Like an escort keeping watch, they crossed the gray-red rocky wilderness, taking in the same scenery they had long since grown used to.
After more than twenty minutes, Satoru and Sheeta finally returned to the main city, Urbus. The shift from the deserted front lines to the bustling streets felt almost jarring.
Walking along the wide avenue paved with smooth marble slabs, Satoru glanced at the party interface still open in the upper-left corner of his vision, unsure what to do with it.
They had barely spoken along the way, yet he could constantly feel her gaze from behind.
To the point where it almost felt like he might get backstabbed at any moment.
Yurnero's character wasn't using the default handsome face anymore, right? In reality, Satoru's appearance was completely average.
If this were the real world, his face would probably show enlarged pores and a greasy sheen from too many late nights. Thanks to the virtual rendering, though, his skin looked smooth and clear, almost like it had been filtered.
His actual facial features hadn't changed, had they?
That's what he thought.
Once they reached town, though, suddenly turning around with a cold expression and saying, "We're here, let's split up," would feel far too abrupt.
So he could only hope the girl behind him would take the hint.
Unfortunately… she just kept following him.
If it were someone like Klein, he wouldn't hesitate to say something. When it came to a cute girl, though, even Satoru couldn't help but feel a slight bit of goodwill.
Still, that was all.
Don't get the wrong idea. He wasn't the type to carry girls.
Back when he worked as a shady boosting player, he'd once hunted down a duo-couple on the opposing side so relentlessly they were on the verge of breaking up. He told himself it was just for the rank, but deep down, wiping out that kind of pair always gave him a strange sense of satisfaction.
In the end, Satoru was just an ordinary guy… or maybe just a mutt.
Hmm… maybe she saw how he performed on the front lines and decided to stick close to him for protection?
That kind of cheap tactic didn't seem to fit her, though. Besides, she was level 13, already among the front-line players. Making it that far meant she clearly wasn't lacking in courage. In his mind, that kind of spirit was comparable to the rapier user he had once fought alongside.
Though their skill levels were still quite far apart.
Satoru's thoughts kept circling, eventually looping back to whether his character actually looked handsome or not, until he ended up completely confused.
Behind him, Sheeta seemed to be in high spirits, clearly fascinated by Urbus's rugged architecture blending into the surrounding rocky terrain.
With her hands clasped behind her back and light, bouncy steps, she looked like a cheerful little elf out sightseeing. Paired with her soft, pale-gold hair, straight out of a fairy tale, the lively aura she gave off almost began to rub off on the gloomy power-leveler walking ahead of her.
"…"
This strange, awkward balance continued for another ten minutes. By the time Satoru finally stopped, they had already reached the central district, the very place he had come back for.
The heavy clang of metal on metal echoed through the streets, and a faint heat from the furnaces lingered in the air.
Sheeta was still in sightseeing mode, so when Satoru suddenly stopped, a hint of confusion crossed her face.
"I came back to upgrade."
He said it with a hint of helplessness. Besides, even without that reason, they'd already reached the teleport gate to the second floor. If they kept going, they'd just get sent back to the starting town.
"Oh, I see." Sheeta paused, then nodded as if it clicked, sounding a little absent-minded. Whether that was genuine or not was hard to tell.
Right… so shouldn't you be meeting up with your friends or something?
But she just stood there, mirroring him.
Satoru's brow twitched as he took a step forward.
Sheeta took a step forward too.
"…"
He walked forward three quick steps.
Sheeta matched him step for step.
He took two steps forward, then suddenly stepped back.
"…Uh."
Caught mid-step, she didn't have time to react before bumping straight into his back. A soft yelp slipped out as she covered her forehead.
"…What kind of girl did I just save?"
Satoru rubbed his chin, frowning as he tried to figure her out. Even after seeing all kinds of people, he still couldn't make sense of her.
"Um… excuse me," he said, turning around. She was still rubbing her forehead, looking up at him. "We're already back in town. You should get your gear sorted, or meet up with your friends. Do something productive. You don't need to feel like you owe me."
"Even if you say that…" she murmured, hesitating for a moment. "I don't really have any friends."
What is this… suffocating sense of despair?
"If I really had to name someone, it would only be Nero. So in the end, I guess I can only follow you, right?"
Lowering her hand, she lifted her flawless face and tilted her head slightly as she asked.
Your logic makes no sense at all!
Satoru rubbed his forehead.
