"Haa..."
Drifter sighed contentedly as he sipped his hot chocolate. The visible white puff from his breath mixed with the vapor from the drink, swirling in the air in front of him.
In front of him, a seemingly endless blanket of snow streched as far as the eye could see. The only obstacle was the tower in the distance.
The 60th floor had the most plain design Drifter had ever seen. It truly was just a straightforward snowy field. No hidden ice caves or frozen lakes.
Even the mobs were lackluster - artic wolves, snow golems, horned hares, and one polar bear-adjacent field-boss.
The overwhelming simplicity of the floor told Drifter all he needed to know about the coming battle.
Draining the last of his hot chocolate, Drifter smacked his lips, then set the mug down on the table.
Getting up and stretching, he pulled his spear from its sheath and turned around. A hundred frontliners stared at him, armed, armored, and ready.
"Let's do this."
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Sixty raids. Sixty days. That was how many times Kikouka Seijirou had sat at his desk and watched the Assault Team fight for the lives of everyone in Sword Art Online.
Nearly 3 years had passed since that cursed day when 10.000 innocent victims gleefully wore their NerveGears, excited to play the most awaited game of this generation.
Half of them would never wake again.
But, even through thousands of deaths, the frontliners endured. They withstood the test of time and despair, held together after massacres carried out by mobs and monsters who walked on two legs. Again and again they had been broken down, only to rebuilt stronger, forging ahead regardless of fear or pain.
It was as awe-inspiring as it was depressing. Seijirou had truly hoped that by now, they would have managed to bring the survivors back. They had some of the best minds on the planet working on it, and many contingency plans.
They just lacked someone willing to carry them out. After all, if they succeed they would be heroes. And if they failed... mass murderers.
No, the SAO players would have to save themselves, climbing Aincrad with teeth and claws, something the frontliners had already been doing for a while, and didn't seen keen to stop.
Their will and grit was beyond impressive. Fighting their way up Aincrad to the 50th floor had already earned them the respect of all across the world, even soldiers like Seijirou.
But the 10 floors that came after, those were the real clincher.
Suffering wounds that would leave healthy men laid out for weeks, or even killed outright, on a daily basis, feeling all the pain from each and every one of them, and still going...
If there had been just one person like that amongst the 10.000 SAO players, Seijirou would already have been impressed. The fact that there were over a hundred in the Assault Team left him both stunned and proud.
He wasn't unaware of the economical and political ramifications either.
An entire industry had grown around SAO in those short 32 months. Kayaba had somehow hacked the entire world so his broadcasts were free for all, but so-called 'specialists' - analysts, commentators, and more - had sprung up like shrooms after a summer rain.
And that was just on the media side of things. There was also the merchandise, which had quickly become a world-wide phenomenon. Millions of people around the globe looked up to the frontliners with an almost reverential fervor. They might not be able to tell you their own birthday, but they could list the members of the Assault Team in alphabetical order and backwards.
It was a good thing that Lightning Flash Asuna's father had taken over Kayaba's old company, and claimed patent to everything he possibly could. He had put his foot down that all the proceedings from merchandise - and there were a lot of those, from t-shirts to action figures - would go to a fund established to support the families of SAO players, living and deceased alike. Considering his daughter was one of the most prominent frontliners, and that he held majority ownership of the company, no one had been quite willing to fight him on that.
Something good that came out of the macabre phenomenon that was the world zealously watching what was basically a modern-day gladiator match, in its very own Coliseum to boot.
And now, yet another match was starting. Seijirou wondered if, like the emperors of old, Kayaba was waiting, pondering which way to turn his thumb.
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Hrafnheim, Goliath of the Cold. That was the name of the 60th floor boss.
When the players arrived on this floor and saw it was simply an empty field of snow, they had thought the boss might be another giant behemoth like Jötunn Mammorath. Winter floors had a theme in that regard.
But no. Despite the word 'goliath' in its name, Hrafnheim was quite small for a boss - meaning, it still towered above all the players by a good 2 meters.
It's size aside, the boss looked nearly humanoid, if you ignored the icy blue tone of its skin.
Hrafnheim wore animal pelts woven into elaborate designs, with plenty of platinum chain links decorating them. Bracelets and rings of the same material adorned its arms and hands. A cape, crafted of pitch black feathers, rippled in an unseen wind over its shoulders.
But by far, the most distinguishable features of the boss were those above the torso: a slender neck supported a head that was far too angular to be considered human. Blonde hair, pale to the point it almost looked white, flowed in long locks, falling to its shoulders and covering the right side of its face.
But what really caught Drifter and everyone's attention was its single visible eye. It was milky wait, with no pupil or iris to speak off. Blind, no doubt. And yet, the frontliners felt its gaze piercing them with unbridled contempt.
This was the boss of a round floor. The Assault Team had never underestimated it. In round floors, the smallest mistake could mean death. And with the memories of the 50th still hanging over their heads, they all felt a weight pressing onto their chests.
Plus, there was the comma in its name. They had yet to meet an enemy with one that wasn't a true monster.
Drifter glared back at the boss. He knew that just because Hrafnheim's hands were empty, it didn't mean it was harmless.
He didn't wait for the boss to make the first move. His spear shone in a brilliant silver, and he launched it at Hrafnheim, Goliath of the Cold.
TING!
It struck the boss's chest with the sound of steel meeting steel. Hrafnheim didn't budge, but a small dent appeared in the first of its 5 health bars.
