Myth of Resonance [Delayed Isekai - Progression LitRPG]

He found Django and Marcus in their usual haunt—a quiet corner of the dining hall that Django had claimed through sheer persistent presence. The archer was demonstrating some impossible trick involving three spoons and an apple, while Marcus watched with the patient expression of someone used to Django's existence.

"Invia!" Django's grin could have lit the room. "You're back! And walking! Both good signs!"

"Mostly walking," Invia corrected, settling heavily onto the bench. "Had an interesting day."

He told them about the goblin subjugation, keeping his description clinical until he reached the hobgoblin. Both friends went very still.

"An unlisted hobgoblin," Marcus said slowly. "Early Conceptual. And you killed it?"

"Technically, yes. Though it was more instinct than skill." He described the epiphany, the sudden clarity of the riposte. "The System called it 'David's Echo.' Whatever that means."

"It means you killed something that should have killed you," Marcus explained. "Named after some legend about a boy who defeated a giant. The System loves its references."

Invia's expression flickered, "That's a story from Earth… How does a System from Collendrum know about it?"

"That's… a good point." Replied Magnus, puzzled by the obviousness of it.

"How do the achievements work?" Invia asked after a pause, taking the opportunity.

"They're permanent passive boosts," Marcus explained, leaning forward. "Most give slight increases to specific attributes or resistances - maybe slightly better damage against beasts, or slightly faster stamina recovery. The rarest might offer medium effects, but those usually come from legendary deeds. Yours is likely a slight enhancement to something related to overcoming stronger foes."

He's right, it is.

Achievements:

David's Echo: Stronger opponents don't intimidate you as much.

"But that's amazing!" Django bounced in his seat. "Your first mission, and you're already taking down Conceptual threats! At this rate, you'll be Transcendent by next month!"

"That's what worries me," Marcus said quietly. "Invia, most adventurers do dozens of missions per rank before advancing. D-rank after first mission is..."

"Aggressive," Invia finished. "I know. But something about it feels right. Like I'm finally moving at the speed I should be."

He hesitated, then asked the question that had been bothering him. "Have either of you ever felt stifled working in a group? Like you're wearing chains you can't see?"

Django's expressive face scrunched in thought. "Stifled? No? Groups are fun! More people means more chaos means more interesting things happen!"

Marcus's response was more measured. "Without my group, I'd be dead three times over. Whatever feeling you're describing, I'd suggest ignoring it. Solo adventurers have the shortest careers in the business."

Good advice. Practical advice. The kind that kept people alive.

So why did it feel wrong?

"On a different note," Invia said, pulling out his coin pouch, "I need to count my funds. Sera mentioned I'll need better equipment for D-rank."

He emptied the pouch onto the table. The gold from Kleo made a respectable pile, joined by today's earnings. When he finished counting, the total was impressive: twenty-two gold coins.

Marcus's eyes widened. "That's—Invia, do you understand how much money that is?"

"Not really," Invia admitted. "I know it's more than usual, but—"

"More than usual?" Marcus looked genuinely shocked. "That's more than most Physical Realm adventurers see in a year. What exactly did you do with that mercenary's group to earn fifteen gold?"

"Survived, mostly. We delivered some cargo, fought off goblins. Nothing special."

Django, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, suddenly piped up. "Is that really a lot? Father gives me fifty gold for spending money each week, and he says that's being stingy."

Marcus turned to stare at him. "Of course you wouldn't—" He paused, visibly collecting himself. "Django. Normal people work for copper. Comfortable people deal in silver. Gold is for significant purchases. You could buy a house with fifty gold. Albeit a small one."

"Oh." Django brightened. "That explains why the servants always look confused when I tip them gold coins! I thought they were just really happy!"

"You tip servants in—" Marcus put his head in his hands. "Never mind. I forget sometimes that you're from the Astoria family."

They both turned to look at Django, who waved cheerfully. "That's us! Very boring at dinner parties. Much too much talk about 'legacy' and 'responsibility.' I prefer it here where people do interesting things like almost die to hobgoblins!"

