The Boar's Head Inn was the heart of Sasau's nightly revelry. The wooden beams groaned beneath the weight of laughter, slurred songs, and the occasional crash of a spilled tankard. Smoke from the hearth mingled with the scent of roasted meat and stale ale.
Dikun Silver kept to the shadows, his back against the wall. His worn cloak, though bearing the stains of the road, helped him blend in. Here, no one cared for a stranger's name unless it came with coin — or a sword.
The inn wasn't without its dangers. The wrong glance could lead to a fight. The wrong words could see a knife slipped beneath the table. But it was also a place of rumors — whispers of contracts, disputes, and the ever-present threat of bandits.
A place to find work.
---
A Conversation Worth Hearing
Dikun's ears sharpened as he scanned the room. At the far end, a cluster of merchants argued over silver prices, their fingers adorned with rings that gleamed beneath the lantern light. By the fireplace, a minstrel strummed a worn lute, though most patrons paid him little mind.
But it was the table near the entrance that caught Dikun's attention. Three men in tattered cloaks leaned close, their voices low. The faint gleam of steel at their belts marked them as sellswords — mercenaries with no loyalty but to coin.
"Another caravan struck near the crossroads," one of them muttered, his voice laced with frustration. "Lord Tavik grows tired of losing his goods."
"Aye," the second man nodded. "But no army to spare. The lord's men are spread thin as it is."
The third man, a scarred brute with a crooked nose, slammed his tankard down. "Then we take the job. He's offering fifty silver to clear those bastards from the woods. Bandits bleed like any other."
Fifty silver.
It was a small fortune to someone like Dikun. Enough to buy proper armor, a real sword, and perhaps even a horse. But it was no simple task. The roads were no longer just plagued by common thieves — whispers spoke of deserters, former soldiers turned brigands.
Still, the weight of his coin pouch was a reminder. Ten silver would last him days, but fifty could change everything.
He had fought once. He could fight again.
---
An Unexpected Familiar Face
"Thinking of joining them?"
The voice came from his left. Dikun turned, finding Elira leaning against a nearby pillar. Her ever-present smirk remained, though her eyes were sharp — studying him.
"They seem like the type to get themselves killed," Dikun replied.
"That they are." She tilted her head. "But the reward is tempting, isn't it?"
Dikun didn't deny it. "Why are you here, Elira?"
"Same as you. Coin, opportunity." She stepped closer, her voice lowering. "And perhaps a bit of curiosity. You fought well back on the road. Not many your age can say the same."
"I had no choice," Dikun said, the memory of the fallen guards still fresh.
"There's always a choice," Elira countered. "But you didn't run. That says something."
He held her gaze, unsure whether she spoke out of amusement or genuine respect. The woman was a mystery — cunning, quick-witted, and undoubtedly dangerous. But there was no malice in her eyes.
"Come," she said, motioning toward the door. "If you want that contract, you'll need a plan. And I know where we can start."
Dikun hesitated only for a moment. Whatever lay ahead, it was better faced with a companion than alone.
---
The Bailiff's Summons
Morning came swiftly. The air was crisp, the fog still lingering across the cobbled streets of Sasau.
Following Elira's lead, Dikun found himself at the city's guardhouse. Unlike the grandeur of the lord's manor, the building was plain and practical — a stark symbol of the law in a town ruled by merchants and gold.
Inside, Bailiff Marek awaited. The hardened man sat at a heavy wooden desk, poring over reports and hastily scribbled parchments. His scarred face twisted with frustration as he spoke to a guard.
"Another raid," Marek growled. "Three merchants killed. The bastards took everything."
The guard shifted uneasily. "The lord demands action."
"And action he'll get," Marek snapped, his gaze turning to Dikun and Elira. "You two. You're here for the contract, aren't you?"
"We are," Dikun said firmly.
The bailiff's eyes narrowed. "The bandits are dug in deep. A group of twenty men by last count. They strike quick, then vanish into the woods. My guards can't chase them without risking ambushes."
Elira crossed her arms. "But a smaller force could move unnoticed. Get close before they know what's coming."
Marek nodded slowly. "That's the idea. You'd be given the lord's authority to hunt them down. Fifty silver upon completion."
"And the risk?" Dikun asked.
"High," Marek admitted. "But if you're as capable as they say, perhaps you'll live to see that silver."
Dikun's jaw tightened. The fear lingered, but so did the resolve. This was the path he'd chosen.
"We'll do it."
Marek gave a grim nod. "Then gather your supplies. The bandits will not wait, and neither will we."
---
The Road to Blood and Glory
As they left the guardhouse, Elira glanced at Dikun with a grin. "Well, Silver, looks like we've got ourselves a proper job."
"It's more than that," Dikun said, the weight of the decision settling in his chest. "It's a step forward."
No longer just a boy seeking scraps. No longer a nameless orphan.
He was a mercenary now. And with every battle, the name Dikun Silver would be known.