fauxkiller

Despite it being an intense struggle with that surprise boar, Faux had actually completed this mission much quicker than he had the day he came here to gather. He felt the encroaching feeling that the anger he had fought so hard to suppress might become vital to his survival here. Combat was inevitable. If Faux had continued on his path of avoiding it, sooner or later it would destroy him. This battle he had in the plains was proof of that. Supplemental information was not enough— he had to seek more knowledge on combat to avoid such brushes with death in the future. But possibly even unbeknownst to him, this grazing of fingers with death was incredibly exciting.

He arrives back at Lyle’s shop soon after returning to the town, wanting to waste no time per usual. He drops the tusks from his inventory and lets them clack and tumble over one another on one of Lyle’s many tables. This gets the elderly man’s attention, as he finally drops the act of ignoring the young player to glance over at his spoils.

When you return with the required tusks, Lyle gives a curt nod of approval. "I use these on hilts," he explains simply, before setting the items aside. Faux hears a heavy sigh as Lyle returns from his inventory. "Now, I'll have you know that I don't take loans from anyone, especially men the likes of Dorian White. You might try old Pete Larkin. He spends all his time fishing for river monsters or some such nonsense." With a scoff, he adds, "Without a real job, the man could probably use the charity." Lyle turns back to his work, but gestures with his head toward a nearby table. "Grab yourself a weapon and armor from those bins on your way out. They're about worthless, but consider it payment for the tusks."

Faux doesn't want to pry about Pete Larkin, figuring that he was just another step in this wild goose chase of a beginner quest. Faux doesn't tell Lyle of the Boar Jerky he obtained, not wanting to share anything beyond what the rude man requested. He does take him up on his offer, though, snagging a piece of armor that was obviously in poor condition. "Thanks."

FAUX REWARDS SUMMARY

There would be no dramatic flare or ceremonious declaration. A sudden rush. Like a comet flung horizontally at its target, Faux launches at the exhausted boar. Faux held his breath as his opal saber carved a graceful arc, slicing through the air with unmatched finesse. In that triumphant moment, time resumed its natural pace, and the boar's huffing and heaving came to an aprupt halt. The majestic creature staggered, disoriented, before collapsing to the ground in a thunderous display of defeat. Its body bursts into a colorful array of blues and crystal tones. This wave of cerulean washes away, into the sky above Faux's head. He knew now with certainty why players were so willing to rush into a video game experience such as this one. Even without the death game, this technology was new and uncertain. It was reported to be a dangerous lure into nihilism. And yet, still there were those who sought glory and power in this realm. The thrill of combat to Faux, however, was not about cleaving into his opponent or thrusting a weapon around. It was about the beautiful image they left in their wake.

And not only that, but it would seem the mother boar also left behind a bit of herself. In the grass where she perished, a slight glowing blink runs over a piece of boar meat. When Faux picks up this item, Cardinal tells him it is [Boar Jerky], a T1 consumable item. He immediately pockets this, away into his digital inventory. Yet another victory for Faux, although this time hard-earned. Faux would never judge players who fall to these beginner missions again. 

Repeatedly, the boar's tusks come perilously close. Faux twists and curves his body around these attacks, eventually sliding underneath the creature's massive frame and safely to the other side. The boar turns around with steaming nostrils and wastes no time coming for the brown-skinned target again. With saber in hand, he pierces the ground, using it as a pivot to launch himself out of harm's way just in time. The boar's hooves pound the earth, creating a slight tremor that threatens to unbalance him, but Faux remains upright. Unrelentless, the boar strikes again. This time, Faux leaps high into the air, executing a breathtaking acrobatic flip. In that suspended moment, he adjusted the angle of his saber, using it as a makeshift shield to deflect a wild swipe from the boar's tusk. The man's movements were a blend of agility and ingenuity, anticipating the boar's next move and improvising when he couldn't. As he attempts to preserve his energy for attacking, his creativity is exposed in the art of survival. 

Then, again, it would seem the battle comes to a slow halt. There is a moment where the beast seems exhasted by its own attack patterns, its body heaving and barely managing to stay stood. This was his opportunity to strike and end the battle.