"Right," Marcus said, visibly shelving his existential crisis about wealth disparity. "Equipment. With twenty-two gold, you can actually afford quality gear. First priority is storage—a spatial ring or bag. Then weapon upgrade, then armor."

"Shopping trip tomorrow!" Django announced. "I know all the best craftsmen! Well, Father knows them. But they let me into their shops! Usually. If I promise not to touch anything."

As they planned the next day's expedition, Invia found himself thinking about choices again. The choice to take Sera's offer. The choice to abandon formation for instinct. The choice to push forward rather than stay safe.

Each decision carved away possibilities while creating others. Each step forward meant leaving something behind.

His hand found the pendant at his throat, its constant warmth a reminder of questions still unanswered. Tomorrow, he'd shop for tools of survival. Tonight, he'd count coins and contemplate the price of progress.

The sword at his side hummed contentedly, still carrying echoes of that perfect strike. It had tasted what it was meant for—not just violence, but the marriage of possibility and decision.

Riposte, and slash C-, he thought with satisfaction that had nothing to do with numbers and everything to do with understanding.

The path forward was becoming clearer. Dangerous, certainly. Probably shorter than the safe road.

But undeniably his.

Morning came wrapped in Django's enthusiasm, which was somehow louder than actual sound.

"Shopping day!" he announced, bursting into the dining hall like a festival given human form. "The best day! Where we turn boring money into exciting ways to not die!"

Marcus followed at a more sedate pace, carrying the expression of someone who'd been dragged from bed by raw enthusiasm. "It's barely dawn, Django."

"Exactly! The good shops open early! The best smiths work when the forges are fresh!" Django's logic was, as always, uniquely his own. "Plus, morning light makes steel look prettier!"

Invia pushed away his half-eaten porridge. His body still ached from yesterday's epiphany—a reminder that transcending your limits came with a physical price. "What's first on the list?"

"Spatial storage," Marcus said firmly. "Everything else is secondary. A spatial ring or bag means you can carry supplies, loot, spare weapons. Without one, you're limited to what you can physically bear."

They set out into Dragonspire's awakening streets. Morning merchants were already establishing their territories, the air filled with competing calls and the clash of commerce. Django led them with the confidence of someone who'd never met a path he couldn't make interesting.

"Shortcut!" he announced, darting into an alley that looked like it led nowhere.

"Django, that's a dead end," Marcus pointed out.

"Only if you think two-dimensionally!" Django scrambled up a rain barrel, caught a low-hanging sign, and swung himself onto a balcony. "Come on! It's perfectly safe!"

It was not, in fact, perfectly safe. But it was faster, if you didn't count the time spent apologizing to residents whose breakfast they'd interrupted. By the time they emerged onto a main thoroughfare, Invia had a new appreciation for Django's relationship with physics.

The crowds thickened as they climbed toward the upper districts. Here, the buildings grew taller and more elaborate, competing for grandeur like peacocks in stone. The people changed too—better dressed, moving with the casual arrogance of those who'd never questioned their place in the world.

Invia found himself studying the crowds with the same analytical eye he'd turned on goblins. Patterns emerged: the way servants moved in careful currents around their betters, how guards' eyes tracked potential threats, the subtle hierarchies displayed in fabric and jewels.

Then he saw it. A flash of bronze at someone's throat—a necklace identical to the one Marcus wore. The wearer was young, maybe sixteen, carrying parcels with the careful efficiency of someone who knew the price of dropping them.

Marcus's step hitched almost imperceptibly. His hand didn't quite rise to his own necklace, but Invia caught the aborted movement. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second, and something passed between them—not recognition, exactly, but a shared understanding of something Invia couldn't name.

Then the moment passed, the crowd swallowing the young servant, and they continued walking. Marcus's expression had returned to its usual careful neutrality, but something had shifted in his posture. A weight acknowledged but not discussed.

"Here!" Django announced, oblivious to the subtle exchange. "Best spatial crafters in the district!"

