Two weeks and some change after the 60th floor boss raid, Drifter was carefully polishing his newest conquest. There was no real benefit to it, as weapons didn't rot or blunted in SAO, but he enjoyed the action all the same.
In that characteristic Aincrad fashion, the 61st floor looked nothing like the one below it. The winter wonderland had given way to an impossibly large lake, occupying nearly all of the floor.
A number of small islands dotted the surface of said lake, uninhabited by any but mobs, while the only large settlement of the floor, a sprawling city, surrounded the stairs coming from the level below.
When the setting sun shone over the lake, the whole floor was painted golden. Drifter could see the Reavers setting up a base here, had they not already chosen their home in the 51st floor.
But that was just a passing thought.
First thing come dawn of the next day, the Assault Team would face their 61st floor boss.
And so, in the quiet of his room, Yuna asleep on the bed next to him, Drifter polished the never-melting ice spear he had claimed as last-hit bonus from Hrafnheim, Goliath of the Cold, and prepared for tomorrow's raid, in more ways than one.
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The 62nd floor was a tropical jungle, a veritable maze that forced the players to spend some extra days to clear all of it.
Getting lost was normal, as even with their maps, the players had to make so many twists and turns to get anywhere that Teleport Crystals quickly became the best - if expensive - way of getting around.
But now they were ready to challenge the ruler of this forest. The Assault Team at his back, Drifter took a deep breath before pushing the boss room doors open.
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'Wet' was the best adjective Drifter could give to describe the 63rd floor.
And that was saying something, considering the boss they had just beaten to get here had been a corrupted water spirit.
But the never-ending rain that befell the floor gave validity to his analysis. While they had experienced rain before in other floors of Aincrad, it had never been as heavy or constant as in the 63rd. Here, it simply never stopped.
It made fighting hell.
Not for the first time, the players cursed Kayaba's penchant for realism.
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The straightforward nature of the 64th floor provided a welcome respite to the frontliners and clearers. Having an open field in front of them, even one heavily populated by some very hostile mobs, was much better than wadding through mud and being soaked to the bones day in and day out.
It also helped make up for the delays in clearing time they had experienced on the 62nd and 63rd floors. In a short 10 days, the Assault Team was once more gearing up to fight another floor boss.
It would, unfortunately, be a day of tragedy, though one Drifter couldn't help but feel the victim had brought upon himself: a DKB clearer, frustrated and disgruntled from having his application to join the Assault Team rejected twice by Lind, had followed them into the boss room, and they had only noticed too late.
The player had paid with his life for his recklessness - and, frankly, stupidity - and though neither Drifter nor Lind blamed anyone - or themselves - it still soured what would have otherwise been a day of celebration.
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The 65th floor was one giant ruined city. From the northern-most point to the south edge, from east to west, all of it was covered in debries from collapsed houses and other structures.
It resembled the 5th floor greatly, though there was no treasure hunt to distract them. Instead, they had to be on high alert at all moments for astral entities that floated through broken walls or even the ground, making eerie sounds that resembled whispering children far too much.
Needless to say, the frontliners wouldn't be coming back to this floor once they were done with it.
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"Hoo..."
Drifter closed his eyes and breathed deeply onto the crispy air of the 66th floor.
It was hot, perhaps uncomfortably so, but he would take anything, even the ever-raining 63rd floor, over having another ghost creeping up on him while he tried to eat his lunch.
His gaze lowered to the ground under his feet. Through the soles of his feet, he could feel it was hard like stone, but to his eyes, it looked more like some sort of crystal - opaque like frosted glass at some points, and clear and transparent at others.
Tang.
The sound carried when he tapped the ground with the butt of his spear. It sounded like he had flicked his nail at a window.
Lifting his eyes, he scanned the floor. There was little in the way of physical obstacles to impede his sight, but the glare of the sun reflecting off the ground made judging distances an exercise of futility.
There was a small town visible, however, and Drifter pointed his spear at it.
"That's the safe zone. Let's get moving."
They were all tired, coming down from the adrenaline-high of the raid. It was just a little over midday, but Drifter couldn't wait to go back to bed, and he knew his Reavers had much the same thoughts.
It wasn't meant to be, unfortunately. They had barely walked a hundred meters before the frontliners at the vanguard stopped.
"What's that?"
A simple question, and it instantly snapped the Assault Team into combat mode. They spread out so as to not get in each others' way, weapons were raised in preparation, and formations shuffled to place tanks at the front.
Drifter kept his gaze locked on what had alerted his fellow frontliner.
"What the--"
It was a blur on the ground, barely discernable from its surroundings. The opacity of the crystal made it hard to identify any features.
But one thing they could be sure of was that, whatever it was, it was moving.
Almost like a shark or whale surfacing from the sea, the blur grew larger as it climbed higher - and it said something that none of the frontliners bat an eyelid at the concept of a mob swimming through the ground like it was an ocean.
