Chapter 15: The Weight of Command

The morning mist still clung to the ground as the sounds of clanging metal echoed through the camp. Dikun Silver watched from a small rise, his sharp eyes scanning the warband as they went through their drills. Thirty-five men had become a coordinated force, no longer the chaotic group of fighters they once were.

"Shields up!" Revan's booming voice rang out as his squad braced their large round shields together, the wooden rims overlapping like a wall of bark and steel.

"Spears forward!" Tova barked next, her warriors obeying without hesitation. Spears jutted out from behind the shields, forming a deadly hedge of points. It was a formation worthy of respect, though it was still far from perfect.

From his perch, Dikun nodded. The discipline he had drilled into them was beginning to show. However, their reactions were sluggish. The shifting lines were still hesitant. That could mean death in a true battle.

"Break!"

At his command, the formation relaxed. Men lowered their shields, sweat dripping from their brows. Harlon, the ever-watchful mentor, stepped forward from the shadows, his arms crossed.

"Better," he grunted. "But not good enough."

Revan grimaced but nodded in understanding. "We'll run it again, Captain."

"You'll do more than that," Dikun said firmly. "Come evening, I want every man to know what it feels like to stand behind that shield until his arms scream." His gaze hardened. "If you falter in training, you'll crumble in battle."

The men straightened. Though exhausted, they didn't complain. The memory of their last battle, the blood-soaked fields and fallen brothers, lingered still. They knew the cost of failure.

---

A Lesson in Authority

Later that afternoon, as the sun climbed high, Dikun called the officers together beneath the large oak tree at the edge of the camp. A rough table had been fashioned from stacked crates, and upon it lay a simple map of the surrounding region.

Revan, Tova, Edric, Luthar, and Harlon stood at attention.

"You're commanders now," Dikun began, his tone even. "Your men will look to you not just for orders, but for confidence. Every decision you make could mean their survival — or their death."

Luthar, his usual smirk absent, nodded. "A heavy burden."

"One I'll ensure you can bear," Dikun replied. He gestured to the map. "Our next step is discipline. Not just in battle, but in the camp."

He pointed to the perimeter. "The sentries last night grew lax. I spotted two of them dozing on their feet." His eyes narrowed. "That will not happen again."

Edric stepped forward. "I'll make an example of them."

"No," Dikun said, his voice cold. "Humiliation breeds resentment. Discipline breeds respect." He fixed Edric with a steady gaze. "A night without sleep on guard duty will remind them of their responsibilities. But the lesson ends there."

Edric nodded in understanding.

"And the men?" Tova asked.

"They need purpose," Dikun answered. "Idle hands bring trouble. We'll double the drills. And I want every man sharpening his weapons, mending his gear, and preparing for the next march."

There were no further objections. The officers understood. In the harsh world of Calradia, discipline was survival.

---

Fan Service and Display

That evening, as the golden hues of sunset painted the sky, the warband gathered for a demonstration. The merchant caravan they had agreed to escort stood nearby, their guards observing with interest. Rumors of Silver's Warband had spread, and Dikun had no intention of disappointing them.

"Captain," Luthar grinned, adjusting his sword belt. "Shall we show them what a disciplined warband looks like?"

Dikun allowed himself a rare smile. "Let's."

The men formed up in perfect ranks. Shields gleamed, spears stood tall, and the warband's crimson banner fluttered in the breeze. A crowd of caravaners and onlookers had assembled, murmuring in anticipation.

"Shield wall!" Revan barked.

In an instant, the soldiers snapped into formation. Shields locked together with an audible clunk, and spears bristled through the gaps.

"Advance!"

Step by step, the wall moved forward. Boots struck the ground in unison. The rhythmic pounding resonated through the clearing, a testament to their discipline.

From the side, Dikun watched as pride swelled within him. His warband was no longer a band of ragged fighters. They were a force.

"Spears!" Tova's voice echoed.

The spearmen thrust forward, their weapons striking imaginary foes with unwavering precision. The line held. No fear. No hesitation.

The crowd erupted into cheers. Caravan guards whispered among themselves, marveling at the display. Even the skeptical merchant, who had doubted them just days prior, nodded in satisfaction.

"Perhaps the stories are true," he murmured. "The Silver's Warband is not one to be trifled with."

Dikun said nothing. The men's performance spoke louder than any boast.

---

A Moment of Reflection

As night fell and the fires crackled, Dikun sat apart from the others, gazing into the flames. The weight of leadership bore down on him. Every decision he made shaped not only the fate of the warband but also the lives of the men who followed him.

Harlon approached, his presence steady. "You led well today."

"I only gave the orders," Dikun replied. "The men are the ones who held the line."

Harlon smirked. "And who taught them to hold it?"

Dikun shook his head with a faint chuckle. "I suppose that's true."

"But there's more ahead," Harlon warned. "Jorvik's raiders, the lords of Calradia — they won't be impressed by a well-formed shield wall. They'll test you. Harder than this."

"I know," Dikun said, his jaw tightening. "But we'll be ready."

And deep within him, Dikun Silver knew that this was only the beginning.

Silver's Warband would rise.