. How could they not see that, while player killers still roamed the wastes, those that worked under their command could never truly be free? How could they be so focused on the whole forest that they did not see the rot amidst the trees? As far as Caenor was concerned, the other vice-commanders suffered from a lack of perspective, and if he could not make them see what he saw, then he had little hope of getting anywhere.

"How many of you have watched someone being killed by another player?" he asked, a noticeable tremor in his voice.

The room grew quiet. A single hand was raised – that of the chestnut-haired maiden who had once been his superior. All the others did not move.

"Vice-commander Asuna, please tell the others what it feels like to watch the life drain from someone's eyes, to watch them vanish into polygons as though they were nothing but a computer program, a glitch in the system. If you don't mind sharing, of course," Caenor added quickly.

"I… don't really mind." Asuna pushed her hair back over her ear as her elegant features creased in a soft frown. "It's rather difficult to put into words. You get a sense that you've just seen something you shouldn't have, something that shouldn't happen in a reasonable world, yet ended up happening anyway. It changes the way you look at this game, because it becomes far, far less of a game to you. You know people can kill other people here, but to actually see that with your own eyes is… life-changing. I don't really know how else to put it."

"And how many of you have killed other people, with your own hands, in this game?" Caenor continued, knowing what the answer would be. Sure enough, no hands were raised.

"Then you are not the authority on the importance of eliminating player killers here." Caenor stabbed a finger towards his chest. "I am. And I suggest you don't lecture me on what our objectives as a guild are supposed to be, or claim the moral high ground just because you won't get your hands dirty. We are a clearing guild, but first and foremost, we are a guild of players, and of individuals. Each and every single one of them has their own story to tell. Their own hopes and dreams, as well as their own fears. But above anything else, all of them want to live. One guild member dead is one too many, whether that's in a boss raid or out in the field. I thought Commander Heathcliff already made that clear, but it seems none of you are willing to listen, not even to him." A contemptuous scowl distorted his features. "I apologize for wasting your time with this meeting. Evidently you have more important things to worry about than the lives of others."

He spun on his heels and marched out of the room, leaving the other vice-commanders to sit in stunned silence. His heart threatened to pound its way out of his ribcage as he stormed down the corridor, and his mind spun as though it were trapped in a whirlpool, dragging him down into a rage-filled abyss. Already he was beginning to regret his outburst – if he'd had any chance of securing their help beforehand, he had absolutely none now. But he wouldn't have been so infuriated by their response in the first place if they'd shown any inkling of understanding. Even a façade of compassion would have sufficed. Yet there had been little, if any, to be found.

He'd blown it. It was as simple as that, even if he felt vindicated in his reaction to their indifference. What would their future look like now, with no viable targets to go after? Would they slowly drift into obsolescence, unable to go on raids alongside the other squads because of their association with his team – and with his petulance – yet also remaining without a primary goal to chase? Would they end up becoming patrollers rather than hunters, wandering the floors aimlessly, hoping to happen upon some isolated incident over which they could claim all the meager glory they would earn?

No. It would not end this way. He would find some other solution. He hadn't let himself down so far, and he wasn't about to throw in the towel just yet.

For now, though, he would have to cool his head.

His feet had once again taken him to a location that he did not expect to arrive at – the central plaza just down the road from headquarters. He had not noticed the chatter growing louder around him, nor the adventurers pushing past as he strode along the pavement, but here he was, one boy alone in a crowd of hundreds. Shaking his head, he moved towards a nearby bench and plopped onto it, feeling his tired back creak and pop as he splayed himself out across the entire seat. Relaxing like this, without a care in the world, basking in the gray sunshine, felt like the first true moment of rest he'd had in a long time.

For the better part of an hour, he simply decompressed, sinking into the bench's wooden planks, ignoring the stares of the people walking by. He knew he couldn't stay here forever, but that was just about all he felt like doing for the time being. Yet as he was about to drift off into sleep, a familiar voice interrupted his moment of tranquility.

"You look comfy."

He opened his eyes to find a mirror staring back at him.

"What brings you here?" Caenor asked without budging an inch.

"It's the central plaza. No one really has a purpose in coming here." Kirito motioned towards Caenor's lower body. "You wanna move your leg?"

Caenor reluctantly obliged, and as he sat up, the Black Swordsman eased into the space beside him.

"So." Kirito cleared his throat. "I heard about the bust-up from Asuna."

"Not you, too," Caenor groaned, flinging an arm over his eyes to shield the sun as he laid his head back. "You come to tell me how stupid I was?"

"Not really – I don't particularly need to tell you that. You probably know well enough yourself."

"Of course I do."

A pause, filled only by the hum of the plaza's passersby. Then, Kirito spoke again. "On second thoughts, though, I'd actually say you did something pretty smart."

Caenor snorted. "In what way?"

"Do you know why I haven't joined the guild, even though I follow them on pretty much all their boss raids and major hunting parties?"

"Because you're a lone wolf?"

Kirito chuckled. "It's not just that, though that's also part of the reason why."

"Enlighten me."

"When you're in a guild, things are expected of you, and those expectations get bigger as the size of the guild increases. The largest guilds are like real-life armies in their own right, with tests, drills, training, patrols, and all that jazz. The Knights of the Blood are no exception, and none are more so than its vice-commanders. They have to organize everything, from hunting schedules, to boss strategies, to the distribution of loot and rewards, and so on and so forth. Maybe I could have been a team leader if I'd joined, but… that just isn't me."