However, as soon as the stun would fade from its body, the boar would jump high into the air. This takes Faux by surprise, as it was much higher than it had jumped before; and, it was doing backflips as it rose into the sky. Then, it comes falling down at incredible speeds and Faux doesn't react in time. The pig stomps down into his head and smashes him into the ground. This was a direct, critical hit. Dust and grassy debris speed in all directions away from the impact. Faux's vision goes blurry for a moment as he tries to regain his composure after such a hard hit. That's what he gets for starting to feel confident in his abilities. It would seem that the game throws curveballs whenever a player least expects it. Nothing in this game was as as simple as a few programmed attack patterns. This thing's attacks would continue to vary the longer he fought it, Faux was sure. He couldn't begin to imagine this fat pig as anything else than a formidable opponent. Already, Faux's health was near fifty percent again. 'Focus. Avoid.' 

He was forced into the defensive position as he awaits his energy to restore. He didn't realize how taxing the sword arts were on his stamina. He could feel his legs were a bit wobbly, and his head still felt swarmy due to the hit. But, he has to chuckle. In real life, that hit would have ended his life. Here, he still has a chance.

Another deep breath.

Another glow of his saber.

He shifts his footing, and begins a new type of assault. He takes many short steps around the beast, similar to how it had circled him. He slashes at its hide in quick succession, many tiny slashes that leave it squealing and seeking some kind of path away from the man. But as soon as it would begin to take a step in a new direction, hopefully away from the blade's judgement, Faux would be there. He looms around the space of the Mama Boar, applying five shallow slashes before shifting to be directly behind it. He stabs his blade forward, directly into the beast's back. It screeches out in surprising pain, but can't retaliate with the same bucking as before. Faux has succesfully stunned it, allowing him to jump backwards and retreat without fear of being struck. It felt good to calculate these favorable outcomes for himself, even if just against a low level mob.

As the boar paces in a circle around him, Faux realizes how low his health has fallen. Red. It was the first time he had seen that color on his health bar. 'Is this the cardinal panic that players feel when their health is falling?' A heat begins to simmer in the pit of his stomach. He attempts to quell this by pulling one of his starter potions from his bag and splashing it down his throat. His health rings, this time in ascending tune, as it raises back to full. Faux instantly feels calmer, the burn of battle fading slightly. Yet, his opponent still circled him endlessly, always debating another attack. Its incessant behavior was earned, though. Faux had slayed her boarlets, afterall.

Finally, she launches into another attack. But, in predictable fashion. Faux sidesteps her charge easily, exhaling a deep breath as he does. He needed to focus and finish up this mission. "Anger is a useless emotion," he reminds himself.

Faux doesn't let his failed sword arts deter him from focusing. The piggish beast would not let up in its assault, but its attack pattern was far less than complex. It was only using basic attacks that would not be fatal unless Faux allowed them to be. He brandeshes his saber with a few acrobatic slashes of the air in front of him. Then, slipping into a crouch, he holds it in front of his face. 'Focus,' he tells himself. But upon the boar entering his vicinity once again, he swipes too early and entirely misses the thing. He is left open for the boar to jump up and ram head-on into his chest. He is flung several feet in the air before crashing to the coarse dirt. Again, he rises without hesitation. He brushes off his coat. "I don't blame you for protecting your boarlets, but your methods are brutal," he tells her.

One more hit like that and Faux would be out for good. He had already determined that basic attacks wouldn't be enough against this enemy, but he still had to cooldown before he could use his sword arts again. It was conundrum for sure but Faux wouldn't be defeated in this field on his own.

The boar charged with relentless fury, its massive tusks slashing through the air. With quick reflexes, the beginner player continuousy leaps aside, narrowly avoiding the deadly assault. Faux could feel himself start to move with fluidity, staying one step ahead of the beast's powerful lunges. His saber becomes an extension of his arm, waving through the air with distinct precision. Mama lunges towards him with a forceful grunt, and Faux meets it this time with a downward slash of his saber, meeting the beast's tusks with a resounding clash. The collision sent shockwaves through the young broker's arm. 

The intense struggle would unfold amidst a whirlwind of dust and snorts, but both combatants refuse to yield. The man's heart pounded in his chest, a synthetic adrenaline fueling his senses. Time would retreat and only observe from a distance, slowing this battle's passing in a frozen moment. With every clash, Faux felt the weight of the encounter, knowing that a single misstep could cost him dearly. Yet, he stands his ground, undeterred.

