Aggro Litrpg || Progression Fantasy

As we walked into the village proper, I looked around some more, seeing everything with new eyes. And just in case the visual's been a bit vague so far, let me set the record straight: this wasn't the kind of quaint, flower-boxed hamlet that gets lovingly sketched into the margins of fairy tales. No. This was more first-act-of-a-folk-horror film. You know, the part where the camera pans over rotting wood, uneasy livestock, and the sense that somewhere offscreen, someone's sharpening something?

The houses didn't just line the forest's edge; it felt like they were trying to back into the trees and disappear. And that wasn't because of the wind, or the rain, or even the local wildlife. No. It looked like they were built to hide from something. And now that I was seeing it from the right angle, I realised something I hadn't quite admitted to myself before.

They were hiding from us.

Which, when you thought about it from their point of view, was probably fair enough.

How, exactly, had I died, been resurrected and ended up on Team Empire!

I mean, that was the number one rule, wasn't it? Don't work for 'the man.' Ever. Didn't matter who 'the man' was – or even if he wasn't a man. As soon as someone with a title and a stamp came waving a contract in your face and asking you to serve something greater than yourself, you knew—knew—you were about to be played. This was day one stuff.

Back in the smoke and silence of the trade I used to ply, I'd had plenty of opportunities to go legit. Well, as far as 'legit' meant anything in the world of MI5, MI6, Interpol and even a shadowy desk job in Brussels where everything was paid for, and you only got shot at quarterly. But I'd turned them all down because – as far as I was concerned – once you wore their lanyard, you wore their leash. And sooner or later, someone in a suit you'd never met would tell you whose life to save and whose to end. And you'd do it. Because that's what "operatives" do.

Working for Griff… well, Griff had been different.

He called it a co-op, though it was mostly just him, eight or nine others, and a constantly changing list of contacts. But he framed it right. We weren't part of the system; we were the ones resisting it. Scrappy insurgents. High-end freelancers. The grease in the gears of people who thought they couldn't be reached. And sure, Griff always had a few more lines of coke than sense, but he was honest about the one thing that mattered: we chose our own fights. We didn't answer to anyone who wasn't paying us upfront.

I'd made a career out of never wearing a uniform. And now, somehow, I'd wandered into a war… as a heavy for the state. However, if these people were meant to be some kind of scrappy, freedom-loving Rebel Alliance, then I was going to need to seriously revise my expectations.

There must be over a hundred of them tucked away in the shadows of this village—enough, you'd think, to put up some sort of resistance against us. Raise a banner. Throw a punch. Glare meaningfully at Lia, at the very least. But no. Nothing even close.

These guys were fleeing before us like people already beaten. Shuffling from one sagging shack to another, keeping their eyes down and their presence quiet. No one met our gaze. No one raised a voice. There was just a lot of silence and rot and the weary creak of buildings trying to fall down without making a fuss.

Look, I'm not saying I'm anyone's idea of a revolutionary hero. But if all this was the rebellion, then someone had seriously miscast the roles. Because so far, I hadn't seen a single soul ready to stand up and fight against – well, whatever it was that Lia and her ilk were up to. Somewhere, I imagined Princess Leia's gold bikini giving up entirely and folding itself into a sad little flag of surrender.

Lia walked ahead of me, shoulders squared, and her chin raised just enough to look proud without looking haughty. She'd clearly decided that if the growing crowd was going to hate her, they might as well hate her properly. And judging by the way the villagers scattered at our approach, that strategy was working a treat.

"Remind me again why we're here," I said, picking my steps along the mud-churned path. "And please, if you could, avoid any phrasing that includes 'light peasant culling' or 'spontaneous pogrom,' I'd really appreciate it."

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"Do you always talk this much, or am I just lucky?"

"I'm just trying to get on the same page," I said. "Because the one we're walking on is soaked through and smells like fear. These people think we're about to burn their village down. You noticed that, right? The whole 'mothers shielding children with their cloaks' routine?"

