Aggro Litrpg || Progression Fantasy

After all that, our return to Sablewyn felt... anticlimactic. I mean, I don't think I was being unreasonable in expecting some form of civic reception after what we'd pulled off. A handful of villagers tossing flower petals, perhaps. Or, at the very least, a cheap banner saying, "Thanks for All The Heroing." Something.

Anything.

Instead, the city looked precisely as it had when we left—stern-faced stone walls and military architecture with all the charm of a kicked wasp's nest. The same two bored guards were loitering by the gate like they were waiting for lunch, not a group of freshly traumatised dungeon survivors. It was all much less "triumphant return" and more "clocking off after a miserable Tuesday."

Still. We were alive. And Shadow corruption hadn't leaked out of the Dungeon to dissolve the city's foundations. I guess that counted as its own reward? Maybe.

Kal, Elsie, and Lia were ahead of me, deep in animated chatter. Kal's limp was pronounced now—he'd run out of arrows somewhere between the last stand and the ceiling collapse, and his enthusiasm for Dungeon delving seemed to have taken a matching hit. Elise, bafflingly, seemed in decent spirits. You'd think losing a teammate would bring the party healer, in particular, down some. But Ivor had gone splat in a very definitive way, and Elise was already talking gear upgrades and spell refinements like the poor guy had just logged out early.

Which was... fine. I guess. Maybe she'd compartmentalised it. Maybe she hadn't liked him. Maybe . . . all sorts of things. But I couldn't quite shake the feeling that a person had died, and everyone else had filed it under "minor logistical hiccup."

Although I tended to do my best on my own, when I was in a group, I liked to be with people where I knew they had my back and I had theirs. And when one of us didn't make it back, we didn't just shrug and split up their kit. Ivor had been part of the chatter one minute and then was... gone. The lack of tosses given was troubling me.

And this attitude went beyond just my group members. When Lia stopped to debrief the two guards at the gate—who I had mentally labelled Tweedledum and Tweedledumber—I hung back while our Party Leader explained how five went in and four came out. I expected a bit of shock. Maybe a flicker of concern? But the guards barely looked up from their clipboard-equivalents. One grunted, the other ticked a box, and that was that.

Apparently, death here wasn't tragedy. It was paperwork.

And Dings, of course.

[System Quest Complete: Shadow of Sablewyn]

Primary Objective: Resolved

→ Veil-Broken Entity eliminated

→ Dungeon cleared

→ Elder concerns addressed (with acceptable collateral)

Rewards Granted:

+500 Experience

+1,000 Reputation (Faction: Sablewyn. Class nerf reduces this to 500)

[Title Pathway: Warden] – Recognition Confirmed

Item Unlocked: Ring of the Reluctant Vanguard

[Item Acquired: Ring of the Reluctant Vanguard]

Classification: Rare (Bound – Iron Provocateur Compatible)

Slot: Accessory (Index Finger – Right)

Description: Forged in anticipation of burden. Worn by those who step forward not for glory, but because no one else would. It doesn't shine. It endures.

Effects:

- +1 Endurance

- +10% Threat Generation when Aura active

- [Passive Effect: Anchor the Line]

When Health falls below 25%, gain temporary immunity to forced movement or displacement for 6 seconds (Cooldown: 10 minutes)

Set Synergy Detected: Vestments of the Reluctant Anvil (3/5)

→ Additional Set Bonus Unlocked:

+5% Aura Range

Aggro Magnetism gains minor resistance to dispel or critical disruption

System Advisory:

Your feet are in someone else's boots.

Your hands are carrying weight not yet yours.

But you stood.

They noticed.

Carry on.

Okay, well, that was nice. I slipped it on as we made our way through the gates. Yet another point in Endurance, I noted. I wondered if I could get the last two pieces for my set synergy reasonably easily. Objectively, the individual pieces of gear weren't great, but working together, they were forming quite the package. There was a Sesame Street about that, I thought.

The Elders were waiting for us inside their well-defended Keep. The grey beards – and that was just the women - didn't even bother with a "Well done" when we entered before asking for their report.

"A successful run," Kal offered when Lia studiously didn't say anything, "but I am afraid to say we lost Ivor."

A goaty-looking Elder shook her head and affected a degree of sadness. "Dungeon Delving is a heavy burden that always falls on the strongest. We are sure that the Maker will welcome Ivor back to his embrace. Thank you all sincerely for your service. Through your sterling efforts, you have cleansed a dungeon that had been corrupted by the Shadow. We will not forget this nor Ivor's ultimate sacrifice." Her eyes flicked to me for a second. "I see we were wise to engage your services, new arrival. Your help with this matter was clearly invaluable."

"Yeah, sure. Although to be fair, these other guys did most of the heavy lifting. I was glad I could help out a bit, but I'm sure Lia would have had it handled without me."

"We see so few new arrivals nowadays. And ones that can be relied upon? They are even fewer and farther between," another Elder chimed in, clearly ignoring my efforts to put credit where credit was due. "We hope we may be able to call on your assistance in the future?"

