Chapitre 170: Chapter 170 - Welcome to the Frontlines
Turns out, the KoB didn't adapt very well on the fly. While a few tried to work together with the frontliners in their parties, most just got in the way of each other.
The frontliners, on the other hand, managed to fit right in into whatever group they were put, creating multiple openings for the KoB players, who failed to utilize them.
It was somewhat of a letdown, Drifter would admit, but then again, maybe it was he who had set too high of a threshold for newbies. Gods knew him and the other Reavers worked just about as well as this mess when they first started out.
The sun, or what passed by it in Aimcrad, was already high in the sky when the testing ended. After the excitement of individual duels passed, a lot of the spectators had left, something Drifter was grateful for.
The final decision, however, was made away from prying eyes, much to the disappointment of the players watching. Drifter, Lind, Klein, Orlando, and the other guild leaders pulled Heathcliff into a private room for that.
It was a lengthy discussion. The Knights of the Blood Oath had made a good showing, and would undoubtedly be a valuable addition to the Assault Team. But not all of them were frontliner material, and getting that through Heathcliff's head had taken time.
On one hand, Drifter could understand the older man. He had raised his guild from nothing, and nearly on his own, and was rightfully proud of it. Drifter certainly knew he wouldn't be happy if one day Orlando and the others came up to him and said they were cutting people from Reaver's Requiem out of the Assault Team.
But in the other hand, being a frontliner required both a certain level of skill, and a specific mentality and force of will. Both. Just one or the other didn't suffice.
Skill without the right mentality got others killed. The correct mindset but not enough skill to back it up got you killed. A frontliner needed both. On that, Drifter and the others wouldn't budge, no matter what Heathcliff said.
It took some time, and at one point Heathcliff even got close to yelling at Lind, which was more emotion than anyone had ever seen him show. But eventually, the KoB commander relented. He could see the frontliners wouldn't give in, and his guild couldn't take on floor bosses by their lonesome.
In the end, 24 KoB players followed their leader to join the Assault Team, bringing their numbers back to just barely above 100. Still not ideal, but better than before.
In the following days, nearly all the frontliners did was training, leaving the exploration of the floor and the labyrinth in the capable hands of the clearers.
For the Knights of the Blood Oath, who had only ever fought alongside each other, fitting into the Assault Team was a challenge. And so it was for the frontliners, who had to adapt to an entirely new group of players who was vastly different from the ALS they were used to.
It took time, and a lot of work and curses, and more than a few fights that had to be broken up. On that, Drifter was glad Reaver's Requiem was made up of mostly calm members.
But eventually, they managed to make it work. The Assault Team was used to making do with what they had and adapting fast, while the KoB struggled a bit more, but they were enthusiastic. A lot of it would only really click once they went through a boss raid, as was the way of things in SAO, but any preparation was better than just jumping straight into the deep end.
They had to do that eventually, though. Jump into the deep end, that is. And that's how the Assault Team found themselves in front of the 27th floor boss room doors.
The new frontliners, with the notable - but not surprising - exception of Heathcliff, were fidgeting, clearly nervous. Drifter didn't blame them. This was his 27th boss raid, and he was still scared every time.
It's just the 27th floor. It's not even a round floor. Everything will be okay. You got this, frontliners, it's gonna be easy!
The normal players said those phrases so carelessly. As if they really believed them. Drifter could only envy their naivety.
There was no such thing as an easy boss raid. Much less a safe one. And thinking like that was what caused the 25th Massacre to happen.
At least the KoB players didn't seem to believe those words, if their pale faces and jumpy behavior was anything to go by. Drifter wasn't sure whether that was better or worse than overconfidence.
Better, he decided, faces flashing through his mind. Not great, never, but probably safer overall.
"How many do you think we'll lose?"
Drifter wanted to slap Orlando for asking such a question. But the blank expression on the other guild leader's face, as he stood with his arms crossed over his chest, watching the newbies, was so far removed from his usual smile that Drifter couldn't help but consider his words.
He didn't know. Zero was what he wanted to say. But he didn't know. He couldn't know. So he scowled at the closed doors.
"No one if I can help it."
"Ha! I wish we had that much say on what happens."
"Shut up."
Orlando grinned wrily, and held his arm out for Drifter. The spearmaster didn't hesitate to take the offered limb, staring at the Brave straight into the eyes.
The guild leader of the Legend Braves was boisterous and loud. He made crass jokes, pulled pranks, had no concept of personal space. He was a jokester through and through.
Too many people forgot he was also a frontliner. And a titled player no less. Hero Orlando. His title came as much from his guild name and his personality as it came from his actions. His past.
Orlando had made mistakes. But he didn't let himself be held back by them, for better or worse. He was a frontliner. Always had been, always would be. And if he was feeling like this? Drifter trusted him.
"We will watch out for your Braves. You keep an eye on our backs."
Orlando's grin widened some.
"It's too beautiful of a day to die. Let's fuck up this boss."
There was the old Orlando. Drifter rolled his eyes, even if he knew part of it was bravado for the sake of their guildmates listening in.
Cracking his neck, Drifter walked until he was right in front of the doors, then turned around. His weapon transformed into the heavy halberd Liz crafted for him what seemed like a lifetime ago, and he slammed butt of the weapon on the ground, the sound echoing through the tower and silencing everyone as they turned to look at him.