The sun beat down mercilessly, casting long shadows across the parched ground. With beads of sweat trickling down his brow, he gripped his trusty saber tightly, his heart pounding with a mix of fear and determination. The boar snorted fiercely, its eyes fixed on Faux, as it pawed the dry earth once more. The effects of the paralysis had worn off, and she was already furious with her inability to tackle the stupid human. She doesn't waste a moment charging forward. Faux is ready. His saber glows like it has before, and in a dramatic jump dash towards the giant boar, he thrusts his arm forward to stab at the beast and leave it motionless once more. But, alas, the boar is quick. It sidesteps his attempt and rushes past him.

Just as Faux thinks the beast has successfully avoided him, she bucks her legs backwards and nails the fighter in the lower back. His body crunches into an uncomfortable angle as he tumbles to the ground. He had never had the wind knocked out of him in this way-- or, in any way for that matter. He chokes up a deep breath and hacks out a cough. But, he doesn't stay kneeling for long. He whips himself back to an upright position. His hands are trembling where they grip around his saber's hilt. Listening to his own health tick down in descending crescendo was truly terrifying. 

But also, exhilerating.

They both dash forward into action. Faux has probably fought less opponents than this Mama Boar had in its brief existence, so he wouldn't underestimate it. Rather, he overestimated the power of a basic attack. Sure, they had done him justice in fighting boarlets; but, that was essentially taking life candy from a baby. Here, as he rolls to the left and cuts a shallow swipe into Mama, her health bar barely budges. It appears her tough hyde is reducing some of the damage. But still, the slash he cuts into her is an expertly clean one, causing the wound to not fade, but continuously spew little electronic bits of red from the spot. Its health falls down a bit further.

Faux would have to use the sword arts to take down this opponent without meeting an untimely death. He had to slow it down. He had to halt it. But, he had only recently begun using sword arts and didn't fully understand how he summons up the energy for execution. The vengeful female boar screams a high-pitched squeal into the air, but doesn't move. It would seem the effects of Salted Therapy were kicking in. She had become paralyzed, giving Faux a bit of time to think about his next move.

Faux watches as Morningstar provides the finishing slashes to the creature admist conversation about apples. "A couple of new items and you'll be on your way to the front lines." Faux stores his weapon for the last time and nods assuredly at Morningstar. He had been avoiding combat for so long-- long before he came to this game, in fact. Violence was an aversion for Faux in the real world, so each time he lifted his sword, it was with the courage to grate against the fiber of his being. The frosty-headed boy would make Star's words a reality one day. 

As night began to fall, the men decide to go their separate ways. Faux's last record keeping of this day would be of his two new companions. He draws sketches of either one of them in his Diurnalis and asks them light, basic questions to include in his notes. This would be standard practice for Faux, continuing his work from the real world by making individuals feel important and heard. They would forever be immortalized, not only in writing, but in Faux's mind as the first strangers to really put themselves on the line for him. This may only be the beginning of a treacherous voyage; but, Faux was starting to get excited about what could be. 'Thank you, Raidou. Star. I will never forget this.'

FAUX REWARDS SUMMARY

MORNINGSTAR REWARDS SUMMARY

RAIDOU REWARDS SUMMARY

"Well," Faux starts as he equips the shoes, "I am actually a low level player myself, as you may have guessed." His eyes twinkle with joy as he watches the biting mist start to pool around his feet. He already felt more a part of his environment. These "boots" were made for first steps (and that's just what they'll do). Perhaps, night wouldn't understand this sentiment. So, Faux continues humbly explaining what he really does. "I've never been higher than Floor 10, but I investigate rumors on the lower floors for potential hidden quests. I also interview players, mainly in the Town of Beginnings, for my..." Faux trails off. He flicks his fingers through the air and quickly pulls his sketchbook from his inventory. Better shown than told. "I call this my Diurnālis. I take notes and record landscapes in a sort of anthropomorphic study. I suppose in truth, I'm only a broker in the making." Because, he didn't know how to do anything else. How would he explain that this is his genuine nature (that is, seeking a universal truth)? 

"I have no specific need for fireproof sneakers," Faux starts, lifting a finger in the air, "But, I heard there's a quest line on the ninth floor that grants a collected sword art one otherwise couldn't learn. These shoes make me feel confident I'm ready to attempt it." This might be a misguided confidence. "You've heard of such a quest?"

Faux is appreciative of the kind words from the experienced players, but there's little to show on his face. He sheathes his blade. It was clear that the other two were significantly stronger, and doing most of the heavy lifting. The dusky boy admired them for uplifting him in this moment without being patronizing. 

