At two in the afternoon, inside the Governor's Office of the world of gunsmoke, the sensation of descent and deceleration came one after another. With a notification chime, the elevator doors slid open.
Facing the dim scene beyond them, the man let out a low hum. A faint smile touched the corner of his mouth as he stepped inside like a ghost.
The room was covered by a hemispherical dome. The lighting had been lowered to the bare minimum, and curved lamps protected by iron frames gave off only a thin, meager glow.
The support pillars and walls were made of glossy black steel plates and reddish-brown metal mesh. Rough tables lined the walls around the dome. High overhead, an enormous multi-sided virtual display hung in the air. Its screen was black except for the words BoB 3 Preliminary and a red countdown with a little less than twenty minutes remaining.
Around those tables, countless figures had gathered.
The silent crowd carried a strange tension.
Games were supposed to be noisy and fun. But here, there were no carefree, loudmouthed players. A few people gathered in small groups and murmured to one another. Others stood alone in corners with their arms folded, eyes lowered as they studied the players nearby.
Like silent beasts sharpening their claws before entering an arena.
The man's gaze swept calmly over the crowd. The atmosphere, built from long experience in battle, pleased him. Deep in his eyes, a golden light had already begun to gather.
He kept walking, brushing past several players. Those with powerful virtual bodies shot him aggressive, battle-hungry looks. Some even pulled their bolts on purpose, making sharp mechanical clicks.
It was like the low growl of a pack.
A stare was pressure. A gesture was a silent provocation.
But the man's expression did not change. Only the smile at his mouth deepened.
Out of the corner of his eye, he took in these gunmen trying to project menace. He made no countergesture. He simply walked past them, slow and unhurried, like a vicious wolf strolling through a flock of sheep.
A sheep's malice was not enough to make a wolf bare its teeth.
That man was here too.
There was already a grudge between them. They would have to kill each other. If it could not be avoided...
Then he might as well enjoy it.
This chance, one he had been waiting for, left him faintly restless.
Ever since he understood the cost of Fluctlight, he had done everything he could to avoid fighting strong players. No matter what he wanted, once an opponent became even slightly troublesome, those golden eyes would open on their own. What followed was a drug-like rush of inhuman speed and domination.
Strong players were bait.
Bait that drew out Fluctlight.
So in this world, he had mostly fought alone against monsters in ruin zones. He spent far more time on PvE.
There should be no more chances to fight with lives on the line like in SAO. Letting Fluctlight consume him again would be too wasteful.
He had held that thrill down with reason.
XaXa.
He spoke the name silently.
But since you prepared a battlefield like this for me, I have a good enough excuse to lie to myself and enjoy it.
He looked over the surrounding crowd. The air these gunmen carried was close to that of players from the old world. None of them had come here to mess around. They were serious.
Crushing weaklings would never make the cost of Fluctlight worth it.
The stronger the opponent, the sharper that pleasure became when the inhuman speed began gnawing at him.
Samuro smiled faintly and lit a cigarette.
Smoking was allowed here, but he was the only one who actually struck a flame and let smoke spread. Naturally, more eyes turned toward him.
This time, he looked back.
As if they had seen something terrifying, an inexplicable chill ran up the virtual spines of several players. Some instinctively looked away. In a virtual environment where the entire nervous system was submerged, emotions resonated more deeply between people. They were clearer here than in reality.
Driven by that vague discomfort, like fish flinching away from a knife on a cutting board, the players around Samuro gradually moved aside.
They left him a small space.
He stood there with the smoke, unwelcome, waiting in silence for the battle to begin.
But one person ignored that discomfort completely. She even walked up behind him and patted his shoulder in a familiar greeting.
"You really came."
It was a pleasant female voice. The voice setting was a little cool, but her tone was not cold at all. It carried surprise.
Samuro turned back. He knew who it was from the voice alone. Out of courtesy, he immediately put out the cigarette he had only half smoked and casually let it dissolve into glass fragments.
If he was a wolf, and those people were sheep, then this girl...
A wildcat, maybe.
"Sinon."
Samuro said her name in this world and gave a small nod in return.
