The sun had barely risen when Dikun Silver took his first steps beyond the walls of Rattay. The world outside was vast and untamed — rolling hills of green, winding dirt paths, and thick forests that whispered with the chatter of unseen beasts. The scent of damp earth and distant smoke filled the air.
But with freedom came uncertainty.
Dikun's possessions were meager: a dull iron sword strapped to his side, a small satchel of dried bread and salted meat, and the thin coin pouch he'd scraped together from months of menial labor. His leather boots were worn, and his rough-spun cloak did little to shield him from the morning chill.
Yet despite the discomfort, there was a fire in his chest — a determination.
No more groveling. No more surviving. From this day forth, I carve my own path.
---
The Road to Skalitz
Dikun's goal was clear. Word had spread of a bustling village known as Skalitz, a few days' travel from Rattay. Rich with silver mines, it attracted merchants, miners, and opportunists alike.
But most importantly, it attracted work.
Along the road, Dikun passed the occasional merchant cart, escorted by a few weary guards. Farmers toiled in their fields, sparing him cautious glances. Banditry was a constant threat, and lone travelers were often easy prey.
Dikun kept his hand near his sword, though his ragged appearance did little to inspire fear. He was not yet a warrior. Not yet a leader. Only a boy with ambitions that far outpaced his strength.
---
A Test of Resolve
By the third day, the village of Skalitz came into view. Smoke curled from chimneys, and the rhythmic clanking of a blacksmith's hammer echoed through the valley. Miners trudged along the dirt roads, their faces smeared with soot. Children chased each other through the muddy streets, their laughter contrasting with the weary faces of the adults.
But trouble was never far.
As Dikun approached the outskirts, the sight of a small crowd caught his eye. A burly man with a crooked nose stood in the center, his fists clenched. At his feet, a bruised boy no older than twelve cowered, clutching a torn sack.
"You think you can steal from me, rat?" the man growled. "I ought to break your damn hands."
The boy whimpered, his dirt-streaked face twisted in fear. The villagers watched in uneasy silence, unwilling to intervene.
Dikun's hand instinctively went to his sword. His heart pounded. He could walk away. It wasn't his fight. No one would blame him.
But then he saw it — the same fear he had once known. The fear of being powerless.
"No," Dikun muttered under his breath.
He would not stand by.
"Let the boy go."
The words escaped his lips before he could second-guess himself. The crowd parted as Dikun stepped forward, his eyes locked on the brute.
The man sneered. "And who in the hells are you?"
"Just someone who's seen enough cowards beating on children."
Laughter erupted from the crowd, but the brute's face darkened. "You've got a sharp tongue, boy. Let's see if your sword's as quick."
---
The First Fight
The villagers stepped back as the man drew a rusted short sword. It was clear he'd fought before — his stance was rough, but practiced. Dikun's pulse quickened, his grip tightening around his own weapon.
Remember Orlen's lessons.
The brute lunged, his sword slashing down in a wide arc. Dikun sidestepped, the blade barely missing him. His opponent was strong, but careless. Heavy swings, easy to predict.
Dikun retaliated, his sword striking low. The man growled in pain as the dull iron nicked his leg. He stumbled, but quickly recovered.
"Lucky hit!"
But it wasn't luck. Dikun saw the next move before it came — a furious downward slash. This time, he met it. Steel clashed, the impact jarring his arms. He gritted his teeth, forcing the brute back.
Stay calm. Control the fight.
The brute swung wildly, but his movements grew sluggish. Every missed strike drained his strength. Dikun seized his moment, stepping in with a swift counter. His sword struck the man's side, sending him sprawling into the mud.
The villagers murmured in awe.
"Yield," Dikun said, his sword pointed at the man's chest.
For a moment, the brute's eyes burned with fury. But as the weight of defeat settled upon him, he lowered his weapon.
"You've got guts, boy," the man spat, clutching his side. "But next time, you won't be so lucky."
He stumbled to his feet and vanished into the crowd.
---
A Reputation Begins
"Thank you, sir!" The boy, still trembling, clutched his torn sack. "I-I didn't mean to steal. I was just hungry."
Dikun knelt, offering a reassuring nod. "It's alright. Stay out of trouble, and don't let fear rule you."
The boy nodded, eyes wide with admiration, before scampering off.
"That was bold," an older man approached, his voice gruff but impressed. "Not many would stand up to Krems. He's a known thug around these parts."
"Bold, perhaps," Dikun replied, sheathing his sword. "But foolishness and bravery often walk the same road."
The man chuckled. "Well, you've earned yourself a few free drinks at the tavern. But if you're after work, you might try speaking to Bailiff Marek. He's always in need of extra hands, especially with the bandits stirring trouble."
Dikun nodded, determination rekindled.
The first step was taken.
Now, it was time to make a name for himself.
And the world would soon know the name of Dikun Silver.