Aggro Litrpg || Progression Fantasy

I stood in the centre of what I was increasingly, if reluctantly, comfortable seeing as my village, surveying the aftermath of the battle.

Smoke drifted from its shattered rooftops, and the ground was a patchwork of churned mud and spent arrows. Most sadly of all, the remains of the Village Hall and the Hunter's Lodge were listing like they'd had a bit too much to drink. Debris lay thick across the path leading to the Well, interspersed with unclaimed loot drops, which were an unsettling reminder that not everyone in Bayteran had respawn privileges.

However, it was Dema's injury that weighed on me most.

The Huntress had thrown herself into the fight for me. Not just because of some System-triggered bond, but because she'd chosen to. And that mattered. However, any thoughts I had of upgrading the Medical Hut to speed up Dema's recovery were immediately buried beneath the avalanche of resource costs tied to fixing everything else the Rebels had lovingly smashed into rubble. It turned out I couldn't upgrade any existing structures until I fixed the ones that were falling down.

"How in all that is holy does it cost more to repair things than it did to build them?" I'd said, while assigning every last scrap of lumber and stone into the endless abyss of Repair queues. And even then, we were still coming up short.

"That's just the way things are," Scar had said, with the same energy as someone explaining gravity to a flat-earther.

"So why not knock them all down and rebuild? That would be much quicker. And certainly cheaper."

"Because you're not a barbarian from the Frozen Wastes," Lia had said. "In the civilised world, we do renovations. Not war crimes."

The two of them shared a little smirk at my stupidity, which, momentarily, irritated the hell out of me. I mean, I'd just fought a Rebel warband pretty much on my own, hadn't I? I mean, sure. They'd all helped out. In the end. Moderately. But the fact I'd stood on my own for a while had to count for something in the old respectometer, surely?

Still, at least Lia and Scar had come to an uneasy détente, which was probably worth some mild ribbing. They weren't going to be swapping makeup tips in the near future, but neither did I worry that they were going to start chopping each other up. That their sole point of connection appeared to be taking the mick out of me wasn't ideal, but right now, I guess I'd take it.

If that was the cost of peace, I could probably live with it. Begrudgingly.

Nevertheless, their blossoming friendship wasn't helping a whole lot with the problem that the resource cupboard was bare again, and there were a bunch of Repair timers running. Scar's crew and my Shadow Workers - hey, they respawned. Neat! - were doing their best to gather more resources as soon as possible, but it was still going to be a while until I could look at properly starting to move things forward again.

That there was just under a day until Katya wanted an answer as to whether I'd be formally joining the Empire wasn't ideal, especially as, at that point, I wanted to be a bit more prepared for what I assumed would be coming next than I had been when Berker waddled into town.

Delays sucked the big one. But, on the other hand, taking time to plan was better than rushing in.

I'd spent six hours once, belly-down on a slate rooftop in Thessaloniki, half-shielded by a rusted water tank that dripped condensation onto my neck like a passive-aggressive metronome. My target was a drug courier; just a mid-tier girl who was utterly paranoid about being followed and yet always wore the same luminous green coat with the left cuff fraying where it seemed a dog had chewed it. My mission was to confirm the handoff and track the recipient. Someone else would gather up the girl once I confirmed her supplier.

It was an easy enough job on paper. But in reality? Well, my comms had gone dark halfway through hour two, my legs were cramping in the third hour, and I'd needed to drink rainwater that pooled in a shallow dip in the roofing felt, trying not to blink too loud once the Greek sun had properly cooked me alive.

The handoff, when it came, lasted twelve seconds. A nod. A smile. A celophaned package was passed over, and then a man and a woman were walking in opposite directions with the deliberate boredom that only criminals and married couples perfect.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

And, because of careful planning, Griff was able to sell my photos for enough to keep me in PS5 games for a year.

That was readiness.

Not charging headfirst into a brawl like some overlevelled idiot with a main character complex. Not swinging a morningstar at problems and hoping physics would sort the paperwork. Planning was about patience. It was about preparation. It was about stacking up tiny advantages so the day after the world fell apart, you were the only one still standing.

