As the white, lightning-laced mist gradually dispersed, Satoru lay flat on his back, his body feeling as though it were glued to the ground. Even his fingers felt unbearably heavy. He struggled to lift his upper body and instinctively tried to retreat, but even a fish stranded on shore would have been more agile than him.
There was no hope left.
There wasn't even anyone who could escape to pass on the information about The Taurus King's respawn to other players. At this point, they were completely cornered.
With a thunderous rumble, The Taurus King planted his massive hammer on the ground and let out a cold laugh as it entered a recovery phase, temporarily refraining from executing them one by one.
But the paralysis affecting Diavel and the others would last nearly two more minutes. They wouldn't even make it to the end of that countdown. Helpless and unable to resist, they would be wiped out right before their eyes. After that, their real-world bodies would also die, their brains burned away.
The only sound left in the room was The Taurus King's heavy, bellows-like breathing.
Satoru's arm trembled as he instinctively tried to take out a potion. The moment the debuff appeared, he had already abandoned all thoughts of continuing the fight.
"Death…?"
He let out a hollow laugh.
What would that feel like?
When a person dies, is there a soul? An underworld? Heaven? Reincarnation? Another life…?
In the end, what exactly is death?
Not the moment of dying. Not the overwhelming pain or the fear that crashes against the heart like waves.
But what comes after.
Like falling into an endless sleep. No dreams, only darkness. Like the darkness of deep sleep. Yet it's not simply closing your eyes and losing sight, only to see light again when you open them. It's a darkness where even thought is cut off, where the very concept of self disappears forever.
What would it feel like for someone without thoughts to think about their own lack of thought?
That heavy, tangled question echoed in his mind.
After death… would he still be able to feel his own existence?
Joy, anger, sorrow, happiness. All of it frozen along with a stopped heart, leaving no room for even a single thought.
Whenever he thought about it, fear would grip him. Like every living being, he trembled at that absolute end that would inevitably come.
It was precisely because he didn't want to reach that point that he had crawled forward all this time. Nearly ten years of thorn-filled days since his family disappeared.
His hand, reaching for the potion, suddenly stopped.
He stared blankly at the dark ceiling.
But even if he lived… what then?
No goals. No desires. No one to love. Everything warm and beautiful in his life had been shattered by that accident, broken beyond repair. He moved only out of instinct, fearing death. Like a walking corpse, like a ghoul, dragging himself through this colorful world.
It wasn't that he had anything worth holding onto.
He just didn't want to die.
That was all.
When Satoru dies, no one will mourn him. No one will stand before his grave on a rainy day. In the end, his remains would probably be handled collectively by the government out of basic humanitarian concern.
How tragic.
He placed his right hand on his chest, feeling that weak, sorrowful heartbeat.
How… tragic.
In his empty gaze, fragments of his past flickered.
Sitting alone in an empty room, staring blankly. Being rejected everywhere he went with his pale resume. Struggling to carry loads he couldn't handle. Forcing a flattering smile onto his ordinary face just to get by. Walking alone through a park at sixteen.
Seeing a discarded cigarette butt on the ground, he stood there in silence for a long time before picking it up. Borrowing a light from a nearby shop, he lit it, took an awkward drag, and coughed violently from the irritation. Yet he forced himself to keep inhaling, face flushed red.
His life was like a mass-produced, utterly forgettable novel. The kind that would be tossed straight into the trash by any passerby.
His eyes shifted to the nickname in the top-left corner.
Yurnero.
The name of the renowned Sword Saint.
Also the name he had used countless times to stand at the top, like a second self.
Borrowing the shell of that hero's name, he had at least done a few things others found praiseworthy.
But in the end, it was nothing but a hollow imitation. Yurnero, the true Sword Saint, could unleash a sword dance like scattered stardust. But Satoru, the so-called "Sword Saint," could only mimic the motions. Stiff, mechanical swings like a wooden stick. Even a child could do better.
He suddenly realized he wasn't any different from those so-called Legend Braves. Wearing the name of a hero while doing nothing but the deeds of the incompetent.
That short blacksmith was the same. Borrowing the name of a rebellious Eastern hero, yet acting timid and spineless.
Ha… what a perfect reflection.
His eyes slowly calmed.
The "Sword Saint," stripped of all pretense, no longer struggled or hoped. He silently watched as The Taurus King tightened its grip on the hammer and regained its mobility. Step by step, its heavy footsteps shook the ground as it approached him. Approached the worthless little player who had dared to toy with it.
They say people see their life flash before their eyes before dying. Why don't I…? Is it because my life is too dull and insignificant to be worth remembering?
He mocked himself.
Then at least pick one thing. Otherwise, even dying will feel as empty as a blank sheet of paper.
And then, without warning, a figure surfaced in his mind.
A blonde girl.
A genius swordsman who could turn her blade into an extension of herself. That kind of strength didn't belong in a mere game. She was like a Sword Princess who had always lived in a real fantasy world.
That overwhelming talent had torn apart his own combat logic, shredding it beyond recognition. If it were her… no world could stop her. From now on, in any VR RPG, nothing would be able to hold her back.
After all, she was someone who could, in an instant, crush him. A man who had spent six or seven years wandering as a game-devouring ghoul, stripped of all resistance.
And she was beautiful, too.
She deserved to live far more than he did.
Their meeting had been strange. And in the end, he hadn't come to understand her at all.
A faint sense of regret surfaced. Rare for him. But not enough to matter.
The enormous shadow of The Taurus King now completely engulfed him.
Satoru accepted it. Gave up. Closed his eyes.
At least he wouldn't have to look at that ugly bull face as he died.
