My Fusion System: Fusing Weak Soldiers with Direwolves at the Start-Chapter 34: Swordmaster’s Booklet

The noise of Graystone’s bustling market faded the farther Kaelor walked, replaced by the distinct, quieter murmur of wealth. This was no longer the realm of hawkers and farmers shouting over baskets of onions or squabbling over copper coins.

This was the domain of silver and gold.

The Golden Scales Merchant Guild’s camp was like a small city on its own, dozens of wagons arranged in neat rows, each one guarded, polished, and draped in cloth that shimmered faintly in the sunlight. Silk tents with golden embroidery fluttered like banners in the wind. Guards in chainmail stood at the edges, arms crossed, their polished halberds glinting.

Kaelor’s eyes swept over the scene. Traders were dressed in fine robes and velvet coats, and customers moved in calm, confident strides, the way only those accustomed to power did. He could hear the muted discussions over prices, not in copper but in silver and gold, and in quantities that could buy villages.

"They must have paid the baron good money to stay here," Mildred whispered beside him, eyes wide.

Vi’s response was cool and immediate. "Maybe a hundred gold... or more."

Kaelor didn’t doubt it.

The Golden Scales weren’t just any merchant guild. They were the merchant guild, the backbone of high-level trade across the five kingdoms and three dukedoms. Their presence in Graystone Town meant one thing: goods from across the realm can now be found here.

And he had business with them.

Not for luxuries.

But for people.

Unskilled laborers. Skilled craftsmen. Armourers. Tailors. Farmers. Masons. All vital for building the hidden city he envisioned in the Oasis basin.

He wasn’t here to buy slaves, he was here to recruit the foundation of a civilization.

"Let’s go," he said quietly, pulling his hood farther over his face.

Vi and Mildred followed close behind as he approached the largest tent, the one draped in deep blue velvet, embroidered with the image of a golden scale.

The flap opened before they could even announce themselves.

And from within, a tall man with slick black hair, emerald rings on every finger, and a practiced smile stepped out.

"Welcome, traveler," he said with a slight bow. "You’ve the look of one who intends to spend well. Please, come in."

Kaelor stepped into the spacious yet tastefully modest tent, the scent of fine parchment and oiled leather thick in the air. Everything inside was arranged with methodical precision, ledgers stacked neatly, ink bottles aligned along a side table, and a wide desk carved from dark-stained ashwood dominating the center.

Behind it sat a tall, refined man with sharp features, a glint of calculation in his eyes, and rings on several fingers, a merchant’s hands, trained in counting wealth more than wielding weapons.

Standing silently at the entrance was a mountain of a man clad in full-plate armor. His breastplate gleamed under the filtered sunlight seeping through the canvas walls, and a massive sword was strapped across his back, its hilt rising like the head of a great beast. Kaelor didn’t need confirmation, that was a Swordmaster. A walking deterrent against foolishness.

The seated man gestured politely. "Please, take a seat."

Kaelor lowered his hood before sitting, revealing his shoulder-length blonde hair, subtly tangled from travel, and a sculpted face that could have been carved by a practiced hand. His eyes, a seemingly ordinary shade of brown, glinted with restrained cunning and poise.

"I am Grant," the man said smoothly, "leader of this trading division of the Golden Scales Merchant Guild. And you are?"

"Kaelor," he replied with a mild, composed smile. "I’m surprised you invited us in. We arrived on foot, no wagon, no retinue."

Grant’s lips curled upward. "True. But you reek of gold coins, my friend. Don’t underestimate the eyes of a seasoned merchant. I’ve been in this business for over twenty years. The way you move, the way your companions watch the surroundings, the weight you carry in your steps, I know a valuable customer when I see one."

’It’s probably the hood,’ Kaelor thought wryly. Always makes people think you’re hiding something worth buying or stealing.

"I’m here for iron," he said aloud. "I need a large quantity."

Grant’s eyes gleamed like a man glimpsing the edge of a chest full of jewels. "Then may I suggest wrought iron instead of raw ore? It’s already partially refined, saves your smith time and firewood. Less slag, more metal. A pound goes for two silver coins."

Kaelor suppressed a smirk. Perfect.

Vulcanus wasn’t some village apprentice who needed to experiment with raw ore to master his craft. He was already far beyond the level of most smiths in the region. Wrought iron would cut waste significantly, and give them a head start on arms, and tools.

"How much do you have in stock?" Kaelor asked.

Grant straightened in his chair. "For a buyer like you? Easily five hundred pounds."

Kaelor nodded. "That would be... a hundred gold coins." He tapped the table lightly, calculating. "Fair, given how far you’ve brought it into a region with no active mines."

Grant cleared his throat, trying to maintain his composure despite the gleam in his eye. "Of course. And... anything else?"

Kaelor leaned forward, voice lowered and firm. "Slaves. I hear your guild carries a considerable number."

Grant’s expression didn’t change, but his posture adjusted ever so slightly, straightening with the confidence of a man about to pitch a precious commodity.

"Indeed," he said coolly. "Are you looking for quantity... or quality?"

Kaelor tilted his head. "Both." ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom

Grant’s smile widened, just slightly. "Very well. Our standard pricing is as follows; Unskilled adult slaves—1 silver coin apiece, provided they’re whole and breathing. Elderly slaves and children under five, 50 copper coins. Skilled laborers, however, come at a premium depending on the craft."

Kaelor gave a slight nod. "And what kinds of skilled laborers do you currently have?"

Grant began to tick off his fingers like a merchant reciting scripture:

"Tailors and Leatherworkers seven to ten silver. Gambeson makers, I have one. Rare skill. Nine silver. Apothecaries, twelve silver minimum. Scribes, clerks, or stewards, between ten to twelve silver if literate and sharp."

Then Grant folded his hands together. "As for fighters, you could train from the unskilled but if you’re interested, we have a Master ranked Swordsman booklet. It was scavenged by gravediggers."

Kaelor sat back slightly, the booklet changed everything. It was rare to see a Master booklet up for sale. Clearly, Grant doubted its originality, that was why he wanted to sell it to him and not at an auction.

"Good," he said finally. "Then let me inspect the booklet."

Grant gave a slight bow of the head. "You’ll be impressed." Then, he pulled out a cabinet and brought out a small book wrapped in old leather and handed it over.

Kaelor opened it. The first line was. "What is my purpose for wielding the sword, what makes me pick this weapon every morning, what drives me?"

"How much?"

"100 gold coins."

"I’ll take it." Kaelor smiled. A master ranked Swordmaster was worth a lot more than 100 gold coins and whoever got it, if the booklet was real, could train a dozen or more Experts.

Grant’s lips twitched. ’Could it be that it’s real?’ he frowned subtly.

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