Chapter 11: The Birth of a Warband

The sun crept lazily above the horizon, its golden light casting long shadows across the plains. Dikun Silver stood at the edge of Stonehill, the village that had become his first battlefield. Behind him, the scent of charred wood still lingered from the makeshift defenses that had been erected days before. Victory had been theirs, but it came at a cost. The knowledge that Jorvik still roamed free weighed heavily on Dikun's mind.

The bandit lord would return. That much was certain. And the next time, he would not come alone.

Dikun's hand rested on the hilt of his longsword, the weapon now bearing scratches from its recent use. It felt heavier — not from the steel, but from the choices that lay before him.

"You plan to ride out soon."

The gruff voice came from behind. Harlon, the veteran warrior who had seen more battles than most, stood with arms crossed. His armor bore signs of age and wear, but his eyes gleamed with resolve.

"Stonehill can't withstand Jorvik's wrath forever," Dikun replied, his gaze still fixed on the distant hills. "The people need more than walls. They need protection. A force that can strike back."

Harlon gave a low chuckle. "And you think you'll build yourself an army?"

"Not an army," Dikun said firmly. "A warband. A force of those willing to fight for something greater."

The old warrior studied him, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "A fine thought. But men don't follow words alone. They follow coin. Strength. Purpose."

"Then I'll give them all three."

---

A Farewell to Stonehill

The morning air carried the chatter of villagers as they gathered near the gate. Eryk, the sharp-eyed hunter, stood among them with his bow slung over his back. Gorin, the burly woodcutter, crossed his arms with a solemn nod. Mira, the village healer, clutched a satchel of herbs and bandages, her stern expression betraying the worry beneath.

"I would follow you," Eryk said, stepping forward. "My bow is yours, if you'll have it."

Dikun clasped his shoulder. "Stonehill needs you more. Keep watch. Protect your people. If I fall, it will be men like you who ensure they survive."

The young hunter's jaw tightened, but he nodded.

Mira stepped next, placing the leather satchel into Dikun's hands. "Herbs for wounds. You'll need them."

"I'll try not to return needing more."

A rare smirk crossed her lips. "See that you don't."

Lastly, Gorin approached, his heavy frame towering over the others. "If you ever need a wall of muscle, you know where to find me."

"I'll hold you to that."

With one final glance back, Dikun mounted his horse. Harlon did the same, his weathered warhorse snorting impatiently. The villagers watched in silence as the two riders passed through the gates, the road ahead stretching endlessly.

---

The First Days on the Road

The wilds of Calradia welcomed them with bitter winds and the rustle of dry leaves. The vast plains seemed unending, and the distant silhouettes of mountains stood as ancient sentinels.

Harlon rode in silence for most of the morning, though the occasional grunt of disapproval escaped him as Dikun checked his surroundings.

"Still thinking like a game, aren't you?" Harlon finally muttered.

Dikun glanced at him. "What do you mean?"

"You watch the horizon like you're waiting for an encounter to pop up. But this isn't a map with markers. Bandits don't announce themselves. They're already watching."

Dikun stiffened. Of course, Harlon was right. This was no game. Every step could be his last. The slightest mistake would cost lives. He pushed the thoughts aside, determined to learn from the veteran's words.

"Then we stay sharp," Dikun said, adjusting his grip on the reins. "I'll treat this world like what it is — real."

Harlon grunted in approval. "Good. You might survive yet."

---

A Name Among the Lost

It was on the fourth day that they found the first signs of the chaos plaguing Calradia. Smoke curled above the trees, and the acrid stench of burnt wood clung to the air. As they crested a hill, the remnants of a caravan came into view — shattered wagons, scattered goods, and bodies. The ground was dark with dried blood.

Bandits.

Dikun dismounted, his gaze scanning the wreckage. Among the debris, he found tracks leading north. Harlon knelt beside a fallen merchant, inspecting the wounds.

"They took prisoners," the older man said grimly. "Not for ransom. For labor or worse."

Dikun's fists clenched. He knew the horrors of the world — in the game, it had been statistics and scripted events. But now, the suffering was real.

"Can we catch them?"

Harlon nodded. "If we ride hard, we'll find them by nightfall."

Dikun mounted his horse without hesitation. "Then we ride."

---

The First Battle

The sun dipped below the horizon as they approached the camp. A dozen bandits, clad in patchwork leather and rusted steel, gathered around a crackling fire. Wooden cages lined the outskirts, the frightened faces of captives visible in the dim light.

Dikun and Harlon crouched in the shadows, studying their enemy.

"Two against twelve," Harlon whispered. "Not the odds I'd choose."

"We won't give them the choice," Dikun replied. "We strike fast. Take them by surprise."

Harlon's grin was wolfish. "I like the sound of that."

Dikun drew his sword, the steel glinting in the fire's glow. He steadied his breathing, every instinct sharpening. There was no reset. No second chance.

"For Stonehill. For the innocent. For Calradia."

With a silent nod, he charged.

The clash was brutal. The first bandit fell without a sound, Dikun's blade cutting through the air with lethal precision. Harlon followed, his heavy strikes breaking through defenses like a battering ram. Panic spread through the camp as the remaining bandits scrambled for weapons.

But Dikun gave them no quarter.

By the time the last foe fell, Dikun's arms burned with exertion. Blood smeared his tunic, though little of it was his own. The captives stared in disbelief, their chains rattling.

"You're free now," Dikun said, his voice low but resolute. "Jorvik and his kind will find no mercy."

And as the captives wept with relief, Dikun knew one thing for certain.

This was only the beginning.