"I won't say much. You all saw the scouting raid, and know the plan. Stick to it for as long as it's feasible. When shit hits the fan - as it always does - go to the contingency plans. KoB, you know this already, but I'll say it again: you are to focus on support this time around. Don't get arrogant or greedy for glory."
Drifter tapped the ground with his weapon again to stave the objections he could already see coming.
"We've all been where you are, and we know what's like wanting to prove ourselves. Especially you, since you are under the pressure of replacing the ALS - just as much from normal players as from yourselves. But take it from people who have been doing this a lot longer than you: it's the moment when everything is seemingly going perfect that you get tempted to break the plan, and that's always when it goes wrong, and people die. Don't let it be you. If afterwards you feel like I'm wrong and overbearing, then I will apologize. I have no qualms with that, as long as it keeps everyone alive. So follow the plan. Consider it a favor, if you want."
It was Heathcliff who stepped forward, after a long second of staring at Drifter, and placed his sword over his shield, bowing slightly.
"We will take your warnings to heart, Broken Spear."
The spearmaster nodded gratefully, and stepped closer so only Heathcliff could hear him.
"Thank you, Heathcliff. I mean it. I know we haven't always seemed eye to eye, but none of that matters now. All that's important is surviving, and escaping this hell. We can't do it without you and your guild."
The faintest glimmer of surprise appeared behind Heathcliff's gaze, and he searched Drifter's expression for any signs of mocking and sarcasm. He found nothing but genuine concern and gratefulness.
"We will honor the Assault Team and the Aincrad Liberation Squad, Broken Spear."
"I know you will. And I'm glad you stepped forward when you did. Now, as Orlando says, let's fuck up this boss."
Heathcliff nodded, his expression going back to its neutral blankness. Drifter gave one last glance to the gathered frontliners, and pushed open the boss room doors.
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Drifter knew SAO had changed him. It had changed everyone. But the spearmaster thought... Yes, he had changed more than most.
Which was why, when he saw the sullen faces of the KoB frontliners as they climbed the stairs to the 28th floor, that he wasn't surprised by his callousness. Or by his lack of... anything, really, when thinking back to the sole casualty of the boss raid.
He had warned them repeatedly. He had told them what it was like to be a frontliner before and after the test to join the Assault Team. He had delivered another speech about following the plan and not getting greedy for glory, just before starting the raid.
He had always known there would be someone who didn't listen. And honestly? Drifter was glad it was just a single player who thought that just because the boss was on its death throes, it was any less dangerous. That was a lesson that had taken the original Assault Team several lives to learn.
Of course, the spearmaster would never verbalize any of those thoughts. Regardless of the reason, a person was still dead. But from a clinically cold perspective, this was an overall victory for the Assault Team. Because now the remaining 24 KoB frontliners would never underestimate a floor boss again, and that would save lives in the long run.
"I guess you were right."
Drifter walked over to Orlando and the Legend Braves. The other guild leader looked at him and shook his head.
"I didn't want to be. But I'm not surprised I was."
"Yeah, me neither. Just... I don't even know. They have to be ready, I guess. There's another round floor coming soon. Might not be a sure-death like the 25th but-"
"Trust me, I know. We will see how it goes."
Orlando clapped Drifter on the shoulder, and the other frontliner nodded. Just as they reached the top of the stairs and walked into the 28th floor, Drifter passed by Heathcliff, whose's expression was indestructible.
"Welcome to the frontlines."
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The 28th, 29th floor- They were a blur. Another month of their lives spent in their digital prison, but one the frontliners barely noticed. All their efforts were pooled towards preparing for what might very well come to be another deadly raid.
The 30th floor. Another round floor, which the frontliners already knew, by unfortunate personal experience, could be extremely deadly.
At the very least, they had yet to make it through a round floor without suffering casualties. 6 on the 10th, 2 on the 20th. Not quite on the same league as the 25th floor, but horrifying in its own way.
Drifter didn't know what to expect of the floor boss. The mobs on the floor had been a confusing mix. Dracanae (snake-women again, but this time with armor and weapons), Punishment Hounds (pitch-black Rottweilers the size of a car), and Wandering Satyrs (half-man, half-goat monsters that were neutral until attacked, but screamed like a bag of cats).
Someone had said those were all monsters present in Greek mythology, kind of, or at least variations of them. Drifter couldn't comment, he didn't know the first thing about Greek myths.
It was a clue to the floor boss, however. The field-boss, Seaborn Cyclops, also seemed to follow the theme, so there was a good chance the floor boss would be some even worse Greek monster.
The thing was, they didn't have any experts in Greek mythology, and even if they did, there were so many things that the boss could be. And, other than the mobs itself, there didn't seem to be a lot of lore laying around.
Argo and Fuumaningum were working overtime on finding what everything they possibly could about the 30th floor, even to the point of putting the Laughing Coffin investigation on the backburner.
It didn't help a whole lot. The largest break the Assault Team had came from a small clearer guild on the 11th day of exploring the floor, and all they got was a mural depicting a giant in chains with flaming - literally - hair, and a name: Prometheus.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone