Aggro Litrpg || Progression Fantasy

The helm dropped into my hands with a soft thunk, feeling far heavier than it looked and humming faintly with that weird, not-quite-a-vibration buzz the System used whenever it decided something was important. As the bodies of the condors and the two trolls faded away, a notification blinked into view before I even had a chance to give it a sniff test.

> [Item Acquired: Mask of the Reluctant Anvil]

> Classification: Rare (Bound – Iron Provocateur Only)

> Slot: Headgear

> Description: Forged for those who step forward while others step back. Offers protection without glory. Endurance without praise. Hides the face of the one who suffers, not out of shame, but because no one ever asks.

Stats:

> Armour Rating: Light

> Endurance: +2

> Charisma: -1

> Threat Generation: +5% when Health below 50%

> Passive: Eyes on Me

> → While Aggro Magnetism is active, grants +10% enemy focus retention

> → Slight distortion effect to intimidate foes within aura range

> Set Bonus Achieved: Vestments of the Reluctant Anvil (5/5)

> Final Set Effect Unlocked:

> → +1 to all Primary Attributes except Charisma

> → +15% Mitigation when standing alone

> → Unlock Ability: [Anvil Break – Level 1]

> > Description: When HP falls below 10%, unleash a pulse of force that staggers all enemies in a 7m radius and restores 25% of Max Stamina.

> > System Advisory: When the hammer falls, the anvil holds.

I turned the helm over in my hands. It was more of a mask, really—half helm, half cage, like something a knight might wear in a stage production of 'Please Beat Me, I Deserve It.' Blackened metal swept across the cheekbones and jaw, the front stamped with a stylised anvil.

I raised it to my face, paused for a moment, and then slid it on, and it was like being dunked head-first into cold soup. Sounds grew distant, tinny, like they were echoing down a corridor made of cardboard. The edges of my vision blurred and ghosted, highlighting movement before I'd even registered it consciously. Shadows stretched longer than they should, and when I looked at Scar, the lines of his body were outlined in red, yellow, green, then gone.

I pulled it off with a grunt and shook my head. "What gives? I can't concentrate if I wear this!"

"You'll want to toggle visibility," Scar said without looking up. He was crouched near the corpse of the troll boss, running a whetstone down the edge of a new axe the size of a short canoe. "Core Settings. Helmet Display. Cosmetic override."

"Right. Yeah. Obviously." I mentally flicked through the interface, found the toggle, and turned it off. The mask flickered out of sight, its effects still active, but wearing it no longer made me feel like I'd been mainlining cough syrup. The distortions settled, though my minimap now showed new ranges, colour-coded in concentric circles. Probably the threat zone for Aggro Magnetism? Which was pretty cool.

The bonuses from the set swam up into my vision, little overlapping modifiers quietly slotting into place like the System was playing Tetris in the back of my brain. The mitigation bonus alone would've made a difference in the last fight—there were moments during the brawl with Trollzilla where five per cent could've been the gap between five Health and a Game Over screen. The new Ability, Anvil Break, sounded dramatic, too. A last gasp, final-resort sort of ability. Another lever to pull when everything else had gone to shit.

I took a second to glance at my stats. Health: 45. Stamina: 43. Not bad at all. That +1 to all attributes from the set bonus felt like real progress. Considering I only got two points per level, that gear bump up and down the line was worth nearly four levels. Then again... there was another -1 Charisma. Which made two gear penalties now, dragging my social skills further into the abyss.

Thinking about Charisma, I looked over at Scar and Dema and gave a start. Both of whom were within five metres now. Too close. Aggro Magnetism should have triggered on them. I took a hurried step back.

Dema looked up from examining her new quiver. "What's up with you?" she said."You step in troll puke or something?"

"I'm just… making sure my aura doesn't trigger on you."

Scar shook his head. "Won't matter. We're partied up now."

"We're what?" I looked at my minimap and saw that the dots representing Scar and Dema were purple.

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"You didn't notice the confirmation when we joined the fight? It would've triggered when Dema didn't leg it and I followed her like a bloody idiot. Don't worry. It doesn't mean we like you." He stood, shouldering his new absurd slab of a weapon. "But it does mean we won't Rage attack you on sight. Probably. That won't be the case with the rest of the guys, though, so keep clear. Especially as..." he looked at me again and frowned. "Did you somehow become more unlikable?"

Dema tapped him on the back of his head and gave me a lopsided smile. "Well… some of us don't like you. Others are still making up their minds."

"Right," I said. "That's comforting."

I took another glance at the mask's passive effects, particularly the ones tied to Aggro Magnetism. I didn't know how the System determined "intimidation" or what counted as a "focus retention" boost, but I figured being a Warden would give me plenty of chances to find it out.

"Rest time's over, by the way," Scar said. "There'll be another incursion soon, I'm sure. And the next one won't stop at six."

"Well," I said. "Let's make sure we're ready."

Scar gave a sharp whistle and waved the rest of his crew out of the undergrowth. I might've expected a bit of awkwardness, maybe a sheepish glance or two, given how they'd legged it while two of their number stood shoulder to shoulder with me? But no. Not a flicker of guilt. They just walked straight back to their half-finished work like we hadn't just smeared a couple of shadow-possessed trolls across the clearing. In moments, they were back to stacking stone, hauling wood and wiping ash from their sleeves. Just business as usual.

