"Rise of the Viking King."

The road from Skarnvik was harsh and unforgiving. Bitter winds howled through the jagged cliffs, and the sea raged far below. Dikun Silver led his companions onward, the weight of Jarl Grettir's challenge pressing heavily upon him. Proof of the Reavers' return — that was what the old Jarl demanded. And proof, Dikun vowed, he would deliver.

The pale sky above gave no comfort. Clouds gathered like wolves, casting long shadows across the narrow path. Hakon rode alongside Dikun, his fingers brushing the hilt of his axe.

"Grettir may be stubborn, but he is no fool," Hakon said gruffly. "When the Reavers show their hand, he will have no choice but to listen."

"Let us hope we survive long enough to prove him wrong," Sarich added, his sharp gaze fixed on the distant mountains.

Marcus, ever restless, spurred his horse forward. "Then we find the Reavers. And this time, we end them."

Dikun said nothing. The path ahead was uncertain, but there was no turning back.

---

The Signs of Carnage

By dusk, the group reached the outskirts of a small fishing village nestled along the coast. Smoke still clung to the air, mingling with the stench of charred wood. The remains of huts stood in ruin, blackened and broken.

Sarich dismounted first, his boots sinking into the blood-streaked mud.

"The Reavers," he murmured, his voice heavy.

Dikun scanned the destruction. Scattered shields lay abandoned, some bearing the jagged insignia of the Reaver clans. There were no bodies, only empty homes and shattered belongings. The people had fled or been taken.

"They moved quickly," Hakon observed. "No siege. No prolonged slaughter."

"A warning," Dikun said coldly. "They wanted the fear to linger."

Marcus knelt by the remnants of a burned cart, his jaw clenched. "And it will. Unless we stop them."

Dikun nodded. "We will. But not without knowing where they've gone."

---

The Survivor's Tale

As the sun dipped below the waves, a faint sound broke the silence — the rasping breath of a survivor. Dikun followed the sound, finding a frail figure slumped against a collapsed wall. An elderly fisherman, his face smeared with soot, clutched a crude spear in trembling hands.

"They… they came from the sea," the old man gasped, his eyes wide with fear. "Like shadows in the mist. We tried to flee… but they gave no quarter."

"Where did they go?" Dikun asked, kneeling beside him.

"North," the man whispered. "To the black coast. There… they gather. More ships. More blood."

Dikun's grip tightened on the hilt of his sword. The black coast. A jagged expanse of barren cliffs and treacherous waters. Few dared sail there, but the Reavers had made it their refuge.

"You have given us what we need," Dikun said, his voice steady. "Rest now. The Reavers will pay for what they've done."

---

A Path of Vengeance

The next morning, the warriors mounted their steeds, the bitter wind lashing at their cloaks. Dikun's resolve was unwavering. The Reavers believed the black coast made them untouchable. But they would soon learn otherwise.

"We ride north," Dikun declared. "We will find their stronghold. And we will bring Grettir the proof he demands."

Marcus's grin was fierce. "Let them see the strength of Hrafnsfjord."

Hakon's laughter rumbled through the cold air. "And let them fear the name of Dikun Silver."

With the storm at their backs and vengeance in their hearts, they rode. The path to the black coast awaited, and with it, the next chapter of their reckoning.

To Be Continued...

Chapter 16 is now complete. Let me know if you'd like any adjustments or if you're ready to proceed to the next chapter.