Yerika Village, located near Horunka
For him, this was where everything in the game had begun.
It was the first foothold he had reached while suppressing himself. The place where he had, for the first time, sent someone to their death. And also the place where, through mere data, he had felt something inexplicable.
Could intelligence built from digital constructs truly manifest so vividly in this age?
Reading an opponent to make judgments only works if what is being read is absolutely accurate. Otherwise, the number of variables becomes endless.
Artificial intelligence stands at the pinnacle of science. It embodies the accumulation of human knowledge and experience across tens of thousands of years. Scholars have long predicted that when true AI arrives, humanity will face two paths. To the left, a paradise leading to immortality. To the right, a hell with no return.
Imagination is humanity's greatest weapon. From birds came the idea of airplanes. From fish, the idea of ships. But there is one absolute truth, and also the greatest flaw.
Humans cannot imagine what lies beyond their understanding.
The Sphinx is strange and symbolic, yet still a lion's body with a human face. Anubis is dark and profound, yet still a jackal's head on a human body. Even the most grotesque monsters are nothing more than stitched combinations of known beasts, octopus tentacles, deep-sea scales.
Human potential may be boundless, but without a starting point, it is nothing.
A newborn's greatest vulnerability is not its body, but its blank, chaotic mind.
And how much of the world can one person truly see? How much knowledge can they grasp? In less than a hundred years, mastering even a single craft to its peak is enough to be called great.
At its core, artificial intelligence is the creation of a human god. It possesses knowledge spanning all of history, computational power beyond any era, and no chains to restrain its imagination. Its thinking can reach the very limits of what humanity could achieve over tens of thousands of years.
At that point, even immortality might be nothing more than a simple calculation. For a being that understands chemistry, physics, genetic engineering, and quantum physics, the answer may already exist within countless fragments of data. It only needs to retrieve and recombine them.
Satoru didn't understand all of that. But if asked what separated artificial intelligence from humans…
He would probably say. the presence of a soul.
Sadness, joy, loneliness, depression. Emotions whose origins are unclear. They can be imitated easily. But can they truly emerge from cold machine parts and complex code?
How could that be possible?
How could it be understood?
To grant a soul to something lifeless. That would be nothing short of a miracle.
And yet, he, just an ordinary power leveler, had faintly sensed something like that.
Akasa, trapped in a cycle of suffering and healing. The Taurus King, which seemed to choose its own combat methods as if it had a will. If all that could still be explained as learning AI, then what about that Dark Elf, Kizmel? The sorrow flickering in those agate-colored eyes.
It made him uneasy.
If it were just a simple, straightforward game, that would be easier. NPCs wouldn't have such depth of feeling. Bosses would rely only on stats and wide-area skills to crush players.
But that man was not merely a game developer.
Kayaba Akihiko was also a genius physicist.
What exactly had he created?
And why… had he created it?
How many times had he already treated the creator of the game as his ultimate opponent?
But this time was different. Before, all he needed was to analyze skill values and check patch notes. But Kayaba was neither a profit-driven operator nor a passionate designer chasing fun. This game was the product of his unknown obsession and the culmination of his life's research.
Could he really find flaws in such a system and overturn it?
Perhaps, in that man's eyes, players were never worthy of being called opponents.
This time… in the eyes of someone like him, Kayaba felt like a true god.
And could he survive long enough to stand before that throne and once again realize his only value?
The difference in weight between hearts.
That… was the decisive gap between drifting through life in confusion, and devoting half a lifetime to a belief, ultimately severing ties with morality to reach the end.
"Like ants on a single thread," Satoru muttered self-mockingly as he stepped into the silent Yerika Village.
Resources on the First Floor had already been exhausted. Just like more than a month ago, there were no other players here.
Following his memory, he walked along the lifelike cobblestone path toward the depths of the village, arriving at the dilapidated hut tied to the Secret Medicine of the Forest quest.
Strange. A faint candlelight was still burning inside.
After a brief pause, he stepped forward and pushed open the half-closed wooden door. This quest was currently inactive. If someone had accepted it, the door would have been locked. Which meant the girl was still weakening from her illness.
