"So it ended in such a dull way after all. I was expecting something more interesting. In the end, wasn't your great idea just wasted?"
News of the Second Floor being cleared had already spread rapidly through the information brokers. In another hour, the teleport gate to the third floor would activate. Players who had long since hit their limits here but lacked the strength to join the raid, along with ordinary players chasing levels, were already moving in groups toward the gate.
For a while, the entire Second Floor might be completely empty. Only a handful of people remained indifferent to the news.
"It's nothing. Just something I happened to notice. No loss at all."
Inside a dim, out-of-the-way, low-end tavern with poor lighting, only a few people sat scattered around rough wooden tables that gave off a faint stench of decay, chatting lazily without any clear purpose. They were among the few who didn't care about the news.
The man wearing a headscarf lifted the drink in front of him and gulped down a large mouthful. He smacked his lips in disgust and slammed the wooden cup onto the table, making it wobble slightly.
"Tastes awful… Should've at least charged them something. Then we could've gone somewhere better."
The bright sunlight outside couldn't reach this shabby tavern. Their table sat deep in a dark corner. The man in the headscarf couldn't even tell whether the liquid in his cup was dark or light. The taste didn't help either. He probably couldn't even clearly see his companions' faces.
One wore a hooded cloak that covered his entire body. Another had deliberately grown his hair long enough to obscure his eyes. And the headscarf itself doubled as a mask. All three of them looked like people who preferred not to be seen.
Their voices rose and fell, their tones shifting unpredictably, like tired office workers venting after a long day. Yet from time to time, laughter broke out. It was bright and easy, like close partners planning to build something together from nothing.
"You can't even drink, yet you're acting all smug."
The long-haired man spoke with a faint trace of mockery.
"Hah. Trying to prove you're older than me, you brute?"
The headscarf man clicked his tongue.
"I just don't like loud, restless kids like you. It's irritating."
"That's just natural energy. I'd say it's a good thing. Life's meant to be experienced in all its variety."
He idly swirled his wooden cup, then glanced at the long-haired man's legs.
"…Oh right. I almost forgot about your world-weary attitude from personal reasons."
Those casual words seemed to hit a nerve.
The long-haired man slowly stood up. His build was unexpectedly solid. Broad chest, thick muscles. Like something out of an American action film.
"Still not quite as fierce as that raging bull. And that monster runs like lightning, all sparks and speed, reckless as hell."
The headscarf man grinned, using two fingers to mimic running across the table.
The long-haired man looked down at him. His eyes were hidden behind his bangs, but the hostility in his gaze was unmistakable.
He stepped forward and grabbed the headscarf man by the collar, lifting him up like a chick. The chick still wore a cheerful smile.
"We're inside the safe zone, you know. Even if you hit me, all you'll hit is that purple system text that blocks damage."
"Heh…"
Only a cold chuckle came in response. Not even ten sentences in, and the atmosphere had already turned tense.
"Don't push it too far. You should apologize to Didos."
The third person, who had been sitting quietly the whole time, let out a soft sigh. His voice under the hood was unexpectedly pleasant.
"Even in a safe zone, he might still find a way to kill you. I'm serious."
"That'd be interesting if such a method really existed."
The headscarf man spread his hands helplessly, though the grip on his collar was tightening. He raised an eyebrow, then whistled at the long-haired man.
"Sorry about that, big guy."
His tone was completely unserious, yet somehow it seemed to work.
"That's enough."
After a brief silence, the long-haired man released him and sat back down.
The headscarf man blinked, confused.
"Huh? That's really enough? I was obviously still messing with you."
"Mm."
"…Uh."
"Didos is just that tolerant. If you spend more time with him, you'll see his charm."
The raincoat-clad player clapped lightly and smiled.
The headscarf man scratched his head, then sat back down and picked up his bitter drink again.
"But that Tyrus guy really has no backbone. Got exposed with just a couple of lines and ended up making a fool of himself. Seriously, he can't even stir things up properly. There are still people like that who just get on your nerves."
With no topic left, he started talking idly.
"He'll probably get kicked out… from that group, what was it, Divine Dragon Alliance."
"Would it really go that far?"
"Diavel is more petty than you think," the raincoat player said.
"Speaking of which, 'Diavel'… in the Romansh language, it seems to mean 'demon,'" the headscarf man said thoughtfully, digging through scraps of memory.
"Being led by someone with a name like that as the front-line leader… yeah, that doesn't exactly inspire confidence."
"You're not even a front-line player. What are you worrying about?" the long-haired man said quietly.
"They're the other side of the Concerto," the headscarf man replied, his tone animated.
"What?"
"You didn't know?" he asked, amused.
"Before all this, Kayaba said this game was a world of swords and blades. A concerto of life and death, or something like that."
"A concerto is about two elements competing and cooperating. For them, the other side is the monsters on each floor of Aincrad. But for us…"
He smiled and lowered his voice.
