Floor 36, Ruyekas.
It had only been about three days since Floor 35 was cleared. As the floors climbed higher, the gap between the front-line players and those trailing behind became more and more obvious. The early days, when a newly opened floor would be flooded with crowds, were now rare. With less competition for resources on the upper floors, that disparity only continued to widen.
It was only natural, and yet it still felt a little regrettable.
Satoru stepped straight into a tavern. Unlike what he was used to, there was no low chatter of resting players, no lively clinking of glasses. Only a handful of people sat inside. A middle-aged man in the center seemed to be waiting for someone, and the others around him followed his lead, keeping silent.
Even the waiter behind the counter, quietly polishing glasses, seemed affected by the atmosphere, saying nothing.
Satoru gave the room a quick glance. Seeing that there were indeed only a few people, he said nothing and walked over, taking a seat directly across from the middle-aged man. He casually flicked the cigarette from his mouth onto the floor, where it shattered with a crisp crack and vanished without a trace.
In this world, you could toss cigarette butts anywhere. Nothing would get dirty anyway.
"Something to drink?" The middle-aged man greeted him with a polite, composed smile.
"The same as you."
One of the man's companions headed to the counter.
"Ever since reaching the tenth floor, I've hardly seen a place this run-down. Feels like a tavern straight out of an old movie." Satoru ran his fingers over the rough wooden table. If you paid attention, there was even a faint musty smell. The weather today was gloomy, with a light drizzle falling outside.
The tavern door seemed deliberately worn as well, with small gaps letting cold air seep in from time to time.
Poor lighting was to be expected. Even the bright, blood-red outfits of the middle-aged man and his companions looked dull under it.
"Places like this exist in every quiet backstreet. Even the most splendid places have flaws. I suppose that's why they designed them this way, adding touches like this to every floor." The middle-aged man folded his hands on the table. "Personally, I find it rather comforting."
"Well, for a young man like you, an open-air café or a pastry shop filled with the smell of milk would suit you better, wouldn't it? But this meeting isn't that formal, and in terms of funding, we can't compare to your Divine Dragons Alliance."
It had been a long time since anyone had called him a "young man."
Satoru crossed his arms.
"If online games are something young people enjoy, then why would someone like you, a middle-aged man who looks like a composed manager, bother stepping into a trap you can't get out of?"
"Curiosity got the better of me. Now all that's left is regret." The middle-aged man shook his head. There was no sense of frustration in his tone, like someone who had made a mistake. It was more like a programmer correcting a wrong number. Routine, calm, nothing more.
The conversation came to a halt there, even though it should have naturally shifted to the main topic.
For some reason, both of them chose to stay silent. Satoru already found this man somewhat irritating, and the other party seemed to be deliberately matching his pace. Calm, composed. Clearly far more mature than the crowd of underage gaming addicts.
It wasn't until the man who had gone to fetch the drinks returned and set one in front of Satoru that the silence broke.
"Talking to you is exhausting. Do you really have to act like you're negotiating some big project? It's just a Field Boss slot." Satoru took out another cigarette, lit it with a disposable match, took a long drag, and looked at all of them.
"They don't smoke, and neither do I. Thank you," the middle-aged man replied.
Satoru shrugged.
"This is resource competition. On a larger scale, it affects character strength and survival rates. As the leader of a small guild, I have a responsibility to secure these for the people who trust me." The middle-aged man sighed softly. "It would be great if the Vice Commander of the Divine Dragons Alliance could understand that."
"But he clearly doesn't have that obligation, does he?" Satoru shot back.
"But isn't Diavel's principle to prioritize the progress of all players?"
Trying to push his advantage.
"In that case, the best solution is for your entire guild to join the Divine Dragons Alliance. That way, none of this trouble would be necessary. As Vice Commander, I have the authority for that." Satoru took a drag and cut him off.
"Your style really is different from Diavel's." The middle-aged man paused, then gave a bitter smile.
If that Blue Knight were here, the conversation would have turned into mutual flattery by now.
"I'm also acting on the trust of my guildmates. Giving you slots means reducing their gains, after all. Please try to understand." Satoru spoke with a hint of resignation.
Everyone has a competitive instinct. People may not say it outright, but when there's an extra piece of cake, very few are willing to share the cream. That's just how things are. Large and small guilds coexist, regardless of whether they truly intend to shoulder the burden of clearing the game.