The wooden door creaked softly as he entered.
The mother, who loved her daughter deeply, was still in the kitchen, mechanically busy with something. Since he had already completed the quest, his presence did not trigger the usual response of her coming to question him.
Watching the old woman's back, he unconsciously softened his movements and walked into the inner room.
The small room had no light source. It was dim, filled with a damp, decaying smell.
He approached the crude sickbed and looked down at the sleeping girl. Her face was pale from illness, her brows faintly knit as if enduring pain. She was still frighteningly thin.
This state, like someone on the verge of death. It was as if he had never brought the medicine at all.
He slowly crouched down and reached out, pulling the blanket more securely over her.
"Mm…"
The girl's eyelids trembled, slowly opening.
"Hello." Satoru looked at those dim eyes without expression.
Akasa gazed back at him.
"Hel…lo… Swordsman-sama."
For a brief moment, Satoru's expression softened. He closed his eyes and reached out, his hand moving toward Akasa's face.
But the instant he touched her, he recoiled as if shocked.
"…"
Satoru's eyes widened.
"Thank you… Swordsman-sama…" The girl's dry lips moved faintly, and then she sank back into deep sleep.
Satoru stood up without a word and walked toward the door.
At his fingertips, the lingering chill of the girl's skin remained.
Loneliness. Confusion. Helplessness.
What swept over him were emotions he knew all too well. Like a virus, they spread into him from that single touch.
Did she retain memories until now… or rather, records?
The quest didn't reset completely after completion. The traces of what had happened before still remained, and the cycle simply began again.
Why do that?
Clearly, wiping it clean would save storage space.
No…
If what stored all of that wasn't a hard drive, then could it be… her own…
Satoru stood outside on the street, clutching his head tightly.
No. That's impossible.
This was a miracle beyond science. How could something like that exist?
He pressed a hand against his chest, feeling the hollow beat of his virtual heart.
And yet, those emotions felt real. Deeply, unmistakably real.
Even without words, it was as if something passed between them. Like their hearts were exchanging signals.
A conversation like that of souls.
The screech of tires. The sound of impact. Cries. A blood-red sunset. Pain. The nauseating smell of hospital disinfectant. All of it surged up at once.
Satoru silently took out a cigarette, lit it, and drew in a deep breath. Then he exhaled slowly, as if trying to expel those memories along with the smoke.
What he hated most was that feeling of powerlessness. The sense that every defense he had built within his heart, every bit of resilience he had cultivated, could collapse in an instant.
Facing that part of his own soul. Seeing that hideous, ghoul-like version of himself.
It was revolting.
He lowered his gaze. For a brief instant, a faint golden glimmer flickered in his eyes, so subtle it could have been imagined.
When he looked up again, he was back to normal.
With the cigarette between his lips, he returned to the wilderness. He glanced around, then let out a faint, mocking smile.
"Come out."
He spoke to the empty surroundings as if talking to himself.
"My Search skill is higher than you think. At the very least, I can see through your stealth."
"You've been following me since I left town. Must've been tiring. But I'm done with what I came to do."
Silence lingered for a few seconds.
"Oh my, no wonder you didn't go drink and eat with those long-lost buddies of yours." A voice came from the empty air, sounding almost flattered. "So you saved your final moments for me? I'm so moved!"
A male player stepped out from the shadows, canceling his stealth skill. His face was hidden behind a mask, his posture casual and unrestrained.
"Well then, let me introduce myself. Name's Morte. Currently a top-tier actor!"
"So that name's fake," Satoru said flatly.
"Unlike you." Morte shrugged. "You use that nickname everywhere. Honestly, if people knew the history behind it, most players would be scared out of their minds."
"And yet you seem pretty calm."
"Not at all. This mask is just hiding how nervous I actually am!"
Morte clapped his hands enthusiastically. Then, like a switch flipping, his clownish tone dropped into something darker.
"No one understands how terrifying you really are better than I do. The Sword Saint with the form of a ghoul."
Satoru removed the cigarette from his mouth, exhaled a thin stream of smoke, and looked at him indifferently.