Town of Beginnings, February 10th, 2023.

3:27 AM.

Sitting perfectly still, Drifter waited. Twenty-four minutes ago, the ninja had left with the promise of sending him a message as soon as they found Morte. As long as that was before sunrise, the spearman would wait here. He had nowhere else better to be, and he knew many of his friends were still awake, and would be up all night, just like him. Getting out without them noticing once had already been difficult, and he didn't want to tempt fate. He didn't have a good explanation as to why he was sneaking out in the middle of the night after Kirito had specifically said no one was supposed to go anywhere alone.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Once again, he heard the deliberately not muffled steps behind him, and turned. The same role-player from earlier. The person had already seen Drifter wasn't in the mood for jokes, so they spoke normally and without preamble.

"Two orange players saw a red player whose equipment fits Morte entering the fallen elf base on the 8th floor yesterday."

"Fallen elf base?"

"It's the spot for outlaw players on that floor. If he hasn't gone back there yet, he should soon."

Drifter frowned. He had heard of places for orange and red players, but he had never gone into one, for obvious reasons. At the very least, he knew they were safe zones where green players like him would be hunted, so he couldn't go after Morte there. He had to somehow ambush him outside.

His stomach lurched at the thought that he was basically planning another human's assassination, but he kept the urge to throw up under control. His resolve was formed. He just couldn't lose it.

"Any way of knowing if he's actually there? Or better, of knowing where he is at all times?"

The ninja stared at him, and Drifter stared back. He knew he was asking for a lot, especially when he wasn't paying anything. But the Fuumaningum player relented.

"I have one of my people keeping an eye on the only inn slash tent there, so I'll know when he comes back or goes out."

The spearman didn't miss how the other player said 'my people', but didn't comment on it. The authoritarian way the ninja spoke and how he or she was able to make decisions on the spot had already clued him in to their identity.

"You have players who can enter outlaw cities?"

His tone was somewhat accusatory, but Drifter got the distinct impression the ninja was rolling their eyes under their mask.

"It's not that difficult, nor as horrible as you are making it out to be. I just had my guy slap someone else and voila! Orange cursor! The other person didn't even lose HP. Besides, there's some good stuff you can only buy there."

"I... Huh."

It made so much sense Drifter was left speechless. He almost apologized. He still wasn't one hundred percent sure Fuumaningum wasn't involved in some shady business, but then he thought of how they all acted like they had 8th-grade syndrome, and decided he didn't want to know anymore. He knew they weren't murderers, and that was enough for him right now.

"Argo the Rat is doubtlessly Aincrad's greatest info-broker, Drifter of Reaver's Requiem, but she is just one person. There are things which are outside of her means. Not ours. You would do well to remember that."

The ninja - Drifter was getting a feeling it was a she, although the mask muffled her voice, as it was no doubt intended - glared intensely at him, as if reading Drifter's thoughts. After a long while, he nodded and got up.

"Got it, thanks. Message me if your man spots Morte, please and thank you."

He was already walking as he spoke, heading towards the teleporter. It was only when he was on the 8th floor and almost at the gates that he noticed the ninja was still following him. And not even from behind, but just walking by his side. And Drifter hadn't noticed anything until now. He almost yelped.

"Are you coming with me?"

'Her proficiency in << Hiding >> must be unbelievably high. And her clothes probably give her a bonus too.'

"Why?"

"It's easier to communicate if I'm with you. Less chances for mistakes and delays."

"And?"

"I'm interested."

Hearing that, Drifter paused for a split-second before resuming his stride and stepping out of the safe zone, ninja in tow. Kirito was not going to be happy if he found out. Drifter was going to make sure he never did.

...

4:05 AM.

Two figures ran through the 8th floor's bridges, barely slowing down when they encountered enemies

It was a good thing the ninja had decided to go with him, Drifter realized. She had all kinds of trinkets which fit her personality awfully well, like smoke bombs and throwing nails coated in paralyzing poison. Thanks to her, he wasn't forced to fight every mob he came across, instead leaving them in the dust and exiting their aggro range.

They didn't say a word the entire time. Drifter just followed the ninja silently. It was twenty minutes later that they arrived outside of the fallen elf base. Drifter saw just a flickering light from a torch and a hole in a giant tree, but the Fuumaningum player assured him that was the entrance to the place.

"Now we wait."

"Hm."

Crouching, Drifter held his spear across his knees. His heart was pounding. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to do this. But he had to. His family would be in danger if he didn't. Morte couldn't live past tonight.

He peeked at the ninja from the corner of his eyes. She was barely a silhouette next to him, her outfit blending so perfectly with the darkness that she also disappeared. She was also using << Hiding >> , and so was he, which made her pretty much invisible. And that was considering Drifter had one of the highest mastery of << Hiding >> in SAO.