In the end, everyone just wants good equipment.
"We already proved our strength during the Floor 35 raid," the middle-aged man continued. "It's only natural to want more resources to strengthen ourselves and contribute more to the next push."
"And while Diavel's vision is admirable, it's not very realistic. The struggles of the Aincrad Liberation Squad on the lower floors make that clear. Most players aren't willing to join. They'd rather form their own teams and play their own way."
The middle-aged man spoke.
"It's quite an awkward situation right now. Most people still prefer to rely on their own abilities."
He paused to think.
"It's probably just human adaptability. Once the initial panic passes and people get used to this world, the urge to escape isn't as strong anymore. Staying calm has its advantages, of course, but losing that drive is a downside."
"As expected, there are still more players like that. Better to be a big fish in a small pond than a small fish in a big one."
That was a fair point.
Despite advocating for collective progress, openly sharing information, and even offering support, the Divine Dragons Alliance still held a frontline command role, responsible for planning strategies. In essence, they were playing the part of the selfless benefactor. There was nothing inherently wrong with it, but it did come at the cost of their own strength.
It was only natural that some members would feel uneasy watching others rise rapidly, especially as they themselves slipped from their position as top-tier players.
And if there had to be a target for that dissatisfaction, the group in front of him was a perfect fit.
Their numbers were small, but their average age seemed higher, giving them a noticeably serious atmosphere. They weren't like the others in the guild who constantly shouted things like, "If I don't party with the Goddess of Sheeta, I'll die!" The leader who brought this group together could even be described as an upgraded version of Diavel.
And that man was the one sitting before him.
Heathcliff.
Satoru exhaled a stream of smoke.
From his appearance and manner of speaking, he was clearly a rationalist, and his strength matched it. Despite being more suited to management, he was also the type to stand at the very front against a Floor Boss, holding the defensive line as a heavy-armored fighter. The kind of person who looked stern on the surface, yet carried a sharper edge beneath that composure.
His style also leaned toward information warfare, though most battles likely didn't require anything beyond his natural ability. Someone like him should have stood out much earlier.
Having witnessed his capabilities firsthand, Satoru judged him as such.
And because of that, he found himself instinctively disliking the man. Not because of anything he had said or done, but because they operated in similar ways, creating a subtle sense of repulsion.
Meeting those eyes gave him the uneasy feeling of being tested. Heathcliff was the type who organized his thoughts based on gathered information and acted accordingly. When two people with such similar approaches met, there was no real room for rapport.
Because at any moment, the one most like you might quietly take something from you without you even noticing.
"Three people," Heathcliff said. "For the next Field Boss, we only need three slots."
Satoru ran a hand through his hair, annoyed.
The outcome had already been decided long ago. No matter what, there was no way they could monopolize it.
"That guy couldn't make it this time. Next time, don't come to me. I'm not interested in getting involved in this kind of thing."
"As for you, Yurnero, you're more like a rook in shogi. Strong both in combat and handling things independently, but not suited to staying within a faction," Heathcliff said.
Satoru had already stood up and glanced at him.
"No. I'd say I'm a bishop. I don't have the kind of power a rook or a Dragon King has. At best, I'm a promoted bishop. Even taking the diagonal path, I can only move one step straight on my own."
"Hmm, I see," Heathcliff murmured thoughtfully. "You could stand to have a bit more confidence."
"I know my own limits. And besides, who says a Dragon Horse is weaker than a Dragon King?"
That line, however, carried a trace of forced confidence.
Satoru stepped out of the tavern, glanced at the dim sky, muttered a complaint under his breath, and disappeared into the drizzle.
Heathcliff watched him go.
Then, a faint smile appeared on his face.
"True… the Dragon King already belongs to someone else."
From the very beginning, the Dragon King had stood upon the board. And now, the bishop had finally become a Dragon Horse.
In the end, who would be the one to reach the King?
PS: In shogi, the King can move one square in any of the eight directions. The Dragon King, promoted from the rook, can move any number of squares vertically or horizontally, and one square diagonally. The bishop moves only diagonally, while the promoted bishop, the Dragon Horse, can also move one square vertically or horizontally.
Quite a fitting metaphor for an ordinary power-leveler.