The wind carried the scent of scorched earth. The remnants of the destroyed hamlet lay silent, blackened beams and collapsed walls jutting like broken bones from the soil. Dikun Silver stood at the edge of the devastation, the weight of the villagers' suffering pressing against his chest.
The Silver Company had arrived too late.
"Burned without mercy," Elira muttered, her voice low with anger. "These weren't soldiers. Only farmers."
Dikun knelt near a charred post. Remnants of ash still smoldered, evidence that the attack had been recent. He scanned the ground, his sharp gaze catching the faint tracks leading away from the village.
"They took what they could carry," Dikun said. "Livestock. Supplies. Slaves, perhaps."
Rudric grunted, his axe resting on his shoulder. "Cowards. They prey on the weak because they fear the strong."
"And yet," Dikun replied, standing, "they've gone unchecked for too long."
The Bailiff's words rang clear in his mind — the bandits were elusive, striking with precision before vanishing like smoke. But no more.
"Elira," Dikun ordered, "follow the tracks. Take Bran and five others. Stay unseen. Report back as soon as you find their camp."
Elira nodded, her bow slung over her shoulder. "We'll find them, Captain."
"Good." Dikun turned to the rest of his company. "The rest of us will return to Talmberg. I want the villagers prepared. If the bandits strike again, we will be ready."
---
A Village in Fear
Back in Talmberg, the weight of fear was evident. The villagers moved with downcast eyes, their voices hushed as Dikun rode through the dirt streets. Mothers clutched their children close, and the blacksmith hammered with a nervous rhythm.
The Bailiff met Dikun outside the stone watchtower. "Well?"
"We found the remains," Dikun answered grimly. "The bandits are organized. Skilled enough to strike without leaving much behind."
The older man's jaw tightened. "And you think your scouts can track them?"
"They will," Dikun affirmed. "But I need your people ready. They must know how to defend themselves."
The Bailiff scoffed. "These are farmers and tradesmen, not soldiers."
"That can change."
The Bailiff's eyes narrowed, studying Dikun's resolve. "What are you suggesting, mercenary?"
Dikun's voice was steady. "Teach them. Give them spears, train them to stand together. Fear has already taken root, but unity can drive it out."
For a moment, the Bailiff remained silent. Then, with a reluctant nod, he gestured to the village square.
"Do what you will. But if this fails, Captain Silver, the blood will be on your hands."
Dikun met his gaze. "Then let's make sure it doesn't."
---
The Will to Fight
The sun dipped low as the villagers gathered in the square. The murmurs of uncertainty rippled through the crowd. Dikun stood before them, flanked by Rudric and Saria. Though the people saw them as mercenaries, Dikun needed them to see something more — protectors, leaders.
"I know why you're afraid," Dikun began, his voice carrying across the square. "The bandits took your homes. Your kin. But fear will not save you the next time they come."
The crowd shifted uneasily.
"But you are not powerless," Dikun continued. "You are not alone. The Silver Company stands with you — but we cannot fight this battle without you. Together, we can make Talmberg a place no raider dares to touch."
A voice called from the crowd. "We're not soldiers!"
"No," Dikun replied firmly. "But you are fathers. Sons. Brothers. And when your home is threatened, that is all the strength you need."
The silence that followed was heavy. Then, one by one, hands began to rise. Men stepped forward — some young, some grizzled with age. The fear in their eyes remained, but so did the embers of resolve.
Dikun nodded. "Then let's begin."
---
Training the Defenders
The days that followed were grueling. The Silver Company trained the villagers in the basics of combat — how to form a spear wall, how to block, how to stand firm even when fear gnawed at their courage.
Rudric barked orders with his usual gruffness, his patience thin but effective. Bran taught the young men how to notch arrows with steady hands, while Saria showed them how to remain calm even in the face of danger.
And Dikun?
He watched. Corrected. Encouraged. He saw the fear slowly retreat, replaced by something greater — determination.
It wasn't perfect. They were no army. But they were no longer defenseless.
---
A Signal in the Dark
On the third night, just as the last light faded, a rider emerged from the woods. Elira. Her horse galloped hard, its flanks heaving with exhaustion.
"The camp," she said breathlessly as she dismounted. "We found it. Thirty men, maybe more. They'll strike again before long."
Dikun's eyes hardened. "Then we strike first."
He turned to his company, their faces set with resolve.
"The Silver Company rides at dawn."
The villagers, though weary, stood behind him. The fight would come, and this time, the bandits would not find helpless victims. They would find resistance.
And when the smoke cleared, Dikun Silver's name would be spoken not with fear — but with pride.