"They're just dead data that respawns after being killed. What's so interesting about that?"
"That's quite a nice analogy," the raincoat player nodded.
"Giving Nezha and the others some inspiration. That's also a form of cooperation."
"Hmph. Pretentious, bookish nonsense," the long-haired man scoffed.
"Then again, that model knight with a name that might mean 'demon'… could he really play the role of the other side in this concerto?"
The headscarf man tilted his head, thinking.
"Well… if he can toy with Tyrus while also being as cautious as a housewife chef who won't let a speck of dirt fall into her pot, then maybe he actually can."
The man in the headscarf began to ponder again.
"If we're talking about who ruined Tyrus's heckling, it wasn't him," the player in the raincoat interjected.
"Huh? Then who was it?"
The raincoat player, who had been sitting in the same position the whole time, smiled silently beneath the shadow of his hood. He leaned back gently against the chair and spoke in a relaxed tone.
"An interesting curved sword user."
He deliberately drew out his words.
"A decisive and clever person. He was probably the one who discovered the Quick Change technique. By that time, he might have already acquired that mod skill, and it wasn't just switching to a backup weapon, but directly switching to an entirely different weapon class."
"Are there really people who learned Quick Change that early?" The man in the headscarf looked taken aback. "Skill slots are precious, you know. Later on, you only get one every ten levels. Don't be fooled by how easily you get them now. You'll struggle with what skills to learn later. Besides, it's hard enough to level up a single weapon class. He must be a newbie, right?"
"What does it matter if he's a newbie or not?" the Raincoat Player laughed casually. "What matters is recognizing your own identity in this world."
"So what's his name?"
"He wouldn't tell me when we first met," the Raincoat Player said. "But I heard he sparred with someone at the blacksmith's. I paid a little attention. His name is… Yurnero, I think."
The man in the headscarf, who had been lazily swirling the liquor in his wooden cup, suddenly froze.
His eyes, which had been narrowed into smiling slits, slowly opened. For once, he wore a normal expression. He stared at the person across from him for a moment, then set down his cup, leaned forward, and asked in a heavy, deliberate tone,
"What's his name?"
There was a trace of surprise and doubt in his voice.
The long-haired man gave him another look, noticing the change in his demeanor.
"Yurnero," the raincoat player repeated.
"Yur… nero."
His lips trembled slightly as he softly repeated the name, as if confirming it. Then, the man in the headscarf revealed a satisfied look, as though he had discovered something valuable.
"Do you… know him?" the long-haired man asked curiously.
"To know him… or not to know him, that's a hard thing to define," the man in the headscarf said, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "And I can't be sure either. Ah, no. To decide on Quick Change and two weapon skill trees this early, with such an unconventional understanding of the game…"
Just moments ago, he had thought such an approach was a foolish rookie mistake. Now, however, he felt it was the right path.
In high spirits, he downed a mouthful of the terrible, low-quality liquor.
"Hey, listen."
He licked the remaining liquor from the corner of his mouth and spoke eagerly.
"Now that Tyrus has been kicked out, we'll need someone new to guide things, right?"
"It's not necessary," the Raincoat Player said, looking at him with mild curiosity. "Well… as long as things develop in an interesting direction, that's enough."
"In that case, how about I make another appearance?"
The Raincoat Player didn't respond immediately. After thinking for a moment, he opened his inventory interface and materialized an item resembling a face mask, handing it over.
"This is for changing your name. It can randomly replace your nickname for a certain period of time. However, it only changes the name shown on your introduction card when you present yourself to others. Your appearance won't change."
"Nice, this must be a super rare item, right?" Despite its limitations, the man in the headscarf couldn't help but admire it. "Where did you get it?"
"A drop from the First Floor Field Boss." The raincoat player seemed to recall something and gave a meaningful explanation. "Something someone didn't manage to pick up. Make good use of it."
"Don't worry, I'll make the most of it."
The man in the headscarf took the mask and walked toward the door.
"I'm off to join the Divine Dragons Alliance."
"Your real target is that curved sword user, isn't it?" the Raincoat Player called after him.
"What's the problem?"
"You'd better be careful. He might be looking for me as well."
"Then I guess I'll have to improve my disguise. Oh oh. Just watch. My flawless acting skills."
Without looking back, the headscarf man strode out. The worn wooden door shut with a dull thud.
Only two people remained in the tavern.
"He's going to cause trouble, judging by that look," the long-haired man said indifferently.
"It doesn't matter. Nothing else does… I just hope he doesn't get killed. That would be such a waste," the Raincoat Player said without emotion.
"What do you mean?"
"The relationship between the perpetrator and the eyewitness is always intense."
The Raincoat Player muttered this cryptic remark, then waved to the NPC behind the bar, who maintained a professional smile.
"I'll have a drink. Not the same one that guy had."