The petite girl was no longer dressed in the bulky cold-weather gear she had worn when they entered the Isaro ruins. Now she wore a sharp tactical outfit. It was almost too sharp, exposing her midriff, but that only added to her brisk, fearless air. With her blue-green eyes and hair, no one would look at her and think of weakness first.
She really was an exquisitely made virtual avatar.
The gold in Samuro's eyes faded away.
"When we came out of the starship and I heard you suddenly say you were entering BoB, I honestly had no idea what you were thinking." Sinon gave him a look that was hard to read.
That was the strongest impression she had of this man.
Impossible to understand.
When they had teamed up, he had been polite and calm while crossing the snowfield. When monsters appeared, his hunting methods were mechanically precise. When they ran into another squad, his reaction had been quick. Even then, he still had enough humor to retreat under fire and toss a grenade over to blow people up.
And after the battle on the bridge at the end, he had felt like a different person. His gaze had become sharper.
Even now, after so much time had passed, she still remembered his back as he blocked the opposing sniper's shot.
"I'm serious," Samuro said with a smile.
Sinon could not argue with that.
"Serious about winning? If so, you and I are bound to run into each other sooner or later." She did not dislike him, and for once she even teased a male player. "I understand your tactics pretty well, and I'm a sniper. You're at a disadvantage, you know."
"Winning... I suppose I should be."
Samuro glanced at the people around them and swallowed the second half of the sentence.
Killing them.
The moment that thought surfaced, the golden light that had just disappeared stirred again in his eyes.
"This is only the preliminaries, right? Anything can happen in battle. Don't get knocked out here." Holding himself back, Samuro spoke again.
"If I fail in the preliminaries, I'm retiring. This time, I have to..."
The smile Sinon had been wearing faded without her noticing. Her eyes sharpened with fierce resolve. Her voice was so quiet it barely had sound at all, and Samuro only caught it by instinct.
Kill every strong player.
Samuro lifted his eyelids slightly in surprise.
The atmosphere between them turned strange.
"Let's sit for a bit," Samuro suggested.
Only then did some of the ice in Sinon's eyes melt. The two found seats and sat down.
"Want to exchange information?"
"You mean you want to ask me everything one-sidedly. You've never entered a major tournament before, have you?"
"Call it fate from when we teamed up. Explain it to me."
"The arena is a square one kilometer on each side. Terrain, weather, and time are all generated at random. At minimum, two players start five hundred meters apart. The winner stays on standby, and the loser is teleported back to the first-floor lobby. Since this is an official tournament, losing doesn't come with item drops or penalties like that. Simple enough, right?"
Sinon explained it crisply.
"In short, just keep fighting with the mindset that you're going to win."
Neither of them seemed in the mood to talk much. After that brief exchange, silence settled between them. It did not feel awkward. They simply watched the countdown and waited for the fighting to start.
Then footsteps approached.
A tall man with long silver-gray hair walked straight up to their table.
He wore a dark gray camouflage uniform patterned with slightly lighter straight lines. A fairly large firearm hung from his shoulder, probably not a submachine gun but an assault rifle. His sharp face matched his sturdy body. His armor was kept to the minimum, giving the impression that he could move with great agility on a battlefield. Rather than a veteran soldier, he looked more like a special forces operator.
The man did not even glance at Samuro. He stared straight at Sinon, a smile appearing at the corner of his mouth. The sharp look on his young face softened.
"Sinon, how are you feeling? Ready?"
His tone was gentle and almost eager. What surprised Samuro was that the aqua-haired girl, whose pale face had been cold enough to freeze over, suddenly softened too. A smile appeared on her lips.
"Hi, Spiegel. Um, but... weren't you not entering?"
The man named Spiegel gave a shy smile and touched his forehead with his right hand.
"It bothered me a little, so I came to cheer you on. Since I'm here, they'd better broadcast the match on the big screen."
Apparently, the two were friends.
Or guildmates.
Sinon shifted slightly, and Spiegel naturally sat down beside her.
"Ah, and this is...?" Just as naturally, he looked at the man sitting across from them and asked.
"A teammate from the ruins zone. Samuro."
Samuro answered with a simple hello.
But he noticed that Spiegel, who should have been shy and mild, suddenly had a strange look in his eyes. The gaze he sent toward Samuro was oddly complicated.
