The stone corridors of Rattay Keep echoed with every step Dikun took. The walls were lined with banners bearing the emblem of the ruling noble house — a crimson lion rampant on a golden field. Guards in polished armor stood like statues, their eyes fixed ahead.
Dikun's gaze remained steady. Despite the grandeur, he carried no trace of awe. He had faced death and battle. The pomp of noble halls did not unsettle him.
At his side, the servant maintained his air of disdain. "You will speak only when addressed," the man sneered. "And bow when presented before the lord. Even a sellsword like you must know proper decorum."
"I understand," Dikun replied curtly.
He was not here to grovel.
---
The Court of Power
The great hall was vast, its high-arched ceilings supported by pillars adorned with intricate carvings. Tapestries depicting battles long past hung from the walls. At the far end, upon a raised dais, sat Lord Berrick of Rattay.
The noble was a man in his late fifties, with a sharp gaze and a carefully groomed beard streaked with gray. His burgundy tunic was embroidered with gold, and the lion of his house gleamed proudly upon his chest. To his left stood a younger man, likely his son, clad in lighter armor. To the right, several retainers and advisors whispered amongst themselves.
The servant bowed low. "My lord, I present Dikun Silver, Captain of the so-called Silver Company."
"So-called," Dikun repeated under his breath, though he gave no outward sign of offense.
Lord Berrick's gaze fell upon him, studying him with a mix of curiosity and amusement. "So, you are the one they speak of. The mercenary captain who turned back a bandit raid single-handedly."
"I did not stand alone," Dikun answered, his voice firm. "My company stood with me. And we succeeded."
The lord's lips curled into a faint smile. "A humble response. Perhaps not what I expected from one of your kind."
"Mercenaries are not all the same, my lord," Dikun replied. "Some of us fight for more than coin."
Lord Berrick nodded slowly. "And what is it that you fight for?"
Dikun met his gaze without hesitation. "For a name. For honor. And to carve a place in this world for those who stand with me."
The hall fell silent. Even the retainers paused their whispers. Lord Berrick leaned forward slightly, intrigued.
"Ambitious words," he mused. "But ambition alone cannot hold a sword."
"I've held plenty of swords," Dikun said evenly. "And I've survived."
A chuckle escaped the younger man's lips. "Bold for a mercenary, isn't he, Father?"
Lord Berrick raised a hand, silencing his son. "Perhaps boldness is what this realm needs. The roads grow dangerous. Banditry festers, and deserters from the wars turn to raiding. Men like you serve a purpose, Captain Silver."
Dikun inclined his head. "If you have need of my company, we are at your service. For the right price."
"Of course," Lord Berrick smiled. "But we shall see if you are truly worth the coin. There is a matter in Talmberg — a village on the outskirts of my domain. Raiders have struck, stealing supplies and killing villagers. The local bailiff has requested aid, but I cannot spare my soldiers. You will go in my name."
"A contract," Dikun acknowledged. "We accept."
Lord Berrick's eyes gleamed. "Good. Do this, and I will consider further opportunities for your company. Perhaps even lands of your own — should your reputation prove deserving."
Lands. The promise lingered in the air.
"I will not disappoint," Dikun said, bowing slightly — not as a subject, but as an equal making his pledge.
"See that you don't," Lord Berrick replied.
---
An Unseen Rival
As Dikun turned to leave, he felt the weight of another's gaze. From the shadows near the hall's edge, a man in black leather armor watched him closely. His hair was dark, and a thin scar ran from his jaw to his temple. The insignia on his chest marked him as a captain — but not one of the lord's soldiers.
"A word of advice," the man spoke, his voice low and cutting. "Rattay does not smile upon upstarts. Mercenary companies rise and fall with the changing winds. Do not think yourself immune."
Dikun's eyes narrowed. "And who might you be?"
"Captain Jorrel," the man answered. "Of the Iron Fang Company. We've served Lord Berrick far longer than you've been swinging that sword."
"Then I'm sure my success won't trouble you," Dikun said coolly.
Jorrel's lips curled into a sneer. "Watch your step, Silver. The road ahead is not as clear as you think."
Without another word, the man turned and disappeared into the shadows.
Dikun exhaled slowly. Rivalries. Politics. He had expected as much. But no matter how many enemies stood in his path, the Silver Company would rise.
And when the day came, they would call him not a mere mercenary — but a lord.
---
The Return
The Silver Company awaited Dikun in the bustling courtyard. Elira was the first to approach, her keen eyes searching his face for answers.
"Well?" she asked.
"We have a contract," Dikun answered. "Talmberg. Bandits. If we succeed, the lord will offer us more."
Rudric grinned. "A good fight, then. Just what we need."
"And the pay?" Bran inquired, his usual pragmatism showing.
"Enough to keep us going," Dikun confirmed. "But it's not just about the coin anymore."
Elira nodded, understanding. "Lands."
"Perhaps. But first, we prove ourselves." Dikun's gaze swept over his company, their loyalty unwavering. "We ride at dawn."
The Silver Company had taken its first step into the world of nobles and lords. But the road ahead would not be walked with steel alone. Diplomacy, alliances, and cunning would become weapons just as vital as the sword.
And through it all, Dikun Silver would endure.
For he was no longer just a mercenary.
He was a leader.