However, his eyes could barely follow Raidou's movement just now. And the fact that he so calmly stood in this dangerous valley at the edge of night with his groceries still in hand made Faux feel a bit silly for having to concentrate so hard. Even now, the hairs on the back of his head rise and fall every few minutes at the sense of a new potential threat. In fact, if he were only slightly lesser of a man, Faux might have soiled his pants at the flash of ruby cutting through the battle just now. In less words, it was shocking, impressive, and relieving all at once. 

Faux is so deep in thought that he doesn't even see the Warg approaching the trio until it is being slain. "How much did ya pay for those apples, by the way? Mind if I buy one off of you?" Again, both handling battle so casually. Faux is amused by them. While the two men exuded quite different energies at the beginning of the day, it would seem they both carry the quiet confidence of true heroes. This is comforting to Faux, that people like this exist here.

"Thank you both so much for bringing me here. I wouldn't have been able to see the sights I've seen on my own," he gives his signature thumbs up and awkward smile. "I will continue to seek understanding of Aincrad for the betterment of all--!" 

Just as Faux attempts inspiring words, a low humming sound fills the air. And then, it's accompanied by flapping. These sounds conjoin and flood the man's ears as a giant bettle-looking insect descends on the group. Faux immediately jumps backwards and unsheathes his saber. He would attempt to halt it, this time before the other two. 

Only this time, Faux would use his saber almost like a spear, jolting forward in similar fashion to how he had watched Raidou do a moment ago. Except, Faux does not move with the same burst of speed. Nonetheless, he stabs his saber into the beetle successfully, and swiped it outwards from its position in one of its winds. That was a different sword art. It felt a little awkward at first, but certainly impacted the insectoid. 

Examining the glowing bits of dry grass closer, it would appear something was left behind by the destruction of those poor boars. It was a tiny veil, full of a dark crimson liquid. Upon picking it up, cardinal provides small text determining it "Boarlet's Blood," along with a question of acquisiton. Faux turns the cylindrical glass around in his fingers for a few seconds, watching the thick blood ooze around its walls. He doesn't even consider taking it when a loud huff comes from behind him. He can feel the push of air on his back, fleeing from this exhale. He turns to see a much larger boar than any of the others he'd witnessed. It scuffed its hooves along the ground, standing sturdily in place with the promise of charging him. Faux doesn't dare avert his gaze from the mama boar, but quietly ponders if protecting the veil was worth fighting this creature. 

Then, he comes upon an entirely new train of thought. Who cares about the boarlet blood? He had spilled plenty of that today. A true challenge stood before him. Who was he to deny this challenger's request? Faux unsheathes his sword, ready for the burst of action that would surely ensue.

This was beginning to feel very comfortable for him. Faux weaves from side-to-side , dodging the Boar’s futile tackles and inching closer. With a swift swoop downwards, the boar is severed in half and bursts into fading diamonds. Faux, yet again, felt a sense of accomplishment in even being here. He already had plenty of boar tusks and pelts to supply Lyle and there wasn’t a single scratch on the lad. He sheathes his Salted Therapy and kneels in the grass. He needed to feel this moment. Then, he sits to document the scenery in his sketchbook. He hadn’t drawn a good boar yesterday, so here he decides to draw the best anatomically correct boarlet he could. He likes the way it came out. 

But he hadn’t realized that in the wake of the destruction; a sparkling something, reflects the sun with a glimmer that begs for attention. Until, in his examination of his environment, its reflection catches his eye.

Dissapointed, sure, but certainly not surprised that the man with shoulderblades crimson was not interested in paying. In fact, it would seem he little interest in their means of transportation. With an adjustment of his glasses and a toss of the cape in gorgeous flare, he is setting off. Faux turns to a giggling Star and smiles. "Thank you. We should get going, then." 

★

The ride to the Stone Valley was stunning. Faux didn't mind riding behind the stranger, because his mind was spinning and soaring through the valley in the distance. All that his eye could capture he would absorb. He even recorded a couple scenes in his sketchbook, being sure to also attempt a crude rendering of the horse they were riding. 

When they arrive, Faux dismounts and watches his new teammate secure their steed. They don't have much time to talk or imagine where Raidou is before a Warg is crawling into their path. This thing is the largest creature Faux has seen in person thus far. Its face is gnarled on the left side, as if it's been defending its valley for decades. It ends today.