Sure. Great. Looking forward to more opportunities to get punched in the face. My role in the whole thing had really just been to Wile. E. Coyote a giant bull into a wall repeatedly. I doubted I had an encore of that trick in me. At least, not until my 'Survive the Day' countdown reached zero, and I actually got my hands on being a Warden for real.

"Lia," the Badger Elder said, "as is customary when a Party Leader fails in their duty to bring all home safe, we will deduct Ivor's blood price from your own payment. Knowing the family, I cannot believe they will seek your prosecution, but you may wish to visit them in person to pay your respects. To smooth the waters, as it were."

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

Prosecution? These people were weird.

But rather than losing her mind at the unfairness of it all, Lia merely gave a nod. "I understand, Elders. May I ask if my remaining payment will still cover . . . "

"Jorgen's debt? Unfortunately not, my dear. However, in the circumstances, we have asked for there to be a pause in the... urgency of its collection. I dare say that if you can keep your father out of the Gambling House, you will have time to pick up further work to address the shortfall before... things escalate again."

With that, the meeting wrapped without further ceremony. No medals. No offers of rank or reward. No statues being commissioned in our likeness—just a brisk nod, a closing door, and the unmistakable sense that our usefulness had been filed under 'temporary asset, to be re-evaluated.'

By silent consensus, we ended up in a dingy tavern with sticky floors and barely any lighting, sinking a few even more questionable drinks. It was the kind of place that sold anonymity by the pint and encouraged you not to ask what the foam was made of. It was the sort of place in which I felt like I'd spent the entirety of my adult social life.

I was nursing my fourth 'ale' of the evening – hoping my Endurance was high enough to combat alcohol poisoning – when Lia slipped into the seat across from me without preamble. By now, most of the patrons were too drunk to notice that she was almost vibrating with tension.

"You're not what you seem," she said.

I nearly choked on my drink. "Excuse me?"

"I don't know how you pulled it off in the dungeon, but you're clearly no simple tank. At best, you'll have, what? A Speed of 1? 2? And you were able to outrun a charging Labyros!"

"Well, you'd obviously slowed it down some."

Lia's eyes didn't leave mine. "I want to know what's going on. Who are you?"

Her voice wasn't loud, but it had that particular weight to it. There was no amusement in her tone, no opening for deflection. Just demand. And I didn't think I was going to be able to laugh this one off.

More Charisma might've helped. I should've spent the damn points. But, then again, I supposed Progress Point allocation wouldn't fix wiring, and mine was very much built for silence. I liked Lia, sure. I might even—tentatively—trust her. But trust, for me, wasn't a currency I spent easily.

I had never been the guy who opened up over a drink and a tragic backstory. I was the guy who changed names like shirts and kept three exits in mind at all times. So no, I wasn't about to start unpicking the full 'Guardian of the Threshold' situation just because we'd shared a few kills.

"Maybe I just got lucky?"

"Luck is a fool's currency," Lia said. "I do not have much to thank my father for, but if he taught me anything, it is to never trust those who hazard everything on the toss of a coin. Ivor died in that dungeon because of too much trusting to luck!"

"Oh, so you do care," I said. "First time any of you have shown it, far as I can tell. And if we're assigning blame, remind me—who's been saddled with paying off his blood price? Because last I checked, it wasn't me footing that bill. So, if someone's carrying responsibility for Ivor's death, Party Leader, maybe start there."

Blast. Too harsh.

Lia blinked at my response, then stood and moved away.

[System Notification: Reputation Update – Lia Jorgensdottir]

Relational Standing Adjusted: Cautious → Poor (Iron Provocateur Class Penalty Applied: Hostile)

I didn't suppose I could really complain about that.

The evening wore on, and despite my best efforts to ensure everyone knew Lia was responsible for our party's success, I couldn't seem to avoid a growing reputation in this tavern for heroism. People kept stopping by to thank me, offer drinks, or worse, ask about my previous "exploits". Each new round of congratulations piled on the pressure for me to have something new to say. So much so that I might have started to dip into both my own colourful history and also the John Wick movies for material.

Never the most social of beings, I'd had more than enough of the evening when Kal appeared next to me with two frothing mugs of ale. "You ever think about taking on one of the bigger dungeons, Eli?" he said, passing me one of the tankards. "With your Abilities, you'd make a great team leader."

"Not for me, mate. I'm not a leader. Trust me on this."

"Sure you are! By the Maker, with the way you handled that Labyros! I'd follow you anywhere. I mean, Lia's good and all, but it's hard not to think that the apple probably doesn't fall too far from the tree."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Kal shrugged - a movement that made him sway back and forth in his seat a little. I thought he was pretty drunk. "Nothing. Just saying that for all her bark, Lia's still got... you know, her father's shadow hanging over her. Bad Luck's contagious, they say. And I tell you what, I bet Ivor would agree. Or at least he would if he wasn't, you know, dead."