The shop was understated elegance—no gaudy displays, just quality that announced itself through simplicity. The proprietor, a woman with silver hair and eyes like calculating gems, regarded Django with the expression of someone seeing a natural disaster approach.

"Young Master Astoria," she said with a smile that didn't reach those calculating eyes. "How... delightful. I trust you remember our agreement about touching the displays?"

"I haven't broken anything in months!" Django protested.

"You broke three spatial anchors last week."

"Those were already cracked! I was testing their structural integrity!"

"By juggling them."

"...Vigorous testing."

The woman sighed and turned to Invia with professional assessment. "You need spatial storage. Adventurer, by the look of you. Physical Realm, so nothing too complex. I recommend a medium bag—easier to maintain than rings, more stable for someone still developing their Resonance."

She produced a leather bag that looked utterly ordinary until she opened it, revealing a space that violated geometry's basic principles. "Fifty cubic feet of storage, weight reduction of ninety percent, standard preservation enchantments. Should last a decade with proper care."

"How much?" Invia asked.

"For a standard customer? Twelve gold." Her eyes flicked to Django, who was vibrating with barely contained energy. "For friends of the Astoria family? Ten gold. Assuming nothing gets broken during this transaction."

It hurt to hand over nearly half his funds, but Marcus was right—the bag was essential. The moment Invia touched it, he felt the spatial magic resonate with something deep in his bones. Not his Sword Resonance, but something else. Something that whispered of boundaries and the spaces between them.

"Excellent choice," the proprietor said, relaxing slightly when Django managed not to destroy anything. "The bag will bond to your Resonance signature within a day. After that, only you can access its contents."

They left with Django somehow proud of his restraint, despite having spent the entire transaction being glared at by the proprietor.

"Sword next!" he announced. "I know the perfect smith! He does all our family's work!"

The route to the smith took them through the heart of the upper district. Here, Django's name carried weight—guards nodded, merchants smiled (nervously), and the crowds parted like water. It should have been convenient, but Invia noticed how Django's perpetual grin dimmed slightly each time someone bowed.

The smithy occupied a corner building that managed to be both fortress and showcase. Weapons lined the walls like martial arts, each piece radiating deadly purpose. The smell of hot metal and oil permeated everything, undertoned with something else—ozone, maybe, or the scent of Resonance given form.

The master smith was a bear of a man whose burn-scarred arms told stories of dedication. He looked up from his anvil as they entered, and his expression went through a fascinating journey from professional welcome to recognition to barely suppressed panic.

"Young Master Astoria!" His voice boomed, then cracked. "What an... unexpected pleasure. I trust your family's recent commission met expectations?"

"Oh yes! The exploding arrows worked perfectly! Well, mostly. The third one kind of imploded instead, but that was probably my fault!"

The smith's eye twitched. "Imploded."

"Just a little! And only in a two-foot radius! Barely singed anything important!"

"I see." The smith visibly centered himself, professionalism winning over what looked like an intense desire to bar the doors. "How may I assist you today? Please tell me it doesn't involve experimental ammunition."

Django beamed. "My friend needs a sword! A really good one! But normal! Probably!"

The smith's relief was palpable. He turned to Invia with the intensity of someone desperately focusing on a sane customer. "Sword Resonance, I assume? Physical Realm, upper, maybe peak tier by your bearing. Let me ask a few questions to find the right match."

What followed was the most thorough assessment Invia had experienced. The smith asked about his fighting style, his training focus, and his advancement speed. He had Invia hold different hilts to test grip preference, swing weighted rods to gauge his strength and speed, even examined his calluses to understand his practice patterns.

"Holistic development," the smith concluded. "Remarkably pure, too. No pronounced specialization, just even advancement across all fundamentals." He studied Invia with professional interest. "That's rarer than you might think. Most Holistic types still show preferences."

He disappeared into the back, returning with three weapons that sang with quality even sheathed.

"Let's see what calls to you," he said, laying them out with reverent care.