"Let's put it simply. We're just strangers who met by chance, you—"
A friend request popped up in front of him.
"So… you want to add me as a friend?" Sheeta blinked, that cute expression making it hard to refuse.
So now your brain suddenly starts working fast?
The two of them fell into another staring match.
I really can't wrap my head around how she thinks… What about me is even worth paying attention to?
Then, at last, a trace of understanding appeared in her eyes, as if she had finally realized something. Satoru caught the change and felt a bit relieved. So she does understand how awkward this is. Leave it like that long enough and it could wear anyone down.
He was already thick-skinned enough not to care. She had probably realized it was time to give up.
"Aren't you here to upgrade your weapon, Nero? Go ahead. I won't leave. I'll just wait here for you."
She nodded, pointing toward the source of the hammering sounds, her expression calm and reassuring, like someone telling a child they'd be right there waiting.
"…"
Satoru pressed a hand to his face, said nothing, and headed in that direction.
At this rate, there was no way he'd get through to her without a full-blown argument, and that would probably take at least an hour. Better to deal with his own business first.
The sound of hammering grew clearer with each step. He could almost see it—a heavy black hammer sweeping through the air before crashing down onto a red-hot iron block, sparks bursting out as the glowing metal bent under the blow.
A blacksmith.
Along the roadside, right at the edge of the stone pavement, a thick red carpet had been laid out.
Various pieces of iron, steel, and crafting materials were scattered across it. Off to the left stood a small furnace, steadily radiating heat, its opening facing the street as the flames inside burned low and steady.
The owner was short. His earthy, rock-colored hair made his profession obvious at a glance. Without the missing beard, could've passed for a dwarf straight out of a fantasy novel.
But up close, it was clear how young he was. Almost a kid. His features still carried that unmistakable immaturity of someone barely eleven or twelve.
A skilled blacksmith.
Not an NPC, but a real player. At this stage of the game, he was likely the first player blacksmith to set up shop.
Satoru had even heard about him in nearby villages. Players chasing higher enhancement levels would no doubt keep coming to support his newly opened stall.
"Hello." Still carrying a trace of exasperation thanks to a certain someone, Satoru stepped forward and greeted the young shopkeeper.
"Ah—h-hello." The boy froze mid-swing and quickly looked up. He was even shorter than Sheeta, which only made him seem younger in real life. "Are you here for repairs, or to buy something?"
Pretty well set up.
Satoru was a little surprised. Having this kind of setup at this stage meant serious funding. Either he was a sharp merchant who had built it up himself, or he had backing from a group. Judging by his slightly timid demeanor, the latter seemed more likely.
As for his name…
Satoru glanced at the purple text floating above the stall.
"Nez… Nezha?" he read slowly. "I'd like to upgrade this weapon. I've already got the materials ready."
He opened his inventory and took out the +4 Crimson Sickle Fang.
"An upgrade…" Nezha lowered his head, his already drooping eyes sinking further. After a brief pause, he took the curved sword and pulled up its details. "Two Sharpness, two Precision, three enhancement attempts remaining… That's a good weapon. Which attribute would you like to enhance?"
The boy's voice was quiet. Not lacking confidence, just a little timid.
"Sharpness and Precision again. One upgrade each for now," Satoru replied evenly.
"Alright. Three thousand Col," he said.
Satoru paid without hesitation. It wasn't a small sum, but compared to his deal with Argo, this was practically cheap.
Taking a deep breath to steady himself, the young blacksmith placed the curved sword onto the base. Then he fed the Blazing Bull Horn and Black Poison Stinger into the softly burning furnace.
The flames suddenly surged.
As if fueled by a sudden gust, they flared up, instantly swallowing the materials into their core. It was like watching them melt down into something more refined. The warm red glow gradually deepened into a bluish-red, creating a dazzling effect no real forge could replicate.
At that moment, Nezha carefully slid the curved sword into the furnace.
Ten seconds later, he pulled it back out. The Crimson Sickle Fang glowed a scorching red, radiating heat like it had just been pulled from the heart of the fire.
Nezha picked up the hammer again, raised it, took a steady breath, adjusted his aim, and brought it down in a heavy strike.
Clang.
The sound rang out, warm light reflecting across their faces.
Though it was only a visual effect, and the success rate depended entirely on the blacksmith's skill and the rarity of the materials, watching the process still created a strange illusion. As if, with enough care and focus, even an ordinary weapon could become something extraordinary.
Satoru crossed his arms and waited.