"So, do you have a name I can call you? Or nah?"

To distract himself from his tension and prevent the traitorous thoughts urging him to give up and go back, Drifter started a conversation. Or at least he tried to, but the other player just stared at him for the next two minutes. He had already given up on the dialog when she spoke.

"Akari."

The spearman looked at Fuumaningum's guild leader for a few seconds before nodding.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Akari. You sure you want to be here for this?"

Akari's answer was the longest Drifter had ever heard her speak at once.

"Red player Morte is a betrayer of everything we stand and fight for, spearman Drifter. When thousands of innocent souls have already been lost, he not only blocks our path to survival, but claims lives with his own hands."

Her tone was even, but Drifter had spoken like that enough times to feel the boiling rage beneath the words. Somehow, he understood why she was here with him. It wasn't simply because she was 'interested', as she had claimed. Drifter felt that, if he faltered and failed to deliver the final blow, Akari was there to rectify his mistake.

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"He is a beast. No, he is worse. The mobs are just coded to kill us, but Morte chose to do it of his own free will."

Drifter talked, not to Akari, but himself. With every word, his grip on his spear grew stronger, to the point where it felt like another ounce of strength was going to shatter it.

"He is a monster, and he deserves to be treated as such. Put down as such."

Silence descended after Drifter finished speaking. Even he realized how brutal his words were. But they were the truth.

4:38 AM.

After looking at his HUD, Drifter pressed a knuckle to his forehead. He hoped Morte hadn't gone back to the fallen elf base yet, otherwise he might have to wait until the say started, which would cause some problems with his guild. He hadn't quite yet figured out how to tell them that he went after a merciless murderer on his own and - hopefully - killed him. Or if he should tell them at all.

Morte was a red player. Logic dictated he rested during the day and acted at night, when there was a smaller chance of bumping into other players while he was leveling up. Besides, as a criminal, the nocturnal lifestyle fit the stereotypes.

"You said the outlaw cities had some interesting items on sale. Did you mean those smoke bombs and paralyzing nails? I've never seen them before."

"They are cities for criminals. Their goods reflect that."

So the answer was 'yes'.

"Would you be willing to sell some to my guild?"

"They are very expensive."

"We have cor."

This time, the underlying meaning wasn't so clear cut, especially because Akari didn't answer. Drifter was getting frustrated.

"You really don't like to chat, hum?"

"And you talk too much. That was not my first impression of you."

Drifter snorted at the snappy response.

"I'm trying not to think of what I'm about to do."

"You shouldn't. A warrior whose mind is not focused on the battle at hand is a poor one."

"Piss off! Why do you even talk like that anyway? I think role-playing lost a little of its meaning after we got trapped into a death game, no?"

Akari glared fiercely at Drifter before he had even finished speaking. For a moment it really looked like she was going to get up and walk away. But then, she was back to being cool as ice, although her tone was decidedly more frosty.

"It's our way of coping. We entered Sword Art Online as a group. We wanted to play our roles as badass ninjas and have fun. It's easier to pretend we aren't all gonna die if we continue role-playing. We can't all be like you, Drifter from Reaver's Requiem."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Drifter raised an eyebrow, but Akari didn't say anything anymore, and he also decided not to ask.

Like that, the two crouched behind a tree while keeping watch of the entrance. It wasn't until several minutes later that something changed. Akari's body tensed and she shot up, startling him.

5:02 AM.

Also getting up, Drifter looked at the ninja, saw her shining pupils, and followed her gaze. At first, he only saw more of the same old darkness, but after using << Searching >> , he spotted the player coming their way. Even dark as it was, he was unmistakable.

Morte was walking towards them - towards the fallen elf base, in fact - with his sword sheathed and his hood covering his face. The hem of the black cloak draped over his shoulders almost dragged onto the ground.

Now, while Morte was a murderer, he was no Professional killer. He always held those twisted intentions inside of him, but he would never have dared to act on them if Kayaba hadn't presented him with the perfect opportunity.

Which was why, while Morte was a red player, he was by no means a professional. Sure, he hid his tracks when he went out during the day and picked his fights carefully - meaning, he always ambushed solo players, and never engaged in direct battles against multiple opponents. He was a coward, through and through.

But Morte never imagined he would one day be the one on the role of the prey. And since he never considered that, he wasn't on the lookout for enemies nor was he being particularly attentive as he made his way to the fallen elf camp. Which was why he never saw the spear coming.

The wrongness of attacking someone in cold blood and from the back flashed through Drifter's mind, but was quickly squashed by the scene of Morte murdering his two former comrades. No, ambushing Morte was the only way to prevent him from jumping off the bridge they were on and escaping again. This had to end tonight, otherwise the red player would be alerted, and Drifter might never get another chance.