She didn't say anything.

"Look, I've been patient," I went on. "I've followed you into a territory that looks like the prologue to a very depressing history book. I haven't asked questions. I haven't kicked up a fuss. But if this is just an intimidation run - if you're using me to look like muscle - then I need to know. Because whatever I am now, I didn't sign up to be someone's cudgel."

Lia stopped. Not abruptly—just slowed down her stride and then stilled. Her back remained to me. "Of course they expect a 'war crime,'" she said quietly. "That's what people from Sablewyn do."

I stepped up beside her, but she didn't meet my eye. Just kept watching the road ahead. "You didn't wake me up just to scare some farmers, Lia," I said. "You want me here for something else. And if I'm going to keep walking with you, I need to know what that is."

Finally, she turned her head. Just slightly. Just enough to let me see her eyes. They weren't angry. Tired, mostly. "You want honesty?" she said. "Fine. We're here because something's got to be done. Something unpleasant. And I need someone who doesn't flinch when it gets messy."

"You should've led with that. I flinch constantly."

She didn't smile.

"So," I said, "what's the quest?"

"To kill someone."

That stopped me. Not metaphorically. Physically. "Wait… what?"

Lia started walking again. "Somewhere in this village is an alchemist. He's been supplying our enemies with materials with some unpleasant weapons. Corrosive brews. Smoke bombs laced with Veil residue. Weaponised acidic agents. Stuff that could tilt the whole conflict."

"And, what, the Elders sent you to ask him very politely to cease and desist?"

"They want him gone," she said. "And they don't want it especially clean."

"And I'm here to be your accomplice?"

"You're here," she said, "because if this goes sideways, I might need a tank to get me out alive. And you might not have noticed, but there aren't a whole lot of your Class in Sablewyn. Everyone wants to be DPS. Big numbers, flashy kills, plus we get loot priority. The Elders tried to balance that up by ensuring Healers get a tax exemption and a free pass in most quarters. But tanks? Well, no one queues up to be the first one to take a hit."

She sighed. "But don't worry. I'll handle the killing here. Trust me, I've had the practice."

Well, I suppose that might explain being double the level of anyone else I'd come across.

I looked around again. At the crooked homes. The sagging walls. The families with no colour in their clothes and no fight left in their posture. No wonder they looked at us like we were monsters.

Because we were.

At least today.

And me? I was the monster's plus one. "How did I get myself into this?" I half-whispered.

"You didn't. I did."

That admission caught me off guard. I'd not seen that softer side of her before; she'd always been this cool, collected warrior, always in control. Even with a Labyros looming over her. But now, there was something in her eyes that hadn't been there before—a flicker of doubt. Regret, maybe?

"The Elders gave me the quest," she said. "And the first checkpoint is to stop here and connect up with a contact who will give us the exact location of the alchemist."

"And if I say no?"

"Then I go in alone, and I probably don't come back."

I stared at her, trying to read the emotions behind her frozen face. But she wasn't giving anything away. Not really. There had to be more to this than her father's debt, bigger than a quest to off an alchemist. There was definitely more going on here than she was letting on. And somehow, I'd ended up right in the middle of it. Go me.

"Fine," I said. "I'll play along. But don't expect me to do the dirty work."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

We started walking again, the path growing narrower as we neared the centre of the village. The houses here were more tightly packed in, the red wolf head banners seemed to multiply, hanging from every corner of the houses we passed, watching with their unblinking eyes.

We finally came to a stop outside a large building, bigger than the others but still thoroughly weathered by the elements. It looked like it had once been some sort of meeting house, though it was hard to tell that now. The windows were boarded up, and the door hung slightly ajar, creaking in the wind.

"This is it," Lia said.

"What, no grand welcome? What is it with this place and its complete rejection of trumpets and general pageantry?"

"Get your game face on. It's time for you to meet the enemy." With that, she pushed the door open, and I followed her inside.