Chapter 5: The Weight of Victory

The morning sun broke over the scarred battlefield, casting a golden hue on the bloodstained earth. The Riverbend Crossing was silent now, save for the occasional groan of the wounded. The soldiers of the king's army gathered the dead, both friend and foe, while the distant sound of crows echoed in the air.

Dikun Silver's arms ached, his body bearing the bruises of the brutal clash. His sword, now dulled and nicked, hung loosely at his side. He stood at the edge of the river, watching the crimson water flow downstream. The memories of battle flashed in his mind — the cries of men, the clash of steel, the moment he took command when all seemed lost.

"You did well, Dikun," came a familiar voice.

Joran approached, his tunic smeared with dirt and blood, though the grin on his face remained. "Word's already spreading. They're calling you the 'Shield of Riverbend.'"

Dikun scoffed. "I'm no hero. I just followed my gut."

"Sometimes, that's enough," Joran replied, clapping him on the back. "But don't think you'll get a medal for it. The officers will take the glory."

The truth stung, but Dikun expected no less. He was still a private — a nameless soldier in the king's ranks.

"Come on," Joran said, motioning toward the camp. "The lieutenant wants a word."

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A Commander's Gratitude

Back at the camp, the soldiers had gathered near the makeshift command tent. Lieutenant Varlen, though pale and weakened from his wounds, stood with the aid of a cane. His sharp gaze swept across the assembled men.

"The battle is won," Varlen's voice rang out. "But victory is never without cost. We honor the fallen, and we stand because of their sacrifice."

A solemn murmur passed through the ranks.

"But," Varlen continued, his eyes resting on Dikun, "not all acts of courage go unnoticed. When the line faltered, one man took up the burden of command. Without him, we would not stand here today."

Dikun stiffened as murmurs of recognition grew around him. He had expected nothing, but now all eyes were on him.

"Private Silver," Varlen called, his voice steady. "Step forward."

Dikun obeyed, his heart pounding.

"You showed courage and resolve in the face of death," the lieutenant said. "That is the mark of a leader."

For a brief moment, Dikun thought the lieutenant might utter the words that would change his fate. A promotion, perhaps — even the rank of corporal. But instead, Varlen nodded with an air of formality.

"Your deeds will be remembered," he said simply. "Return to your duties."

No rank. No reward. Just acknowledgment.

Dikun bowed his head. "Yes, sir."

Joran, waiting for him as he stepped back into the ranks, muttered, "Not even a stripe. Typical."

But Dikun said nothing. He wasn't fighting for rank. Not yet.

---

A Growing Bond

Later that evening, the fires of the camp flickered under the dim sky. Soldiers shared what meager rations they had left, laughter returning in cautious waves. Despite the bloodshed, the simple comfort of survival brought a fleeting sense of joy.

Dikun sat with Eron and Tomas, both visibly exhausted. Eron worked silently, sharpening his blade, while Tomas gnawed on a stale piece of bread.

"Never thought I'd see the end of that battle," Tomas mumbled. "I thought we were done for."

"So did I," Dikun admitted. "But we weren't."

Eron gave a curt nod. "Because someone didn't let us break."

Tomas offered a weak smile. "That's twice now, Dikun. You've got a knack for keeping us alive."

"Not alone," Dikun corrected, his gaze shifting to Joran, who had returned from patrolling the camp perimeter.

The stocky soldier dropped onto the ground beside them. "No trouble out there. Just empty fields and the stink of burnt bodies." He paused, then grinned. "But I did hear something interesting."

Dikun raised a brow. "What now?"

Joran's grin widened. "They're assigning new patrol squads. Rumor is, Sergeant Deren's looking for a reliable man to lead one."

"Corporal," Eron said quietly.

"Maybe," Joran added, elbowing Dikun playfully. "Wouldn't be the worst thing, eh?"

Dikun said nothing. The idea of leading men was daunting, but it stirred something within him — a desire to prove that he was more than just a survivor.

"I guess we'll see," he murmured.

---

The Road Ahead

The camp remained at Riverbend for two days, burying the dead and tending to the wounded. Supplies arrived from the rear lines, along with orders from the king's war council.

On the morning of the third day, Sergeant Deren approached Dikun's squad. His grizzled face showed little emotion, but there was a gleam of approval in his eyes.

"Silver," he barked. "You're on river patrol. Report to me at midday. And don't give me a reason to regret it."

"Yes, Sergeant," Dikun replied, his voice steady.

As the sergeant turned away, Joran let out a low whistle. "Looks like someone's got his foot in the door."

"It's just patrol duty," Dikun said, though even he couldn't ignore the flicker of pride that stirred within him.

"Today patrol duty," Joran said with a grin. "Tomorrow? Who knows."

Dikun nodded, the weight of responsibility settling on his shoulders. He had taken his first step — not through recognition from nobles or officers, but by earning the trust of those who fought beside him.

And so, under the rising sun, Dikun Silver marched forward. Not as a hero, but as a soldier — one step closer to the path that awaited him.

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To be continued in Chapter 6: Whispers of Rebellion