"Fight!"
That was the sign for the raid to start. With a roar, the frontliners charged forward, and the previously idle boss also jumped into action.
Nautilus, Vallerk, Liten, Shivata and other tanks formed a line, raising their shields to endure the wave of bitting cold that washed over them.
A dozen nearly see-through icicles formed at the tips of the boss' fingers, each 30 centimeters long and wickedly sharp.
"Brace!"
With a simple wave of Hrafnheim's hands, the icicles shot towards the players, striking the tanks hard enough that all but Nautilus, Vallerk, and Liten stumbled back.
Ice magic. That was the most valuable piece of intel Argo had managed to uncover about Hrafnheim, Goliath of the Cold. A rarity in SAO, the boss possessed not only ranged attacks, but also magic.
Truly worthy of being a round floor boss.
Other players surged forward, past the line of shield-bearers, after they tanked Hrafnheim's first attack. Swords, spears, and axes lashed out, leaving a dozen cuts into its blue skin.
Too easy. Drifter and every frontliner worth their salt - all of them - shivered. It wasn't due to just their instinct warning them, but also the already cold air turning chilling.
"Vallerk! Liten!"
He needn't have shouted. The two tanks were already moving, using charge skills to put themselves between the boss and the other frontliners.
And just in time too. Their experience led to both of them using Iron Will, a skill which let them resist status conditions, without any prior agreement, their massive tower shields glowing grey as the boss slammed its hands together, unleashing a conical wave of frost that crashed upon them.
"Ahh!"
Most of the players managed to take cover behind the two tanks, but not all. A dagger-user screamed in surprise and pain as the attack caught him head-on, and a layer of black ice grew over his legs, locking him in place and eating away at his HP.
That piercing blind gaze of Hrafnheim turned towards the unlucky player, and it waved its hand in a dismissive gesture.
A thorny spear of ice, nearly two meters in length and with the width of a fist, materialized from thin air, floating there. With Hrafnheim's wave, it shot towards the dagger-user.
TING!
And stopped short.
Nautilus stood in front of the player, buckler raised to block the attack, Indomitable Might not giving an inch despite the force behind the spear. A savage grin hung on his lips.
"Reactive aggro."
The second worst kind of aggro system in SAO. The boss' AI was advanced enough that it would ignore normal aggro ranges and target the most vulnerable player at the moment. That meant Taunt and other skills like it, as well as all the strategies reliant on it, lost most of their value.
That wasn't why Nautilus was smiling. His burning glare was focused beyond the boss.
"Should've known an eye on your surroundings, sucker."
Almost as if it understood the Reaver, Hrafnheim spun around, just in time to eat Drifter's spear.
Quite literally too. The guild master's weapon pierced through Hrafnheim's mouth and came out the back of its head.
The boss didn't falter, even as the green line of its first HP gauge took a sharp dip into yellow. Ice claws grew on its knuckles, and it slashed at Drifter.
"Urgh!"
The spearmaster couldn't help but grunt as pain blossomed across him arm and torso. The claws tore into him, leaving long gashes dripping red shards.
Even then, Drifter endured the sharp pain to smash his heel onto Hrafnheim's knee - the highest he could reach, considering the boss was about 4 meters tall, and even letting his spear pierce its head was only due to Drifter stretching his entire body - with a Martial Arts sub-skill, at the same time pulling his weapon free and retreating.
"Priii!"
Almost instantly, Yuna's Rest and Pina's healing bubbles started working on bringing his health, which had taken about a 25% hit, back to full.
Hrafnheim, meanwhile, didn't press the offense. Its blind gaze swept past Drifter, taking in the other players. During that brief exchange with the tanks and then the spearmaster, the Assault Team had completely encircled it.
Drifter could almost swear he saw something akin to respect in the boss' frozen features. Depending on how advanced its AI was, that was a real possibility.
Then the moment passed, two feathered shafts sprouting from Hrafnheim's neck from Sinon's Double Shot.
"Kill!"
Lind led a DKB party from one side, while Fuurinkazan mirrored them from the other. Hrafnheim simply slashed its hands through the air, and two ice scythes forced both groups to stop their charges and hastily defend.
But the boss was just one, no matter how many weapons it could create. While it was occupied with Lind and Klein, Godfree's axe bit into its ribs and Kizmel's sword sliced at its thighs.
Kirito ducked under a round of icicles, and Asuna jumped over a warhammer of indestructible ice. Orlando's greatsword slashed the boss from shoulder to hip. Feredir's teeth and Silica's dagger sunk into its calves. Shivata blocked a scythe and forced the boss back with a bash. Yuuki ran it through the chest with a Sonic Leap while her sister stabbed it in the neck with a boost from Agil.
Little by little, Hrafnheim, Goliath of the Cold, was overwhelmed by the combined might of the Assault Team, its first HP bar swiftly evaporating.
But for every hit point it lost, Hrafnheim claimed its due.
Wolv cried out from an ice spear pinning him to the ground through his leg. Gilgamesh rolled back, dazed from a blow to his chest that left him feeling like he had an elephant tap dancing on his ribs. A KoB player cursed enough to make a sailor blush while looking at the stump of his arm, severed at the elbow.
Hrafnheim wouldn't go down quietly. And while he bit his lips to endure the pain from the icicle buried in his shoulder, Drifter knew the raid was only just beginning.