"Samuro..." he repeated, as if confirming it. "You mean the solo player who's always going into high-level zones alone?"
"Yes," Sinon said.
Only then did she remember that Kyouji had mentioned it when they spoke before. Samuro was a well-known player in certain circles. In other words, Kyouji knew him one-sidedly. Judging from the admiring tone he had used, he might even be a fan.
"Ah... I see."
But Spiegel brushed it off with a perfunctory reply.
Samuro looked at him.
Because he sensed hostility pushing back at him.
This should be our first meeting, he thought.
Just as the conversation was about to continue, the BGM inside the dome began to fade. Explosive music from a rapid electric guitar took its place. Then a sweet synthetic voice rang out at high volume above the heads of hundreds of people.
"Thank you for waiting, everyone. From this moment on, the third Bullet of Bullets preliminaries officially begin. Once the countdown ends, all participants will be automatically transferred to the first-round battlefield. Good luck."
The dome erupted with thunderous applause and shouting. Automatic weapons rattled. High-decibel laser generators screamed without pause, firing all kinds of firework-like light into the atrium.
Amid the noise, Sinon stood and pointed her right index finger at Samuro.
After taking a breath, she spoke with clear resolve.
"Make it to the final round. Your head is one I've already blown clean off before."
So that had happened.
Samuro did not mind. He only smiled pleasantly.
Then every contestant was wrapped in blue light and entered a transfer rarely seen in this world of firearms.
...
In the darkness, he glanced at the screen.
The virtual window displayed Samuro VS SueFire in large letters. Beneath it was a one-minute countdown.
Location: Lost Ancient Temple.
The final minute was meant for players to adjust their equipment.
Samuro did not move.
One minute, huh?
He thought slowly.
Before a PK in SAO, there had also been that long minute of confrontation. Right. The silent exchange before battle. Observing the opponent's eyes. Guessing their intent. Calculating the shape of their Sword Skills.
Memories from a year or two ago rushed toward him, and his virtual heartbeat began to pound.
He started laughing before he could stop himself.
In this fantasy world built from electronic signals, Samuro released an intense hunger into the dark.
Gloomy dusk washed over the darkness where he had stood. A high flute note rode the strong wind. Clouds in the sky were torn into pieces and drifted slowly. Dry grass thrashed at his feet. Beside him stood the enormous remains of an ancient round pillar. The arena itself was only a kilometer on each side, but the scenery beyond the horizon looked as if it could stretch for dozens of kilometers.
On this ancient battlefield, he saw no enemy.
Only endless yellow weeds and the light of the setting sun.
Concealment.
Crouching.
Stealth.
All of these were tactics. All were things he could think through in that one minute.
That had once been the precise, chess-piece thinking he relied on.
However.
"No need."
He muttered to himself with a dangerous little smile.
He drew Blue Rose, the short-ranged revolver with a thunderous report, pointed it at the sky, and fired without hesitation. Two bullets burst out together with a tongue of flame. The gunshot rang brutally through the area, drowning out even the hard wind.
That shot was enough to expose his position.
Samuro openly declared where he was.
His eyes were closed.
The wind slapped the grassland into waves. It was as if he were provoking not only his opponent, but the ancient temple battlefield itself.
When the gale died down and the grassland briefly fell quiet again, a man stepped silently out of the weeds twenty meters away. He gripped an assault rifle in both hands and brought it up, the corner of his mouth carrying disdain and sarcasm toward Samuro's self-exposure.
As expected of someone skilled enough to enter the tournament, he corrected his aim in an instant.
The assault rifle began pouring fire at a rate far beyond Samuro's revolver.
The camouflage uniform he wore matched the color of the grassland. He had probably changed into it during the previous minute after learning the location, making thorough preparations before the fight.
By contrast, his opponent's carelessness made him look down on him a little.
A burst of bullets pierced through the sunset glow, driving straight toward the vital points above Samuro's chest.
At that moment, Samuro's eyes snapped open.
Gold flared like a torch.
More than a dozen crimson Bullet Lines appeared before his eyes in an instant. They marked the places those bullets should have reached: his forehead, chest, throat, waist, and stomach.