The Taurus King raised its hammer high. With its terrifying stats, it could strip away his remaining HP in less than ten seconds. Lightning crackled around the weapon, filling the air with a burning sound. Faintly, it reminded him of what he had imagined. The helmet releasing energy to burn his brain away.
No difference.
Death is death.
The hammer came crashing down.
"Call… Sheeta."
He murmured the name unconsciously, his voice calm, tinged with faint confusion.
"I'm here, Nero."
A voice as clear as spring water cut through everything, as if something divine had forced its way into this space, answering him with unwavering clarity.
His eyes snapped wide open.
A flash of dazzling golden hair crossed his vision. For a split second, he thought it was just a hallucination. But the azure straight sword barely held back the boss's crushing blow, and the force of the impact, along with the gust it stirred, brushed against his bangs.
His mouth hung slightly open.
He stared again at that beautiful figure standing before him.
"You…?"
It was real.
After a brief moment of shock, irritation surged up immediately.
"Are you insane?! Run! Do you seriously think you can take it down by yourself?!"
I only praised you a little in my head, and you actually jumped in to fight it head-on? I finally found a new baseline for how low my IQ can go. It's you, you idiot!
"But Nero was fighting it alone too…" the voice replied, tinged with a bit of grievance.
"I was kiting it to stall for time, okay?!"
"If that's the case, leave it to me!"
The boy's voice was tense, yet burning with determination.
"If it's just stalling, leave it to me!"
In the dim air, a bright arc suddenly shot forward. Smooth, precise, and elegant, it struck the crystal embedded in The Taurus King's forehead with a sharp clang. Though the hit looked light, it made the boss, who had been locked in a standoff with Sheeta, stagger slightly.
The Taurus King roared as it was briefly knocked back, then shifted its focus. It was as if that single strike had completely pulled away all the aggro Satoru had built up.
Even though he had only been using basic attacks and saving his skills for dodging, the aggro transfer still felt abrupt.
Was it because the attack hit a weak point?
Before Satoru could fully process it, Sheeta suddenly grabbed his right hand while retreating and dragged him across the ground like a mop.
"G-gently!" he shouted, clumsily.
But the beautiful swordswoman, now sprinting, seemed to find it amusing and ignored him completely, dragging him all the way toward the entrance.
As they got closer, his view became clearer.
A short player stood at the doorway, holding a strange weapon.
Nezha…?
The young blacksmith glanced at Orlando and the others, who were still paralyzed, his expression resolute.
"I'll do my best to draw the boss away. Use this time to recover!"
He was about to repeat the same tactic Satoru had failed before.
He didn't have Satoru's knowledge or composure. The only reason he could say this with confidence was the weapon in his hands.
Blade Throwing skill. Chakram. A rare long-range weapon.
A niche weapon style that even Satoru, who once claimed he would master every weapon type, had hesitated over before ultimately abandoning.
"Before the boss uses its breath, its eyes will glow slightly, and its body will lean back. But if you wait to react to the body, it's already too late. You have to respond the moment its eyes flicker."
Dragged all the way to the corner, Satoru was still struggling to catch his breath, rolling his eyes as he spoke in broken fragments.
"Wow, wow. You only saw the boss ten minutes ago, and even in that kind of intense situation, you managed to pick up the most critical info. Yu-san, ever thought about switching careers and working with me?"
That familiar, lively voice rang out.
In Satoru's vision, the patterns on the wall twisted slightly, as if something was phasing into reality. A hooded figure stepped out.
She stood right in front of him, hands on her hips, revealing a face marked with three whisker-like lines. To him, it looked rather cute.
"Argo, you came too?"
Compared to Sheeta and Nezha, the information broker's arrival surprised him even more.
"What kind of question is that! I just finished a whole chain of quests in the nearby forest to get info on The Taurus King, including the trick of 'hitting the crystal on its forehead with thrown weapons.' By the time I got back, you guys had already set off. I rushed here nonstop!"
Her golden-brown curls bounced as the tightfisted merchant snapped back irritably.
She glanced at Satoru, still slumped and not yet recovered from paralysis. After a brief pause, her tone softened slightly. Beneath it, there was unmistakable concern.
"If we hadn't shown up when we did, you'd be dead already. Seriously… running circles around that thing with just a sword. How bold are you, exactly?"
"Anyway, after this, if you want to challenge the floor boss again, you'll need to clear all the nearby quests first. The official version of SAO is seriously brutal."
"You're a pure agility build, right? Breaking through the labyrinth…"
Satoru stopped halfway through his sentence.
He glanced at Sheeta, who was smiling brightly, clearly expecting praise, and couldn't help but sigh.
"It's thanks to her. Nezha and I aren't that strong. She carried us all the way through. Honestly, even I was amazed. That level of skill."
Argo nodded in agreement.
Satoru fell silent for a moment, then let out a bitter smile.
"Good thing you're not a cop in an action movie."
"Huh?"
"Nothing. I'm complimenting you."
It felt like a taut thread had finally loosened.
Satoru leaned fully against the wall.
In front of him, Nezha was handling the Chakram, a weapon notoriously difficult to control, with flawless precision, steadily pulling The Taurus King away. Thanks to its superior range, even the boss's breath attack. something that had left everyone else helpless. could be interrupted in advance.
"Looks like… forcing that decision on him back then was the right call."
After that conversation, Kirito had given Nezha the rare item, the Chakram, in exchange for him abandoning his blacksmithing skills.
I was wrong.
He watched as Nezha accomplished what he himself could not.
"You… didn't disgrace the name Nezha. Or the name of that hero."
You did it.
What I couldn't do.
Little hero.