The players stepped back, putting some distance between them and the incoming enemy, and let it emerge completely. Having just climbed to the 66th floor, they were in the information gathering phase, so the more they let the mob do its thing, the better intel they would collect.
"Okay, that's creepy as fuck."
What surfaced from the ground, almost as if it were melting up - somehow - was a humanoid being made of translucent glass.
But, even though the creature was clearly inhuman, it's features weren't. The face it was using - and Drifter used that term literally - was that of the frontliner who had first called for attention.
Even its armor, melded from pure glass, and its weapons - long-sword and shield - were the same as the ones the player carried.
Drifter eyed the mob in disconcert. The red cursor and name above its head, Mirror Shade, were as good a clue as its appearance for what the monster's abilities were.
"Everyone, back off. Let Shiren fight it. Shiren, try to drag it out. We need to discover if it only copies your likeness or your skills as well - system given and otherwise."
A mob that could use any system skills the player they mimic had was scary, but doable. The frontliners spared with each other often enough that they were more than familiar with all of those.
But if the Mirror Shade could copy not just their attack skills, but also their combat experience, then it would be a whole other story.
"Got it, boss."
Shiren's face was set in a grim expression as he stepped forward. The rest of the Assault Team retreated, giving him space for his duel, though his party was close enough that they could rescue him should something go wrong.
Both Shiren and his copy raised their swords at the same time. Behind them, Drifter and the others frowned. Shiren had purposefully chosen an uncommon starting stance, one that wasn't prelude for any skill, but the Mirror Shade had mimicked him perfectly.
"Start slow, Shiren. No skills."
"Hm."
The frontliner grunted to acknowledge Drifter's command, then took a large step forward, thrusting his sword in a basic stab.
The Mirror Shade brought up its shield, and Drifter's eyes narrowed when Shiren's sword was deflected to the side. The mob had angled its buckler on purpose, both to defend against Shiren, and also to give itself an opening for an overhead slash.
Shiren avoided it with ease, turning his body and pulling back his weapon. He hadn't put much force on his exploratory stab.
However, even though the clash had resulted in a net zero for both sides, Shiren was frowning heavily.
Any fighter worth their name would know to do what the mob did. That in itself wasn't impressive. And it wasn't the first time the players had met enemies with a combat AI advanced enough to do it too.
But it had been too smooth. Like the Mirror Shade knew exactly what Shiren was doing.
The next minutes of battle asserted that fear. Each stab, slash, thrust, and cut was met with a counter - and the longer they fought, the more Shiren felt like he was facing himself, the mob making the same minute decisions he would have.
But even then, there was something strange. Something Drifter noticed as well, and thus shouted a new order to Shiren.
"Sting, now!"
Shiren complied immediately. He had been holding himself back from using skills, and Drifter's yell came at the exact moment the Mirror Shade showed the perfect opening for using it, so Shiren just let the skill flow.
He claimed first blood then. The Mirror Shade didn't make a sound, but the red hole in its sword arm told the entire story.
"It was too slow to react."
Or rather, it had started reacting too late. Unlike every other attack before, the Mirror Shade couldn't anticipate the Sting.
"So, it can copy combat experience but not system skills? That doesn't make sense."
For the latter, all Cardinal or Kayaba, whoever created the mob, had to do was add a line of code. The skills were created by the system, and countless mobs had used them before.
But the fighting ability the Mirror Shade copied from Shiren during the battle? Drifter couldn't even begin to imagine how one would go around transforming what was basically grueling training and life-or-death combat experience into mere numbers to input into a mob's AI.
"It should be-- Shiren, watch out!"
All the frontliners rushed forward in unison when Shiren, in the process of using a Horizontal, overextended a little. Normally, that wouldn't be an issue, the player being more than experienced enough to make it work.
But this time, the Mirror Shade leaned back, dodging the attack, before lunging forward with a Sting.
"Ugh!"
The mob's replica sword pierced straight through Shiren's shoulder, a last-second tilt of his body being the only thing that stopped it from precisely skewering his heart.
It was about that moment too that half a dozen attacks from Shiren's party hit it, pretty much disintegrating the Mirror Shade.
Drifter stared at the vanishing remains of the mob while Shiren took out a potion and apologized for forcing others to interfere. The spearmaster waved him off.
"That's not on you, Shiren. None of us expected it... It wasn't just your combat experience it replicated. It was actively copying you as the fight went on. It could only use Sting after you did."
"So... it gets stronger the more skills we use?"
Drifter bit his lips.
"We need more tests. But the clearers can deal with that. For now, let's activate the teleporter and get some rest. We've earned it."
The frontliners cheered for that, and Drifter smiled - but it didn't reach his eyes.
'What are you playing at, Kayaba?'
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Contrary to what the titled player was imagining, Kayaba's plans weren't all that nefarious. He was simply.... collecting data.
Everything to make his World more perfect. Until the day it was real.