Aggro Litrpg || Progression Fantasy

Apparently, when the chips are down, and your back is against the wall - please feel free to supply any other banal bit of folk wisdom of your own choosing. Go on, knock yourself out. I'm a bit busy right now – no amount of pacing around a clearing or staring hopefully at a Medical Hut makes time pass any faster.

Oh, I've got another metaphor. 'A watched Warrior never heals . . .'

Look, I know there are probably men out there who'd feel a touch emasculated by the whole wringing their hands, pacing like expectant fathers for the awakening of a good lady saviour. Especially considering Scar, Dema, and I had just utterly wrecked a Shadow Troll incursion without her. But you know what? Screw those guys.

There's no amount of Alpha Dog preening that changes the fact that having a Level 7 wrecking ball back on her feet would make the difference between maybe surviving and actually winning when the punchy Rebel squad rolls up. I needed her. The village needed her. And anyone who said otherwise was welcome to tank the next boss fight themselves while I took a well-earned nap.

Besides, I'd learned this lesson already.

I could see it now. Griff, red-faced and furious, smacking me across the back of the head hard enough to rattle my teeth after I'd muttered something stupid about not needing backup. Especially not from 'the new girl.' The one with the kill record, the shady reputation, and the Katee Sackhoff vibe that made my stupid younger self assume she'd be too dramatic for proper work.

Griff had balled me out in front of the whole squad."You think she's here to pose for recruitment posters, Meddings? You don't want backup? That's fine. Just make sure you tell her that before she takes a knife for you. Which she will. Because she's better than you."

Two weeks later, she did exactly that. In a rain-slick alley behind a pharmacy warehouse in Croydon. A man came out of nowhere with a blade. I didn't even see it. She did. Took it in the side like it was nothing and dropped a knee into his groin with all sorts of venom. Saved my life without a word.

So I didn't have any sort of ego issues checking in on Lia every few minutes; however, all the system offered me on these increasingly regular visits were vague reassurances, none of which were actually especially helpful.

[System Status: Vital Recovery in Progress]

Subject: Lia Jorgensdottir

Healing Progress: 87%

Awakening Protocol: Locked

Consciousness will resume upon complete restoration of critical functions.

Interruption may result in permanent Attribute loss or systemic instability.

I'd run the maths - well, the weird Dark Cleric Mabel had run the maths. Who then told Scar. Who, rather regretfully, told me. But I was at least maths-adjacent, so that counts. Right? – and, judging by the amount of time it had taken the Medical Hut to bring Lia to 87%, she wasn't going to quite wake up before all the Rebel-attack fun started. Which, I don't mind saying, felt pretty coincidentally irritating. I'm all for injecting a note of jeopardy into things, but it really did feel like someone's thumb was pretty heavily on the old 'Luck' scale here.

"Come on. Come on! Come onnnnnnn!!!" I said, opening and reopening the Medical Hut Interface as if refreshing it might help.

However, Lia's healing bar continued to stubbornly move ever so slowly forward. I mentally tapped at the interface again, hoping to magically cause it to fill up, like you see in the movies when someone's petrol tank is on 'Empty' and they tap the dial in expectation that it will make a difference.

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This wasn't good news. Neither was the fact that Scar's people were packing up and looking like they were about to leave. They were rolling bedrolls and tightening straps on well-worn packs. To be honest, I wasn't sure I could really blame them. They knew what was coming. And they certainly didn't plan to be here when the storm landed.

"Is there really nothing I can say to change your minds?" I asked Scar. "I reckon I'm going to need some help here!"

"I've told you already, mate. We're not looking to get into a war. A couple more Shadow monsters? Sure, I reckon after seeing what you can do, most of them could make their peace with that. But a Rebel warband? No. Not so much. Been there, done that and have all the trauma. So this is going to be the part where my guys make a tactical withdrawal. Look, we'll stay close. But that's going to be it. And I'd encourage you to come with us."

He must have seen my expression. "Look, you seem like a decent guy, but you need to consider things from our point of view. We've been burned before. Do you think you're the first Warden who thought they could make a difference? The Rebels will come, and then the Empire will rock up. And each of them will be looking to burn it all down. And they always burn it down. My guys and girls are just looking to survive by making sure they're not standing on the kindling when the torch drops."

"You're scared."

"Damn right we are. We've seen what Rebel squads do to soft targets. You've had your warning, and not only didn't you listen, but you humiliated Berker into the bargain, so they won't come in gentle. They'll come in quiet and fast. And they'll kill anyone they can get their hands on. And that's without worrying about what's going to happen when the genocide machine you've got in recovery reaches 100% healing and gets up. There's no shortage of things to be afraid of here."

"Think about what we did to all those shadow-things!" I said, nodding toward Scar's axe. "You and Dema looted well from that! Think of what you might get when we tear the big guy and his mates a new one!"

"Monsters are different, mate. You don't take it personal when you fight a Veilspawn. No one's cousin ever joined up with the Shadow. And no Troll's going to come looking for revenge when you cleave one of its brethren in half. But Rebels remember your face. And even if they don't, they've got spies who do. Look, if what you were facing was another Shadow incursion, maybe I could talk the crew around to lending a hand. But fighting Rebels? No one's eager to paint a target on their backs for that. I say it again, if you were smart, you'd be looking to leave, too. Live to fight another day and all that."

I looked out over the half-finished defences and the patched-together structures. By any sane measure, I could tell that this place wasn't worth bleeding for. It wasn't a village, not yet, it was just a cluster of hopeful outlines. But, of course, it was far more than nails and timber to me.

The Well was here. And I thought it was clear now that Aunt Margaret wanted me to defend it. This clearing was bound to a role I hadn't quite fully been able to step into yet: the Guardian of the Threshold. Sure, I'd successfully become a Warden, but it felt like the System was watching what I was up to closely. I didn't think fleeing from a Rebel warband was the kind of action that would bump my alignment in the right direction. After all, the Well hadn't linked to me after that fight against Balethor because I was the most powerful around. It had chosen someone who stood their ground against those breaching the Veil, even when it wasn't wise.

I was new to Tanking, but I was pretty sure "running away and hiding" wasn't any part of the job description.

However, as my most recent tangle showed, I absolutely needed people throwing out damage at my back. I might have carried most of the water against the Trolls and they're bird companions, but Dema and Scar's DPS had certainly helped to tip the scales in our direction. I really didn't know how things were going to shake out if I tried to fight on my own.

Well, no. I did. I was going to get smushed . . .

I turned to Scar one last time. "You know what's going to happen here. If Lia doesn't wake up—"

"Then, unless you come with us, you're going to die, Warden," he said. "I'm not trying to be cruel, here. But I have a responsibility to help my crew stay alive. And mixing it up with Berker ain't it." There was a beat of silence, just the creak of leather straps and the muted sound of some people speaking. "You really plan to try to hold this place on your own?"

"Yes," I said. "I'm sure I can hold any aggro that they bring; I just need someone to hit hard around me. You sure at least you and Dema don't fancy round two? Might be all I need?"

He gave a tight, tired smile. "We'll be close. You hold the line… and we'll see."

Then Scar gave a signal, and the last few members of his crew still about slipped into the trees. One by one, they vanished into the green like ghosts. Dema gave me an ironic salute which could have meant 'see you later,' or equally, 'sorry you're about to die.' Within minutes, the clearing was empty apart from me and the sound of distant dread.

I thought about what Scar had said. They'd done this before and they knew when to run.

And me?

Well, I'd run back in London, and that hadn't worked too well. Time to change things up.