Faux's saber glows a faint opalescent white, amplifying the bleach of its blade. He focuses on his target. This is his first attempt at sword arts. Following his metal counterpart, Faux would lunge forward at the Warg and strike it immediately after Morningstar finishes his attack. With a swing of his glowing saber, he succesfully slashes a sewing of red fibers from the unfortunate beast's shoulder. "Ha." 'I did it.'

Faux can feel the cool of the icey shoes caress his fingertips before they're being pulled away again. He frowns. But her inquiry is not unfounded. Even Faux thought she had pulled out the items rather quickly. This would possibly be the truest show of strength Faux had seen yet- she would feel so comfortable in her abilities to openly brandish valuable items in this way? It seemed bold, to say the least. Especially here, where NPC character are less than friendly, and players follow suit. Or maybe, he's just overvaluing this commodity, due to it being instrumental for the man to continue his journey. "Yes, Faux. Like a farse," and then Faux looks directly into night's eyes, "or an adversary."

"I am an open book, but I know, in this world, valuable information is like gold. One might consider me an information broker for low level players, or an expert anthologist," he shrugs. "I want to test the new kicks. Let me put them on and we will walk together. I'll tell you whatever you want to know about me. Deal?" He smiles a corny smile as he declares this. Faux is not a whitholding person by any means, but he also wouldn't be tricked into spilling about himself by the lure of these items. Judging her demeanor, it was apparent this girl was afraid of losing nothing but time in this interaction. He figured this offer is most likely incredibly boring to someone of her stature, so he might even be able to retreat from this scene even quicker. A sparkling sensation spins it way down Faux's spine. To imagine himself as such a non-factor to this woman— harsh.

Faux isn’t given much time to celebrate before he’s being approached by two more boarlets. “If you want revenge, you’ll find no such relief in me,” Faux chuckles at the animals. The saber feels good in his hands. Something is happening to Faux. His heart is racing, his palms are clammy, and his toes twitch and shift in anticipation of the next rush. He recognizes this feeling as the sensation that burns through him before he has his… outbursts. Trying to fight back the urge to let loose on every boar he sees now floods his thoughts. His body wants to go. Want to lurch forward and claim another token of his progress. Just like that, he jumps forward, spinning to the left of an incoming boar. He slices the one nearest him, and a “SQUEEE-!” pierces his ears. Before this one can collapse it has shattered into hundreds of crystalline pieces of itself. Its four-legged friend stomps the ground as it circles Faux. It plots its next move and Faux does the same.

Cut? Defeat? Kill? No, destroy.

Faux and his saber would bring this prophecy to fruition. He allows everything around him to come to a still. Nothing else matters besides defeating the enemy in front of him. In the future, there would come times in which Faux would truly have to defend his life. While a simple boarlet wouldn’t be enough to take him down, there were things that existed in the shadows of this game far worse. Inhale. The snorting and squealing of the little pig is the only thing Faux concentrates on in this moment. It screams out, finally making its move. It sprints full speed at Faux, and as it does, the man closes his eyes. Exhale.

As predicted, all it takes is one wide swipe— a basic attack— to best his foe. The saber cleaves through the boarlet’s body like butter, twisting its momentum and sending it tumbling to the ground with a heavy, lifeless thud. Faux watches it dematerialize in front of his very eyes, a life shattered. But, this would mark the Faux’s first ever kill. He can’t help but smile wickedly at this. 

Faux wouldn't hesitate, there was no need. He lunges towards the boar once more, this time in a head-on confrontation. Maybe this beast deserves to at least look in the eyes of that which would take its life. 'Rest easy, little boar. You will exist through your brother spawns.' For now, Faux would keep to basic attacks. At his level and rank, he should be able to one-hit K.O. these mobs. 

If he could hit them. His very first jump forward would have him land on a random slippery patch of fauna, throwing off his balance as he thrust his saber forward at the boar. It easily avoids this attack, without dodging. It has its own plans of charging forward, snarling and squealing in panic as it attempts to ward off its much larger opponent with a flailing of its tusks. What an unfair fight. Although, Faux wasn't proving himself to be much of a tough opponent yet. Really, this boar had a good chance of escaping and living another simulated day here. Faux wiped some sweat from his brow and attempted to focus at the task on hand. Hit the target. Truly, a simple concept. All it takes is one blow to seal the deal. 

