Chapter 36: Echoes of the Past
Status of Dikun Silver:
Name: Dikun Silver
Age: 21
Rank: Captain of the Silver's Warband
Reputation: Defender of Rithgar, Rising Leader, Potential Ally of House Carlin
Health: Healthy
Equipment: Steel Longsword, Reinforced Chainmail, Leather Cloak
Mount: Brown Destrier
Morale: High
Status of Silver's Warband:
Total Soldiers: 98 (Two soldiers still recovering from wounds)
Ranks:
68 Privates
20 Corporals
8 Sergeants
2 Lieutenants (Revan, Harlon)
Supplies: Moderate (Grain, Dried Meat, Water, and Ale)
Weapons: Mixed (Spears, Swords, Bows)
Armor: Basic Leather and Chainmail
Morale: High
Current Location: Rithgar Village
Next Objective: Prepare for retaliation from Lord Varrin, Continue training villagers, Strengthen defenses
---
The Weight of Memories
The air was still, the early morning mist clinging to the fields surrounding Rithgar. The warband stirred slowly, rising from their tents and warming themselves by the dying embers of the campfires.
Dikun Silver stood apart from his men, sharpening his sword with practiced ease. The rhythmic scrape of steel against whetstone was a familiar comfort. Yet even the steady sound could not silence the thoughts that plagued him.
It had been years since the name "Silver" was merely a mark of his family. His father, Garren Silver, had once been a simple man — a blacksmith known for crafting blades that carried whispers of legend. But war had stolen him. Just like it had stolen countless others.
Dikun's grip tightened on the sword. The scars of his past remained unseen, yet they ran deeper than any wound.
"Thinking of the past again?"
Revan's voice broke through Dikun's thoughts. The lieutenant approached, his arms crossed, a knowing look in his eyes.
"I didn't mean to linger," Dikun replied, though the distant weight in his voice betrayed his words.
Revan sat on a nearby log, his gaze scanning the warband as they prepared for the day. "The past never truly leaves us. But it's what drives you, isn't it? To fight, to lead."
Dikun nodded slowly. "It's what reminds me why I stand."
Revan leaned forward, lowering his voice. "And it's why we follow you. The men see it. You're not some lord born to power — you earned it. And that makes all the difference."
Dikun met Revan's gaze, the weight of responsibility momentarily lightened. "Then let's make sure their faith isn't misplaced."
---
A Morning of Training
By mid-morning, the sound of clashing shields and shouted commands filled the air. The villagers, now more accustomed to their weapons, moved through the drills under the watchful eyes of Harlon and Revan.
"Shield wall!" Harlon barked, his booming voice cutting through the air.
The makeshift soldiers complied, though their movements remained sluggish. Wooden shields locked together, but gaps lingered — gaps that any experienced warrior would exploit.
"Too slow!" Harlon growled. "You think the enemy will wait while you fumble like children?"
Dikun stepped forward, his presence immediately commanding attention. "Again," he ordered. "And this time, move as one. The shield is your brother's lifeline. If he falls, the line breaks. Don't let that happen."
The villagers adjusted their stances, determination flickering in their eyes. Dikun nodded to Revan, who took his place opposite them with a group of warband soldiers. Armed with blunt weapons, they would provide the villagers with a taste of true combat.
The clash was swift. Revan's men pushed forward, their strikes calculated but restrained. The villagers held the line, though the force of impact sent some stumbling back. Dikun's voice rang out, firm and resolute.
"Hold! Brace your feet! Feel the weight of your shield, not the fear in your heart!"
Bit by bit, the line steadied. The villagers gritted their teeth, forcing their shields to remain locked. By the time Revan called the exercise to an end, the ragged defenders stood stronger than before.
"You're learning," Dikun said, his gaze passing over the exhausted yet resolute faces. "And soon, you won't just stand — you'll fight."
---
An Unexpected Visitor
As the day waned, the distant sound of hooves stirred the camp. A single rider approached, their figure clad in a simple brown cloak. The warband tensed, hands falling to the hilts of their swords.
Dikun stepped forward, his eyes narrowing as the rider dismounted. The hood was drawn back, revealing a young man with unruly blond hair and a sun-scorched face.
"Captain Silver?" the stranger called, his voice breathless.
"I am," Dikun replied, his hand resting cautiously on his sword. "And you are?"
"Edrin," the man said. "A messenger from the southern villages. Varrin's men... they've raided us."
A ripple of tension spread through the gathered warband.
"How many?" Dikun demanded.
"Fifty, maybe more," Edrin answered, his voice trembling. "They took supplies, burned homes. But they didn't stay. They're moving north."
North. Toward Rithgar.
Dikun's jaw tightened. Varrin was wasting no time.
"Rest here, Edrin," Dikun said, his voice steady despite the storm that raged within him. "We'll deal with Varrin."
---
Preparation for War
The camp buzzed with urgent activity. Supplies were inventoried, weapons sharpened, and armor reinforced. Dikun gathered his officers beneath the pale light of the moon, the tension palpable.
"Varrin knows we're growing stronger," Dikun said. "He wants to crush our resolve before it takes root."
"We should strike before he does," Harlon said firmly. "Catch him while his men are scattered."
Revan shook his head. "And risk being caught in unfamiliar territory? No. We know these lands. Let him come to us."
Dikun nodded. "We'll make our stand here. But not blindly. The villagers will retreat to the inner palisade if the line breaks. Our warband will hold the outer wall. No one fights alone."
A solemn agreement passed between the officers. They knew the cost of the coming battle.
But Dikun would face it. Not for glory. Not for vengeance.
For the people who stood behind him.
To be continued...