Chapter 20: March of the Damned
The early morning mist clung to the ground like a restless specter. The pale sun barely broke through the veil of fog, casting a muted light over the camp. Soldiers moved with mechanical efficiency, preparing their gear under the watchful eyes of their officers. Yet even with the usual bustle of activity, a lingering tension remained.
Dikun Silver stood at the head of his squad, his sharp eyes scanning the men before him. Thirty-nine soldiers — hardened, disciplined, yet wary. The echoes of the tribunal still whispered through the ranks. Though Dikun had earned respect for his actions, the doubt remained. A sergeant who questioned harsh discipline was both admired and distrusted.
Joran, standing by his side, gave a low whistle. "They call it the March of the Damned for a reason," he muttered. "Rebel territory, no reinforcements, and a long stretch of nothing but broken ground."
"And the rebels know it," Eron added, his voice steady. "Every mile we cover will be under their eyes. They'll wait until we're at our weakest to strike."
"Then we make sure we're never weak," Dikun replied, his voice unwavering. "We march steady, keep discipline, and watch each other's backs. If they strike, we strike harder."
Joran grinned. "Spoken like a true leader, Sergeant."
---
The Command Briefing
Inside the dimly lit war tent, the commanders gathered. Maps were spread across the wooden table, ink-stained with the markings of troop movements and rebel activity. Captain Rhylen loomed at the head of the table, his stern expression fixed.
"Our scouts report increased movement near the eastern ridges," the captain began, his finger tracing the jagged path on the map. "The rebels are using the caves and ravines to strike our supply lines. That ends now."
Dikun's gaze remained sharp. "We're cutting them off?"
"Exactly," Rhylen nodded. "You'll lead a squad through the eastern pass. Your objective is to flush out their camps, destroy their supply caches, and disrupt their operations. Expect ambushes. Expect resistance. But make no mistake — we are taking that ground."
Dikun nodded firmly. "Understood, sir."
"Dismissed."
As Dikun turned to leave, the captain's voice halted him.
"One more thing, Sergeant Silver."
Dikun turned back.
"The men follow you now. But leadership is not just about being respected. It's about making decisions when no one else will. You proved your judgment once. Prove it again."
Dikun gave a crisp salute. "I will, sir."
---
The Departure
The camp buzzed with muted anticipation as the squad prepared to depart. Soldiers fastened their armor, checked their weapons, and whispered quiet prayers. Some sharpened blades; others secured worn leather straps to their boots.
Dikun moved through the lines, his presence steadying the men. Joran and Eron followed, their own reassurances bolstering morale.
"Remember," Dikun addressed them, his voice firm. "This is not a march to die. This is a march to survive. Trust your brothers, trust your training, and trust me. We face the damned, but we are not them."
A chorus of nods followed, resolve tightening in the soldiers' expressions.
"Move out!"
The gates of the camp groaned open, and the squad marched forth into the mist.
---
The First Day
The terrain shifted as they moved deeper into the wild. The cracked earth gave way to jagged stone, and the skeletal remains of trees stood like sentinels along the path. The rebels had left their mark — scorched earth and abandoned watchposts littered the landscape.
Dikun led from the front, his eyes scanning every ridge and hollow for signs of movement. The weight of his position bore down on him, but he welcomed it. Every decision mattered. Every step was a calculation.
"Tracks," Joran muttered, crouching by a patch of disturbed earth. "Fresh. Maybe a dozen men."
"They're testing us," Eron said. "Watching to see how we respond."
Dikun's gaze hardened. "Then let them watch. But we'll be ready."
The squad moved with purpose, maintaining tight formation. Every soldier knew their role. Shields and spears at the ready. Bows slung across backs, eyes sharp. Every rustle of the wind, every crack of stone, was met with unwavering vigilance.
Hours passed. The sun climbed and dipped, yet no rebel force emerged. The silence gnawed at the men's nerves.
"They're waiting for the right moment," Eron murmured.
"And so are we," Dikun replied.
---
Nightfall and Shadows
By nightfall, the squad made camp within the confines of a narrow ravine. Fires burned low, their light barely visible beyond the rocks. The air was thick with tension. The men spoke in hushed tones, sharing dry rations and stretching weary limbs.
Dikun remained watchful, his hand never far from his blade. Joran approached, offering a skin of water.
"No signs of movement," Joran said. "But it's too quiet."
"They're planning something," Dikun agreed. "But we'll be ready."
Eron joined them, his expression grim. "Word spreads that the rebels aren't just fighting for land. Some believe they're fighting for revenge."
Dikun's gaze darkened. "Revenge blinds men. But it also makes them dangerous."
He scanned the camp once more. His men were tired, but their spirits held firm. They trusted him. That trust would not be betrayed.
"Get some rest," Dikun commanded. "We march at dawn."
But even as the fires dimmed and the camp fell silent, the shadows beyond the ravine whispered promises of blood. The rebels would come.
And when they did — Dikun Silver would be waiting.
To be continued in Chapter 21: Ambush at the Ravine
Author's Note:
I will update this chapter soon after completing 100 chapters of my other novels. I'm currently managing multiple stories while pursuing my second year of college, majoring in AB Political Science. On top of that, I have to finish my thesis and handle numerous academic papers. Despite the challenges, I'll do my best to balance it all and continue delivering my stories for you, my readers. Thank you for your patience and support!