"You're not wrong, I guess." Caenor wholly understood what Kirito was getting at. The vice-commanders might have their heads in the clouds somewhat, but that was partially because of the sheer amount of responsibility they had to take on. Nothing in this game was handed to them on a silver platter; everything had to be worked for to the best of each of their abilities. The vice-commanders were no different.

"Yet it seems to me that sometimes, they focus too hard on the big picture, and not enough on the little people. Asuna falls into that trap occasionally, though she has me to act as a counterweight to her, you know," Kirito waved his hands around, "'grand schemes' for the guild. They needed someone to tell them to wake up and start thinking like actual people again, and not from someone like me, a non-guild member acting like a mercenary for hire. In other words, they needed to hear that rant from you. And they did."

"That's great and all, but it's not going to help me get anything done. They'll just stew over what I said for a couple hours at best, and then go back to their own work." Caenor emitted a mirthless chortle. "They're absolutely right. Clearing this game and getting the hell out of Aincrad is the priority. Who am I to say otherwise? We should just do whatever we can, just the five of us, and if that means not doing much, then it means not doing much. I can't impose on this guild any more than I already am."

"Maybe you won't be stuck with just the five of you."

Caenor glanced over at Kirito, whose expression could only be best described as impish. "What do you mean?"

"Remember what I told you in the 27th floor Labyrinth? We're kindred spirits. And I'm not about to let one of my own kind down. Asuna will probably have my head for this, but…" Kirito cleared his throat. "If you ever need someone to prop up your numbers for a few days, I'm your man. Also, I asked Silica, and she says she wants in, too. That is, if you'll have us, Vice-commander."

"I… Of course. Gladly. Thank you so much. I…" Caenor broke into a laugh of sheer relief, as though a dam inside him had been pierced through, allowing the trapped waters to flow free, streaming into the corners of his eyes, leaking from them uncontrollably. Kirito, who seemed shocked by the abrupt tears, chose simply to look away until Caenor had wiped them off.

"Sorry," Caenor muttered. He didn't know why he'd cried, but maybe it was just the feeling of knowing that someone had his back for once. "I haven't been myself for a while."

"None of us really have." Kirito flicked his player menu open and, scanning the notification that had appeared, jumped to his feet. "Anyway, looks like Asuna needs me. And you, too, apparently."

"Me too?" A stone dropped into the depths of Caenor's heart. He figured Asuna would want nothing to do with him after what he'd just done. Of all the vice-commanders, she was the only one he truly felt guilty about letting down. "How come?"

Kirito shrugged. "No idea. But she wants us to meet her in your office."

Caenor couldn't believe his ears – or his eyes, for that matter. "What…?"

"You heard me." Asuna swept her hand out towards the other people who had gathered, adding up to a dozen and more. Any number greater than five was a veritable crowd by his office's standards; this totaled just about triple that. "All of them have said yes. They're just waiting on your word."

"I had some willing volunteers from my own team, too. People who've had friends or loved ones murdered, or have run into player killers themselves. I knew they'd be more than happy to help." The blue-haired figure of Uzala stepped forward and slapped the posterior of one of his nearby subordinates, who yelped in surprise. "I can only spare five, though, and only for two days. Beyond that," he wagged a finger, "they're coming straight back to me. Deal?"

"Yes… yes, of course." Caenor, still dazed by this most recent turn of events, spluttered as he tried to make out the words he needed to speak. "Thank you. And… I'm sorry about what I said just now."

"Don't be, don't be. I kinda had a part to play in this, foisting Wing on you, so I have to make up for it somehow." Uzala winked. "This is the least I can do for you. You may not know it, but you struck a nerve with the other vice-commanders in the best way possible. A couple of them hate you now, of course, but I think Godfrey in particular was quite moved. Maybe he won't be averse to giving you a hand if you ask nicely."

"Hopefully it won't come to that." Cantabile, who stood at the doorway behind him alongside the other original members of his team, seemed impressed by the large throng of guild-mates that had sprung up in their office. Asuna frowned upon seeing who had arrived, though her lips remained sealed. "We should try to involve as few people as possible. Though I gotta say, this is some crowd. Good going, Vice-commander."

"My most senior member here is Beni, so he'll look after our troops on my behalf." Uzala tousled the hair of a familiar face, who waved and smiled at Caenor. "You remember him."

"I do." Caenor reached out and shook Beni's hand. "You look a lot better now. I'm glad."

"All thanks to you, Vice-commander. A day's rest was all I needed. I have to say, I wasn't expecting a team leader of all people to come to my rescue." Beni's eyes softened. "I didn't think much of your team – or player killers in general – before I was captured, but it's safe to say things have changed. So, I'm here to do my part."

"That's what we're all here for," said a nearby player, and the others quickly concurred.

"Then I'll make sure to put all of you to good use." Caenor bowed to Asuna and Uzala. "Thank you again."

"Bring them back in one piece or I won't forgive you," Asuna said sternly, though she could not resist a smile. "You'll be in more than safe hands with Kirito around. I trust him with my life, and so should you."

"Come on, now." Kirito laughed awkwardly. "That's a little too much pressure to be putting on me. I haven't done anything for Caenor to warrant that sort of trust."

"That won't be long in coming, I think." Caenor wasn't quite sure what to make of the abrupt yet tremendous favor his two senior peers had just done for him, particularly given how much of a fool he'd made of himself in front of them, but having been plunged over the past day into previously unexplored depths of despair, he could not help but feel the boulder crushing him under its weight crack and wobble somewhat. If there was even but a thread to hang from, one that might keep him and his team in the game for just a little longer, he would reach for it however best he could.

Was it really so wrong to hold on to hope?