The morning sun had barely risen when Dikun Silver and Elira stood at the edge of Sasau's bustling marketplace. The task ahead was clear — recruit enough fighters to form a proper warband. Not a mere handful, but a company strong enough to face the bandits terrorizing the roads.
"We'll need at least twenty men to stand a chance," Dikun said, adjusting the leather belt that now carried his new longsword. "Any fewer, and we might as well be walking to our graves."
Elira nodded. "But not just anyone. Some men are quick to take up a sword, but quicker to run when the blades start swinging."
"Then we choose carefully."
---
The First to Answer
The Boar's Head Inn was already filling with the usual mix of travelers, merchants, and sellswords. Word of the bailiff's contract had spread fast — a promised fifty silver for those willing to risk their lives.
Dikun spotted Rudric at once, the burly veteran seated by the hearth, sharpening the edge of his axe. The man had been the first to pledge his loyalty, and his presence would lend credibility to Dikun's cause.
"You're still breathing," Rudric grunted, not bothering to look up.
"For now," Dikun replied. "But I'll need more than your axe if I'm to stay that way."
Rudric smirked. "Then let's see who else has the guts for it."
Elira gave a slight nod. "They'll come."
And they did.
---
The First Wave
It wasn't long before the hopefuls arrived — a rough lot, most clad in patchwork armor or worn tunics. Some were former guards dismissed for drunkenness, others were farmers with nothing left to lose.
Dikun stepped before them, his voice steady.
"The bailiff offers fifty silver to rid the roads of bandits. It's dangerous work. You'll bleed, you'll fight, and some of you won't come back. But if we succeed, you'll have coin in your hand and your name spoken with respect."
He let the words sink in.
"I won't promise you glory. I won't promise you riches. But I promise to stand with you."
A murmur passed through the crowd. Some nodded, others exchanged uncertain glances.
"Those who are willing, step forward."
---
The Chosen Few
One by one, they came.
Lorin, the farmer's son, stood firm, clutching a makeshift spear. His resolve was unshaken, though his hands trembled.
Cren, the scarred rogue from the docks, wore his grin like a weapon. "I've fought for less," he said.
Ogar, the brute who had arm-wrestled Cren, spat on the ground. "If there's fighting, I'm in."
A weathered archer named Bran emerged from the crowd, his bow slung over his shoulder. "A silver piece for every bandit I drop," he declared.
Saria, the vengeful woman, stood with her dagger still stained from the previous night's threat. She spoke no words, but her eyes burned with purpose.
In the end, twenty men and women stood before Dikun. Some clutched rusty blades; others held farming tools fashioned into weapons. None were seasoned soldiers, but there was grit in their eyes — the mark of those who had endured.
---
Oaths and Promises
Dikun drew his sword, the steel gleaming in the early light.
"By my name, Dikun Silver, I swear to lead you. Not as a lord, nor as a knight. But as one of you. We are no mere sellswords — we are a warband. And together, we will carve our place into this world."
The warband, twenty strong, answered with a unified nod.
"To silver and survival," Rudric rumbled.
"To silver and survival," they echoed.
---
The Road to War
By midday, they gathered their supplies — rough leather armor, iron-tipped spears, and wooden shields. A cart of dried meat and water barrels trailed behind, pulled by a weary mule.
Elira, ever the pragmatist, rode ahead, scouting the road leading to the bandits' last known location. Bran and Saria flanked her, their sharp eyes watching the treeline.
Dikun walked alongside Lorin, the young spearman adjusting the worn straps of his armor.
"Nervous?" Dikun asked.
"Terrified," Lorin admitted. "But I'm ready."
"Good." Dikun patted his shoulder. "Fear is a burden we all carry. It reminds us we're still alive."
Ahead, the dirt road twisted through the woods. Shadows danced beneath the swaying branches. Somewhere beyond that treeline, the bandits awaited.
The warband marched on.
And with every step, Dikun Silver drew closer to becoming more than just a mercenary. He was building something greater — a legacy.