Chapter 43: Forging Identity
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: Slightly Wounded (Minor Cut on Left Arm)
Equipment: Steel Longsword, Reinforced Chainmail, Leather Cloak
Mount: Brown Destrier
Morale: Determined
Status of Silver's Warband:
Total Soldiers: 93 (Five soldiers wounded, two in critical condition)
Ranks:
63 Privates
20 Corporals
8 Sergeants
2 Lieutenants (Revan, Harlon)
Supplies: Limited (Grain, Dried Meat, Water)
Weapons: Mixed (Spears, Swords, Bows)
Armor: Basic Leather and Chainmail
Morale: Stable
Current Location: Rithgar Village
Next Objective: Complete the rank-identifying equipment, train recruits, and reinforce the village
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At the Blacksmith's Forge
The rhythmic clang of the blacksmith's hammer echoed across Rithgar. Smoke curled from the forge, and sparks illuminated the dim workshop. Barrek, the village blacksmith, wiped sweat from his brow as he held up a bronze insignia — a single triangle, simple but symbolic.
"Captain," Barrek called, his voice gruff but respectful. "This will mark the privates, as you asked."
Dikun stepped forward, inspecting the piece. The rough bronze glinted under the firelight. It was plain, yet it carried meaning. Each rank would now wear a mark of their status, a visible reminder of their duty and progress.
"It's perfect," Dikun said with a nod. "How many can you make by nightfall?"
Barrek scratched his chin. "With my apprentices working the bellows, we could manage fifty, maybe more. But if you want the higher ranks done — the silver plating, the engraved chestplates — that'll take longer."
"I understand." Dikun's eyes darkened slightly. "Start with the privates and corporals. The sergeants and lieutenants will wait. They know their worth without the need for metal to prove it."
The blacksmith grunted approvingly. "Good. It's better for the men to earn their insignia with sweat and blood."
---
A Captain's Inspection
Later, Dikun stood in the village square, his lieutenants at his side. Revan's cloak of silver-trimmed black swayed lightly in the breeze, while Harlon's broad chest bore a simple but proud crimson sash — a mark of his battlefield valor.
The privates lined up in orderly rows, their eyes sharp with anticipation. Despite their worn leather armor and makeshift weapons, they stood tall. Today was different. They weren't just survivors of a battle; they were soldiers of the Silver's Warband.
Dikun's gaze swept over them. "In battle, ranks are not merely titles. They are responsibility. A corporal leads with the strength of his arm and the courage of his heart. A sergeant commands through discipline and experience. And a lieutenant carries the weight of every life under his charge."
He took a step forward, his voice steady. "But understand this — I care not for birthright or noble blood. You will rise by merit, by the strength of your will and the loyalty you offer your brothers. Fight with honor, and the silver of your rank will gleam upon your chest."
The men stiffened, pride evident in their eyes.
"Barrek," Dikun called.
The blacksmith approached, carrying a wooden crate filled with polished bronze insignias. One by one, Dikun took the small triangular badges and handed them to the privates. They accepted them with trembling hands, fastening them to their tunics.
---
Conversations Among Soldiers
As the ceremony concluded, the men gathered in small groups, proudly displaying their new insignias. Laughter mixed with the scent of the nearby cooking fires.
Harlon clapped a young corporal on the back, his voice booming. "Look at you, Corporal Thren! Barely out of your boots and already commanding men."
Thren grinned, though there was a flicker of nervousness in his eyes. "Aye, Sergeant. I'll do my best."
"You'll do more than your best," Harlon replied firmly. "You'll lead. And if you falter, I'll be right behind you — to drag you back to your feet."
Nearby, Revan spoke in a quieter tone to a cluster of corporals. "The insignia on your chest means your men will look to you in the thick of battle. They'll wait for your call. Never hesitate. The wrong decision is often better than none at all."
A corporal named Garlen nodded, determination hardening his features. "We'll not disappoint you, Lieutenant."
Revan's eyes softened. "See that you don't."
---
A Word with Dikun
Later, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Dikun found a moment of respite beneath a crooked oak tree. Revan approached, his silver cloak trailing behind him.
"The men are proud," Revan said. "They'll fight harder knowing they stand for something."
Dikun nodded, though his gaze remained distant. "Symbols have power. But we'll see how long that pride holds when Varrin's men return."
Revan tilted his head slightly. "And when they do?"
Dikun's jaw tightened. "Then we stand. We bleed if we must. But we stand."
The two stood in silence for a moment, the weight of leadership pressing down upon Dikun's shoulders. He knew the battles ahead would demand far more than courage. But for now, the ranks of the Silver's Warband were no longer nameless. They were soldiers. And soon, the world would know it.
To be continued...