It was almost impressive, that kind of collective emotional shrug. No cheers, no questions, no visible relief. Just a quiet, practised pivot back to the job they'd been doing before the world tried to kill us. Boy, did I recognise that feeling.

It was the look of people who'd seen too many firefights to get overly invested either way. You learned to care just enough to stay sharp, but not so much that near misses hollowed you out. You could get worked up for the scraps you were in, sure. Adrenaline, loyalty, fear — those were live wires. But the fights you stood by and watched? The ones that passed you by while you were in the wrong place or taking a piss or just lucky for once? You learned not to dwell.

These guys moved with that vibe. Veterans of something no one had written down.

As they worked, it seemed like a good chance to ask Scar more about the merry band of deserters he called his crew.

"Dema's the scout, naturally," he said, trying to clean troll blood off him with a wet rag. "She'll be out there now, circling wide. Making sure nothing else crawled through the Veil while we were occupied. If she hasn't already mentioned it, a 'fog of war' upgrade would be really helpful, by the by."

"She's good."

"She is," he said. "Then there's Gareth, he's the team's muscle. Never saw a Progress Point he didn't like in Strength. And Mabel over there, well, let's just say she's good with the kind of poisons that make people disappear without a trace. I think she started as a Cleric once upon a time. But you know what they say. Once you go Dark, you never get Holy Nova back."

I laughed, then stopped when I seemed to be the only one. I found it fairly noticeable that Scar hadn't given me any breakdown about his own Build. "Sounds like you've all got a talent for something more than just staying alive."

"You could say that." Scar's eyes gleamed. "Each of us has our own... little specialism. We haven't survived out here this long by accident." He went quiet for a moment before seeming to come to a decision and pressing on. "Being connected to either the Empire or the Rebellion affects a lot more than just who you fight for, you get me? Being a member of one of the factions runs deep. Into your Core, right?"

He looked at me, then. Really looked at me. And, again, I was struck by his similarity to Griff. Particularly his 'you need to listen to what I'm saying here" face. "I'll tell you this for nothing, Elijah, if you side with the Empire too long, you'll start seeing things their way. And that won't be good for anyone. I imagine you're starting to feel it?"

"I don't know what you mean." I really didn't.

"Look, kid, I can see you're linked to Sablewyn, and the longer you have a relationship with that pit of vipers, the greater the danger you have of seeing things their way. As in, 'follow the rules, or else.' And those rules? They're all about keeping the little guy in line while they squeeze every last drop out of them. The Empire loves order, sure, but it's their order. You step out of line, and suddenly you're the one getting chopped up by a cute little Warrior enforcer with a massive sword. Those guys are not about 'justice.' They're all about control. And the longer you stay in their shadow, the more chance you have of just becoming another cog in their well-oiled war machine. And let someone who knows tell you, those cogs really don't last very long. Especially one with your charming personality."

I mean, I didn't exactly need to be talked out of siding with Katya, but it did make me a touch worried about what I was going to do about Lia when she woke up. I didn't think I'd actually seen her do much 'evil' in the time I'd known her. Everything she did seemed to have a decent enough motivation, didn't it? Mind you, considering how low everyone else was, Level 7 seemed a pretty high stage to have reached only doing morally grey things . . .

"Okay, so Empire bad. I can dig that. I've never been much for doing what the 'man' says, anyway. So that sounds like we all should be on the side of the Rebellion then?"

Scar shook his head emphatically. "Nothing further from the truth, I'm afraid. Sure, to listen to them, it's all talk about freedom and about shaking off the shackles. But don't get that mistaken in your mind for being the good guys. What they're selling isn't about liberty for everyone. Trust me on this. It's about their version of it, and if you're not on board, you're just another 'enemy of the cause.' They'll burn villages, take hostages, blow up a marketplace, and all for 'the greater good.' And their 'good' leaves as many bodies behind as the Empire does. Some people on their side might think they're fighting for something noble, but they've really just swapped one set of chains for another."

Yeah. What I had seen of Balethor and Berker fit into that description pretty nicely. "So, what, between both of them, you and your crew are the 'good guys' here then?"

Scar's grin became rather too wry for comfort. "My word, no. This is Bayteran. Let's just say we're… flexible. We've experienced the worst of both sides. None of us are clean." He paused. "That's what everyone says we need Wardens for."

Okay. So, no pressure there.

If belonging to the Empire or the Rebellion could shift someone's personality, that meant the warring factions weren't just purely political, were they? Did that make them . . . what, spiritual? Metaphysical? If so, I wondered what effect being a part of the Empire had had on me so far?

"Me and mine have sworn not to follow anyone's banner," Scar continued. We've all seen what happens to those who do. But that doesn't mean we don't have to deal with the consequences: the Empire wants order, but it's their version of order. You break their rules, you die. Simple as that. The Rebellion? They want freedom, but their idea of freedom is just an excuse for chaos. And if you're not with them, you're against them."

"Doesn't sound like that leaves a lot of good options."

"No. No, it doesn't," Scar said. "And that's how we find ourselves in the middle of nowhere helping randoms build villages. It's not an obvious way to make a living, but we figure it's an honest one."

"I'm glad to hear you say that."

"Why?" he asked.

"Because it's about to get a lot harder to stay neutral around here." I pointed over towards the sounds of a commotion. The upgrade to the Medical Hut was complete, and Lia was – finally - beginning to heal.