A << Snake Bite >> - it felt appropriate - struck the unsuspecting player on the back, throwing him on the ground and wiping out 20% of his health. Drifter had initially aimed for the back of Morte's head, but unconsciously changed targets at the last second.

After crashing down, Morte quickly rolled out of the way of an attack that never came, and scrambled to his feet. Under his hood, his eyes widened in utter astonishment and shock when he saw who attacked him.

"You?!"

Drifter paused only for a second, to glance at his cursor with some lingering fear and regrets. But it was still green, while Morte's was red, which only reinforced his conviction.

"Me."

Saying just that one word, Drifter launched into a << Rage Spike >>, which Morte hastily deflected with his sword. However, the force of the blow still sent the red player reeling back, and Drifter's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Ever since the 5th floor, Drifter had been sparring with the other Reavers whenever he had time, so he had become much better at fighting other players. And, from that one collision, he got one feeling from Morte: weak.

But there was no way that was right. Morte was the red player, the worse criminal in SAO. From the hue of his cursor, Drifter knew he had killed more people after the two from ALS. He couldn't be this weak. But then, why did it feel like he was actually several levels below Drifter?

Despite what he was thinking, Drifter didn't slow down. He reversed his grip on his spear, bringing it back down on Morte, who failed to dodge this time, and got cut in the shoulder. Another 10% of his HP vanished.

The red player didn't even bother defending. His head was swinging from left to right, searching for a way out. All Norte needed was to rush into the fallen elf base or jump into the water. But just as he made a break for it, after Drifter's flurry of attacks had shaved another fifth of his health, a throwing nail appeared out of nowhere, flying directly towards his face.

"Agh! Who the fuck?!"

Morte barely managed to raise his sword in time, and yelled, but Akari, who was hidden behind a tree, didn't respond. She didn't intend to interfere, but she agreed with Drifter that Morte couldn't be allowed to escape.

"<< Martial Arts: Low Blow >>!"

Likely, Akari didn't need to have stepped in. Drifter had expected Morte to try to run, so he had been keeping an eye open. As soon as the red player turned his back to him, his silver-glowing leg had already shot forward with << Martial Arts >> skill that carried a stunning effect. He kicked Morte on the back of the knee, and the red player fell down again with a groan.

A shadow loomed over him, barely discernible in the faint moonlight, and Morte looked up to see Drifter. The spearman had his weapon raised and poised for the final strike, but he was hesitating.

It was inevitable. Drifter had driven someone to death before, back on the 1st floor, but that was very different than holding his spear over someone and striking them with a killing blow while looking into their eyes.

Right. Morte's hood had fallen when he fell, so, for the first time, Drifter was seeing the face of SAO's worst monster. Messy black hair, sunken cheeks. Not at all the face you expected the player who caused half of SAO nightmares to look like. Except his eyes. Drifter's grip on his spear tightened.

Morte's eyes were exactly like Drifter imagined. Their shape or color wasn't important, but what they held. Drifter stared at them, and saw madness. Even now, just one blow away from death, Morte's eyes didn't hold fear. They were crazy, mocking. Laughing. Just like the red player.

"Hahaha! I'll be honest, I never thought anyone would actually come to hunt me. It was always the other way around. I guess this is how it feels to be the prey, huh? It's shit. Hahaha! But I suppose, if anyone, it would be you, Drifter. Or that fucker Kibaou. But I'm happy it's you. Making you a murderer is sooooo much more pleasurable. Hahahaha!"

He laughed. The damn red player laughed. And with each crazed cackle, Drifter felt Morte's twisted sense of self crumble further.

By now, the 'stun' effect Morte was inflicted with had long since run out, but the red player didn't even try to get up, much less retaliate. He was just laughing and staring at Drifter. At the shaking speartip aimed at his throat.

"Well? Aren't you going to do it? Don't tell me you are gonna chicken out now, Drifter? You won't make a good killer like that. You are never gonna reach my level if you hesitate so much. Hehehe... You just have to stab, and then stab again and again. That was how I killed my prey, you know? Stabbed them in the back. I dunno why they always seemed so surprised. Hahahaha!"

Morte threw his head back, laughing at the demented joke only he found funny. Then he looked back to Drifter, and smirked.

"Here, let me give you a little help."

Suddenly, Morte lunged at Drifter. The spearman didn't notice until too late that Morte's trajectory was strange, almost as if he was throwing himself on Drifter's spear.

Reacting on instinct, Drifter stabbed his spear forward. No skills, just a normal blow. It went right through Morte's throat, and the last few percents of HP the red player had left vanished.

Glancing at his declining, and then non-existent health, Morte grinned. Again. His stare pierced Drifter.

"You are welcome. Murderer."