"Maybe think about watching your mouth, Kal," I said. "The only reason any of us made it out of that dungeon alive is because of Lia. A bit of gratitude would go a long way." I had no idea what her father's deal was, but I wasn't about to sit there while Kal badmouthed her. Especially after I'd done a pretty good job of doing that to her face. In case you hadn't realised, I'm all about the displacement.

The hunter's brow creased up, clearly surprised by the strength of my reaction. "Whoa! Hey, I didn't mean anything by it. Just stating the facts. Her old man's a carriagewreck, and everyone knows it. That's why she's ended up taking on all these dangerous contracts. She's got to 'redeem the family name' or something like that."

"Okay," I said. "Well, maybe put a bit more respect on her name. You saw her in action. She's badass. So, drop all this 'bad penny' schtick, okay?"

"What? You got a thing for her or something? Well, good luck with that. Once upon a time, she was quite the good-time girl. But I don't think anyone's thawed those icy thighs for a season or two. You'll be wanting Elise for that sort of thing."

For some reason, this became a hill for me to die on. Almost without thinking, I leaned forward and shoved Kal's shoulder hard enough to make him fall out of his seat. "I said, watch your mouth, mate."

I felt bad as soon as it happened. Kal was left sitting on his backside in the sawdust, looking up at me with a vaguely stunned expression. I didn't see a health bar, so I hadn't hurt him. But I felt like a heel. I stood and offered him a hand back up.

At which point, he swung at me. It wasn't entirely a sucker punch - not exactly - but I hadn't expected him to come at me that fast. There was lots and lots of speed there—or I guess Speed? Whatever. He had access to a lot of fast-twitch muscle and, right now, a lot of flared temper. I got my hands up a second too late, and his fist cracked across my cheekbone with enough heat to make my vision blur and my health bar drop.

I staggered back but didn't go down.

Okay. That was interesting

Back on Earth, I'd never quite managed to get used to taking a punch. Mr Glass Jaw, Griff had deemed me. Despite all my size, I'd put most of my effort into being built for stealth, for speed, and for getting away clean. If it came to throwing hands and I took a hit flush like that, I'd usually be destined for a quick nap. But now, in this Class? I seemed more… planted. Basically, it was like someone had installed a shock absorber in my chin.

Kal didn't appear minded to wait for me to rally, though. He was on his feet and pressing in, another hook coming up fast. I caught it with my forearm and drove forward to close the distance between us, turning his next punch into a slap against my ribs as I crowded in on him.

I went for my go-to, the clinch, and tried to use my size and his momentum against him—but damn, I was slow. Much slower than I was used to. It was like there was more than a half-second delay between thought and movement. My well-trained brain fired, but my new limbs responded like they were stuck in molasses. As a result, Kal easily twisted free, ducking under my arms, and jabbed me in the gut.

Which didn't hurt at all.

Not really. But it forced the breath from my lungs, and I needed to take a step back to readjust. I needed to stop thinking like I did back home. I wasn't quick enough to do things the way I was used to. I needed to let the 'tank' do the work.

Breathe in. Plant. Swing.

My right cross wasn't elegant, but – then again - it didn't need to be. Kal had just finished shifting his weight when it caught him full on the jaw. I felt the contact all the way up my arm. Solid and extremely satisfying.

[Aggro Magnetism – Lvl 2 Activated]

Your presence demands attention.

Enemies within your aura cannot help but notice you.

Then fixate.

Then froth.

Apparently, me landing that punch made Kal my 'enemy', and his head snapped toward me like a vampire scenting blood. His eyes flared, and he began swinging again, but this time, it was wild and uncontrolled haymakers coming my way. I had plenty of time to duck, step in, and drive a knee into his thigh, which was more than enough to jar his leg. Then I spun, dropped my shoulder, and slammed into him.

He hit the ground with a satisfying thump, landing flat on his back, air gone and arms splayed. For a moment, there was just the sound of his breath scraping through his teeth.

I stood over him, fists still raised, waiting to see if he'd get back up.

Which he certainly did. Fast. Too fast for someone who'd just eaten the floor. My Rage dollars in action, I suppose.

Kal surged up, snarling something half-coherent, clawing at me with both hands. It wasn't clean, it wasn't skilled—but it was fast and furious and coming right at me. So, I put my whole weight behind my next punch—one clean cross, driving from my hip. The kind of punch that ends fights.

He dropped. Not flailing. Not sprawling.

Just switched off.

Lights out.

[Skill Level Increased: Closed Circle – Lvl 2]

Your instincts in close-quarters have sharpened.

– Improved grip-break techniques

– Minor speed compensation in melee clinch

– Moderate bonus to interrupt on enemy wind-up

I exhaled, letting the adrenaline bleed off. The room settled, and my heartbeat slowed.

Someone coughed behind me. I didn't look.

"Okay," I said, "That one was personal." Then, quieter: "And a useful reminder not to lead with your face."