Aincrad's enhancement system was ruthless.
Every item had a fixed number of enhancement attempts. Not a maximum level, but a hard limit on how many times it could be upgraded.
If a weapon had five attempts and all five failed, then that was it. No matter what, it would stay at +0 forever.
Completely worthless.
The Crimson Sickle Fang had originally been enhanced by an NPC in town. It had seven total attempts. Four had already been used, and all had succeeded. That left three remaining. Failure was still very much possible.
Even so, reaching +5 would already be enough. That was likely this weapon's limit.
The pauses between each strike felt long. Every swing of Nezha's hammer was steady and deliberate. That alone was enough to reassure most customers.
Six.
Seven.
Eight.
Nine.
Ten.
With the final, clean strike, the crimson blade began to change. Beneath the fading glow, faint patterns started to spread across its surface.
Was it a success… or a failure? Satoru watched the weapon with quiet interest.
Szzzt—!
It wasn't the sound of something breaking through and transforming, but a harsh, grating tear, like metal being ripped apart by force. The noise scraped at his ears, and he frowned instinctively.
Then came a familiar shattering sound—the same one that played when a monster was defeated.
The Crimson Sickle Fang on the iron base broke apart into fragments, dissolving cleanly into the air.
Failed… and not just that. The weapon was gone.
Even Satoru paused for a moment.
Silence settled around him.
The young blacksmith's face twisted in pain.
"I—I'm so sorry!!" This time, the apology burst out of him, completely different from his earlier timid tone. Nezha bent forward at a full ninety degrees, as if he might slam his forehead into the ground from sheer guilt. "I'm really, truly sorry!!"
"It's just probability." Satoru showed a hint of regret, but he wasn't shaken. Compared to the one who caused the loss, he was far calmer. "Even with a 99% success rate, failure still means zero. And even at 1%, if it works, then it's 100%. It's fine. This isn't your fault."
That was simply how weapon enhancement worked. Success and failure were both part of the system.
"B-but…" Nezha didn't straighten up, his voice trembling. "That's something you rely on in battle. You must have put so much into it… I'm sorry. This is all my fault!"
"I didn't put that much into it." Satoru raised an eyebrow, his tone flat.
It wasn't the answer Nezha had expected.
And yet, in this death game, the weapon in your hand was practically your lifeline. It carried you through all one hundred floors of this floating castle. Time and again, players survived life-and-death situations because of what they held. For them, a blade was the one companion that would never betray them—perhaps the only thing they could truly trust.
It wouldn't be strange to grow attached to it.
"No… please, let me compensate you for your loss." Nezha's voice dropped, weighed down by guilt.
"Nero, what's wrong?"
Noticing the shift, Sheeta, who had been waiting nearby, walked over.
…Right.
Satoru's expression darkened again.
"If you want to compensate me, I won't refuse. But don't let that frustration affect your work."
"Then…" Nezha gripped the hem of his clothes and slowly raised his head, about to open his inventory.
"Before that, finish my request."
"Huh?" He looked up, confused.
What he saw in Satoru's eyes was a calm so absolute it felt almost lifeless.
"Weapon enhancement has always been like this. You can talk about luck all you want, but in the end, it's just a matter of attempts and volume," Satoru said evenly.
He glanced at the empty base. The curved sword that had been with him just an hour ago, cutting down Windwasps, was already gone. Yet his expression didn't change in the slightest.
"Keep going, kid."
He opened his inventory.
What left Nezha completely frozen was what appeared next.
One weapon after another.
Six… seven in total. Four curved swords and three one-handed swords. Their quality and finish were nothing like cheap shop gear. Every single one was a drop.
And the four curved swords were identical to the one that had just been destroyed.
Crimson Sickle Fang.
"And the materials. This should be enough."
A trade window opened in front of him, filled with materials. The quantity alone had already reached three digits.
"Th-this is…?" the young blacksmith stammered.
"Because I put in the effort."
Satoru met his gaze directly.
"Expecting perfect success on the first try isn't how experienced players think. If you want a weapon that truly suits you, this is the level of preparation you need."
There was a strange coldness in his words.
Looking closer, it came from the fact that he felt no attachment at all to the destroyed +4 Crimson Sickle Fang. You could call it the composure of a professional. But the "companion" that had stayed with him through countless dull days and nights hadn't even been given a moment of mourning.
Standing beside him, hearing those words firsthand, you could feel that quiet, unsettling indifference.