Faux was sure to check his bag to ensure he had health potions on hand before making his way outside the safe zone. He's greeted with the familiar feeling of the invisible film that separates him from certain danger pooling around his body and evaporating just as quickly. He could already see soon-to-be targets wandering the dry grass in the far distance. Faux sees low level players like him beating on some of the unlucky boards already. He takes a deep breath and decides on an opponent. A small, unsuspecting boar is facing the opposite direction only a hundred or so feet in front of the beginner combatant. He takes several slow, quite steps towards the beast. The whisper of a blade slices through the silence as Faux unsheaths his blade, still approaching.

Striking distance.

Crunch. Faux's position is given away by the cracking of the splintered grass beneath him. The boar squeals angrily, spinning around much quicker than expected to address the nuisance behind him. The boar charges Faux head-on, now only steps away from the flustered player. But, for lack of tact, Faux is able to side step the boar's charge. It speeds past him, but turns back around, clearly ready to fight for its life. Faux would do the same.

Little did Lyle know, Faux could present a masterclass in short, precise communication. Less chit chat was not a downside for the man. “I’m here to collect the debts you owe to Mayor Dorian White,” Faux says this surely, as if there were no question Lyle owed their forgetful leader. On the upswing following Faux’s words, Lyle bursts into laughter. It’s raspy and cynical, an obvious disrespect to Faux that goes over his head. “What— Is this their new way or collecting taxes from the people? How odd! At least send someone intimidating!” He continues to guffaw for a bit before snapping back into work mode, remembering his time is precious. Faux wants to push the matter, but he only gets out “I-“ before Lyle is waving a weathered hand at him. 

“I don’t want to hear you!” He shouts, suddenly. His voice reverberates around the shop and in Faux’s ears. “You weirdos constantly come here, bothering me for information, for money, for armor— make yourself useful or away with you!” And with that, he begins smashing into the metal on his plate much faster than before. He’s grunting, and Faux watches beads of sweat drip down to the hot iron. Faux takes no offense to this outburst, knowing Lyle could not betray his nature or the constructs of this story. Faux, the adventurer, would need to earn their keep, no? Just as any other hero. “What do I need to do?” Make it simple.

“Go kill a couple of those pesky boarlets for me, and bring back their tusks. They're pretty weak, so even you shouldn't have any trouble.  Do that, then I'll hear you out,” he finalizes the deal, and Cardinal presents Faux with the official quest window. With a press of the [ACCEPT] button, Faux is already heading for the plains again. 

Faux reminds himself of how Zackariah spoke of Mayor Dorian and the blacksmith, Lyle. It was the the first and only time Faux heard a slight inclination of contempt in the jolly alchemist’s tone. This saber-wielding young man had learned long ago that when someone as benevolent and kind as he passes judgement towards an individual, it’s for good cause. Fully understood in terms of the mayor, but he would have to find out if this Lyle character would contain similarly agitating character flaws. 

The door to the shop opens, but with a lurching creeeak that Faux instantly recognizes as a stark difference to the previous morning at Zackariah’s. The air is thick and hot, and there is a feint smell of soot or ash. Clink! Faux turns towards the sound. A man with a snowy cliffside for a face continues hammering away. Clank! This must be Lyle. The shop isn’t empty, so Faux doesn’t necessarily expect Lyle to acknowledge him right away. But, it’s clear from the jump that this would not be the fatherly coaching session that the last quest was. Faux patiently waits for the player in front of him to finish their dialogue and hastily exit the shop. He starts to speak but Lyle holds up his hammer, as if to strike his metal again. But, before swinging and without looking at Faux, he mutters. “There’s a fee if you’re here to watch.” 

Pang! 

It was a good night’s rest. The first lesson had granted some pleasantly introspective moments, and Faux would be lying if he said he wasn’t touched by Zackariah’s friendliness. His programmed friendliness. Faux tosses himself from the shabby inn mattress, throwing around the milky strands of sweat-stained hair on his head. It would be another warm day, because Faux had already decided before he fell asleep: that he would continue these beginner quests. He had gone as far as he could go as a beginner information broker, and it would seem the players are continuously progressing towards an escape. Faux wouldn’t seek glory as apart of this struggle— no— but will seek to understand its existence. Intention lies behind every piece of art, and Aincrad was no exception. Each part of these numerous landscapes, economies, and folklore that inhabit them were intentionally designed by his own species. Without dramatization, Faux hopes to know those people through his journey. 

There would be far too much information unknowable without higher endurance, thus once dressed in his usual attire of cropped jacket, tee, and black jumpers, he sets off. He had to level up. There was no other option.