Chapter 6: Rumors and Resolutions

The tavern's low hum of chatter continued as Dikun Silver finished the last of his meal. The salted pork had done little to mask the metallic aftertaste of dried blood still lingering in his mouth. Yet the warmth of the food filled a hollow space within him. For now, that was enough.

But the name he'd overheard — Jorvik — gnawed at his thoughts.

He leaned back in his chair, the wooden frame creaking beneath his weight. The two men at the neighboring table were still deep in conversation, their voices low as if fearing unseen ears. Dikun's gaze remained steady on his half-empty mug, but his focus was entirely on them.

"...Another raiding party gone," one of the men muttered, a wiry fellow with pockmarked skin. "They say Jorvik's furious. Swore vengeance for his men."

"Serves 'em right," the other scoffed, a burly man with a thick gray beard. "Bandits don't get no pity. But if Jorvik's angry, he won't stop with just words. Man's like a dog with a bone."

The wiry man nodded. "Some say he's holed up near the old mines. Others claim he's rallied more men, looking to tear through the countryside." His voice dropped further. "Folk are afraid. Even the guards won't speak his name too loud."

Dikun's grip tightened around the mug. Jorvik. A name with weight. Not a petty bandit, but someone who commanded fear. And now, that fear had a target.

"Me."

He needed more information. And quickly.

---

A Calculated Approach

Dikun rose from his seat, the scrape of the chair legs briefly cutting through the tavern's hum. He moved toward the counter where the stout tavernkeeper polished a brass tankard, her sharp eyes flicking toward him.

"Something else you need, stranger?"

"Information." Dikun's voice was firm. "About Jorvik."

The mention of the name made her pause. The cloth in her hands stilled, but her face betrayed no outward fear. Instead, she studied him, as if weighing whether his curiosity would bring trouble.

"You're not the first to ask," she finally said, her voice low. "But most know better than to dig too deep. Jorvik's the sort that don't take kindly to curious eyes."

Dikun met her gaze steadily. "I'm not most people."

A brief silence passed before the woman gave a reluctant nod. She leaned on the counter, her tone hushed.

"Jorvik's a ruthless bastard. Led a band of cutthroats for years — robbing villages, killing those who resist. Rumors say he used to serve under one of the lesser lords. Knew how to fight. When his liege fell, so did his honor. Took to the forests and never looked back."

Dikun's brows furrowed. A former soldier turned bandit explained the discipline he had seen in the previous fight. It wasn't common for raiders to move with such coordination.

"Where is he now?"

The tavernkeeper sighed. "No one knows for sure. Some say he's north, near the ruined mines. Others think he's lurking along the trade roads, waiting for his next prize. But if you ask me?" She met Dikun's eyes. "He won't stay quiet for long. Not after losing his men."

Dikun nodded slowly. Every word was another piece of the puzzle. The threat Jorvik posed was clear, but so was the opportunity. A leader who relied on fear could be dismantled. And without his warband, Jorvik was vulnerable.

"Strike before he can rebuild."

But it wouldn't be that simple.

"Thank you," Dikun said, placing another silver on the counter. "For the meal. And the words."

The tavernkeeper gave a slight nod, though the worry lingering in her eyes remained.

---

A Familiar Blade

As Dikun stepped out of the tavern, the sun had begun its descent, casting long shadows across the village. The people of Stonehill moved through the streets, tending to their remaining tasks before nightfall. The sight stirred a strange sense of familiarity.

It wasn't the scripted routine of NPCs, mindlessly following their programmed paths. These people had lives — fears, hopes, and stories untold. The game had never captured this.

And now, it was his reality.

But before he could dwell further, a voice called out from the side.

"You. Stranger."

Dikun turned, his eyes narrowing as a man approached. Clad in a leather vest, the stranger's sun-darkened skin and rough demeanor spoke of years of labor. A simple sword hung from his belt — not the polished steel of a noble knight, but the practical tool of a seasoned fighter.

"You're the one who dealt with the bandits, aren't you?" the man asked, his tone gruff.

"I am."

The stranger's eyes gleamed with curiosity. "Word travels fast in a village like this. Folk say you took down three men alone. Either you're lucky, or you're skilled. Which is it?"

Dikun held the man's gaze. "Both."

A low chuckle escaped the stranger. "Fair answer. The name's Harlon. Served as a swordsman once, before the silver ran out. Now I keep the peace when the guards are too drunk to care."

Harlon's rough exterior reminded Dikun of the companions he'd recruited in Bannerlord — hardened men who had fought in countless skirmishes, loyal only to those who earned their respect.

"You're not from around here," Harlon continued. "But you've got the look of a man who knows what he's doing. And men like you don't wander without purpose."

Dikun nodded, choosing his words carefully. "I'm looking to deal with Jorvik before he deals with me."

Harlon's expression shifted, respect flickering in his gaze. "A bold claim. Many would rather run than face a man like him."

"Running isn't an option."

For a moment, neither man spoke. Then Harlon grinned. "Well then. If you're set on that path, you might find some use in a proper sword. The smith's forge isn't far. Might even learn something else if you're willing to ask the right questions."

"Good advice," Dikun said. "I'll keep it in mind."

With a nod of mutual understanding, Harlon turned and strode off, leaving Dikun alone once more.

The weight of what lay ahead settled upon him. Jorvik's presence loomed like a storm on the horizon. But Dikun was no longer the uncertain wanderer who awoke in this world days before.

He had faced death and survived. He had earned his first victory. And soon, he would prove that this world — no matter how real — could still be conquered.

"The game has changed."

"But I'm still playing to win."