Sharp impacts rang out one after another in front of him.
Bullets struck metal, and sparks burst apart.
"Wh-?!"
The enemy, who had already emptied half his magazine, stared in shock at the bizarre sight.
"A sword?!"
He only managed that one word.
Samuro lowered his head, the curve of his mouth deepening. In his left hand, the bright, slender katana reflected the white light of the setting sun. He took one gentle step toward the man and casually slashed upward at an angle.
The blade struck the incoming bullet with perfect precision.
If one watched the interception in slow motion, they would even see the edge strike the very tip of the bullet.
The severed bullet split in two and dropped weakly to either side in front of him.
Clang. Clang.
Steel rang out again and again. Sparks scattered before him like broken stars.
The enemy named SueFire could no longer understand what he was seeing. His trusted assault rifle was being blocked in such an absurd way that he even suspected a bug.
But when he noticed Samuro getting closer, his gunman's instincts took over. He began backing away quickly and prepared to reload.
Soon, however, he realized that Samuro's movements were extremely slow.
No.
Leisurely.
He was not running. He was not launching a surprise attack. He was walking toward him as if out for a stroll, like an ordinary passerby who did not care.
The katana hanging at his side swayed in a relaxed little arc.
What is this?
A provocation?
Is he looking down on me?
SueFire immediately loaded a new magazine. His fully automatic weapon unleashed a vicious attack at Samuro, and a dense web of Bullet Lines appeared before his eyes.
Samuro swung his sword one-handed and, impossibly, cut down every bullet.
SueFire's eyes widened. His thoughts nearly stopped.
Faced with his frozen reaction, Samuro simply fired at him. It was an extremely casual shot, fired with no real aim. The huge report of Blue Rose still startled his opponent.
"What's wrong? Keep going."
Samuro looked at the opponent in front of him, his voice cold and vicious, like a predator toying with prey.
Blue Rose fired again.
This time, into the grass.
SueFire fired without thinking, and his automatic weapon spat out two or three bullets.
Three or four clean, sharp impacts rang out. The katana flashed in the sunset, and broken bullet fragments scattered at Samuro's feet.
Samuro looked at the still-disbelieving opponent with disgust and fired at him.
This time, Blue Rose's bullet at least hit. But it was a short-range weapon to begin with. At that distance, the bullet only grazed his ankle and did almost no damage.
Feeling his HP drop, SueFire wavered.
Watching Samuro still stroll toward him, he frantically pulled the trigger a third time, refusing to believe it.
"That's right."
From a distance, Samuro spoke with malice, like a demon coaxing someone deeper into hell.
Then he stepped forward.
This time, his approach quickened. He cut down bullets one after another with the metal katana, and his own speed grew faster and faster. The smile on his face widened.
SueFire's disbelief turned into terror.
Under the crimson evening sky, Samuro's eyes shone gold.
SueFire let out a meaningless roar and desperately used the only attack available to a gunman.
Magazine after magazine was loaded.
Again and again, they achieved nothing.
Driven forward by sparks, Samuro reached SueFire.
Staring straight at the man who had destroyed every bit of power he had trusted, SueFire pulled the trigger in a daze.
But the muzzle, empty of bullets, no longer spat flame.
"Out of ammo, huh."
He heard the man in front of him speak with regret, as if he still was not satisfied.
Without meaning to, SueFire looked into his eyes.
All he felt was helplessness and fear.
"Then die."
Blue Rose pressed against SueFire's chest and fired at point-blank range. Under the powerful close-range shot, SueFire's virtual body fell backward.
At that moment, from the corner of his eye, he saw the katana coming down.
The katana that had destroyed all the strength and confidence he had built up until now.
Clear.
Lightning-fast.
Samuro cut once.
SueFire's head fell silently to the ground.
In this world, virtual bodies obeyed physical rules. Dense bullets could punch an avatar full of holes. Hot laser lines could sever limbs. Even a small knife or dagger could cut off fingers.
But probably not every player had experienced decapitation.
Samuro Wins.
A victory notification appeared in front of Samuro.
He only laughed softly and licked the corner of his mouth.
A long-suppressed craving was finally being satisfied.