So yeah. My clothes might still stink of blood and scorched timber. My body may hurt. And half my village might look like an artillery testing ground. But I was already working on the next play.

I found myself opening up the Village Interface.

Most of it was still greyed out. Unsurprisingly, considering the place had just played host to what I was now classifying as an unsanctioned festival of recreational dismemberment. Half the place was smoking and the other half was smouldering. The System had the nerve to mark the Storage Shed as "lightly singed", like that somehow made it better.

But nestled between the "Rebuild Infrastructure" and "Weep Softly Into the Mud" tabs, there was a single option still lit up. It wasn't exactly glowing with promise, but at least it was not greyed out and judging me.

[Settlement Name: Pending]

I hovered over it, and a little tooltip popped up.

[System Advisory: A place without a name is a place without protection. A named place becomes part of the story. Choose wisely. Or don't. You'll still be blamed either way.]

Well. That was... comforting.

Still, I couldn't leave it blank forever. Could I? I mean, of course, technically, yes, I could. But the System was already treating me like the world's most reluctant local council, and I had a feeling that letting the "Warden of That One Ash Pile Behind the Tree" title linger too long wasn't going to do my Reputation score any favours. And with my -3 Charisma, I didn't think that needed the help to suck.

But names had power here. I could feel it. The same way you feel a storm before it hits.

And this wasn't just a ruin anymore. It had been defended. Bled on. Died for. It deserved a name. Something appropriate.

"You're naming the village now?" Lia said. I turned and was about to ask how she knew, but saw she was looking above my head at where the tooltip was displayed. I really needed to learn how to turn that off.

"Yeah," I said. "Why? Got any brilliant suggestions?"

"You really think this is the time?"

"If the Empire's coming to flatten us, we might as well die somewhere with a killer name. I was thinking Thunderdome. Too subtle?"

"You're joking."

"That's the scary part," came Scar's voice from behind us. "I don't think he often does. What's our illustrious Warden up to now?"

"I was naming the village," I said. "But apparently, we're now living in a democracy and everyone is having views."

"Oh good," Scar said. "I was worried we were planning on operating under 'Whoever Bleeds on It the Most Owns It.'"

"Where we're at right now is somewhere between Thunderdome, Camp Nowhere, and Eliville. Possibly Absolutely-Not-A-Rebel-Base-Town, but I think that's too subtle."

"You know," Scar said, "I didn't think it was possible to lose a naming vote when you're the only one holding the ballot."

"Look," Lia said, "If you want advice, you want to try to come up with something that means something to you. The Maker tells us that there's a sacred bond between a village and its leader, and that deserves proper thought."

"Does the Maker have any suggestions?"

Lia blushed and wandered away. "Just... don't name it after yourself."

"No promises," I called after her, "but Elitopia is dropping down the shortlist."

"As much as I don't like to admit it," Scar said, "the Dark Wren is correct. You will want to be careful in this endeavour."

His words hit me a bit harder than I might have expected. I mentally hovered over the naming field in the Village Interface. And just like that, I thought of Halfway Hold. The cottage. Aunt M's place. The name she'd chosen so carefully. It hadn't been some twee metaphor, had it? It had been a line. The place where things might be turned back.

And this? This was the other end.

Anchorfall.

The word was whispered into my mind, appearing heavy as a stone in deep water. It was what happened after someone chose to stay. After they chose to hold the line. Not reach. Not a promise. Not escape. The place where the weight of the threshold dropped.

[System Notification: Village Name Selected]

Anchorfall

– Linked to Threshold Network

– Guardian Node Registered

– Title Pathway Alignment: Confirmed

– Reputation Tracking: Enabled

– Local Recognition Level: 0

System Commentary: Every crossing needs an anchor. This one is yours.

Scar read the name as it appeared, with a slight fanfare, in the air above the village. "Yeah, that'll do."