My Fusion System: Fusing Weak Soldiers with Direwolves at the Start-Chapter 36: Fusing 300 Trained Hounds

An obese man stood atop the stone ramparts, his rich velvet cloak rustling softly in the night wind. Below him, slaves in chains trudged out of the gate in silence, the clatter of iron shackles echoing faintly behind the creaking of wagon wheels. Dozens of torches illuminated the convoy’s departure, casting flickering shadows across the muddy road.

To commission such a transfer in this part of the realm, and at such a scale, meant power. Money. Authority. And Baron Garrick Fenlan knew it.

"Kaelor Dravion," he said under his breath, his beady eyes narrowing into slits. "So... you’re the one the Duke gave my rice town to."

A gleam of malevolence lit his gaze.

He could send three hundred well-trained Footmen and crush Kaelor’s dreams in a week. But instead, the flesh on his face pulled back into a slow, wide smile, revealing his white teeth beneath his curled mustache.

Why would he waste troops... when he can let a fool build a fortune for him?

From all he’d gathered, Kaelor was exiled, even if unofficially. The Duke had given him a backwater to disappear into. And the rest of the Dravion family? They wanted nothing to do with him. That made him vulnerable.

And ripe.

"My Lord?" came a gravelly voice beside him.

Eric, a seasoned sword expert, stepped forward. The man’s green gambeson was pristine, his longsword gleaming faintly at his belt. An eye patch covered one eye, but the remaining one gleamed with sharp instinct.

"Should we follow them?"

Baron Garrick didn’t look at him. Instead, he rubbed his fleshy chin, then finally turned with deliberate slowness.

"There’s no need," he said. "Let him sow. Let him water. Let him nurture my rice for the next few months."

He descended the stone steps of the rampart, his boots thudding heavily.

Eric followed close behind. "And the bandits? Should I warn them to steer clear of his people?"

Garrick let out a low chuckle that bubbled from deep in his chest. "Why would I protect the man who closed down my cousin’s tavern in the capital?"

He looked over his shoulder, eyes glinting coldly in the torchlight. "Let him meet them."

....

As the silhouette of Graystone Town faded into the horizon, Kaelor turned his gaze toward the long, trudging line of people moving before him.

They were chained, wrist to wrist, ankle to ankle, like cattle led to market. Some were hunched with age, others strong in their prime, men and women alike. The children rode in one of the wagons, their faces blank and smeared with dust. None spoke. The silence was unnatural.

But Kaelor saw their eyes. Some of them were already assessing the escort, trying to count numbers, measure their odds.

They were likely wondering the same thing. frёeweɓηovel_coɱ

Could it really be just this man and two women?

Even if Kaelor was a Swordmaster, how could three people hold back nearly a thousand if they revolted?

Fortunately, or unfortunately, those chains weren’t just for show. No single man could break away without dragging dozens with him. Not even ten could act without alerting the others or being pulled back.

They were bound in more ways than one. It was a helpless situation.

"Is anyone following us?" Kaelor asked quietly.

Vi, walking just behind him, cast a brief glance over her shoulder, using a spell to access her surroundings. Then she shook her head. "Nothing."

Kaelor let out a soft breath of relief.

Seeing that, Vi stepped closer and whispered, "What would you have done if the baron had sent his men?"

Kaelor didn’t miss a beat. "Then Mildred would’ve used the Siren’s Song. The same one she used on your back when Elsa tended to your wounds."

Vi’s eyes narrowed. "That technique drains mana by the second."

"I know." Kaelor’s voice was low. "It’s dangerous. If too many came, or if her mana wasn’t fully restored, she’d die from exhaustion. That was our last resort."

Vi turned her gaze to Mildred, who walked on Kaelor’s opposite side, calm as a sleeping lake, her soft boots barely rustling the dirt path. She looked so serene, so detached, as if death itself wouldn’t rattle her.

When the silhouette of Graystone’s walls finally vanished behind the curve of the hills, Kaelor stopped. He looked around once more, then lifted his fingers to his lips and let out a sharp, high-pitched whistle.

The sound echoed briefly.

The slaves frowned, confused, until they saw him approach the tree line ahead. That was when the forest shifted.

Large silhouettes moved between the trees, silent, swift, and far too fast for beasts of burden.

Then they broke through.

Massive frames, reverse-jointed legs, iron-hard muscle under fur. Their heads were lupine, their eyes burning amber. Long sabers hung from their backs like deadly extensions of their spines.

Hound emerged first, silent and towering.

The Dreadclaws followed.

A tremor swept through the crowd. Chains rattled violently as panic took hold. Screams erupted, desperate and animalistic. Some tried to flee, yanking helplessly against the bindings.

Fear returned to them, raw and unfiltered. Not the dull ache of slavery or hunger. This was the primal kind.

The kind that came from facing predators.

The slaves had seen many horrors, endured many hands, but nothing like this.

Even the hounds caged in the wagons, once howling and snapping in frustration, fell silent. One by one, they bowed their heads, recognizing instinctively what towered before them.

Kaelor turned to face the people, his cloak billowing slightly in the breeze. "From this moment on," he said, voice rising with authority, "you will witness things beyond your imagination, because I, Kaelor Dravion, am one of those born with a gift."

The chained slaves stared, wide-eyed and silent, their fear still locked on the monstrous Dreadclaws that loomed behind him like silent reapers.

Murmurs rippled through the crowd, not from understanding but confusion. What did his so-called gift have to do with the abominations prowling behind him?

But Kaelor wasn’t finished.

He turned his gaze toward the wagons, specifically, the two carrying dozens of iron cages, each one trembling with the low growls and frantic movements of the dogs within.

"System," he called inwardly. "How much would it cost to fuse all these dogs?"

[200 FP required to fuse all 300 hounds.]

"Do it."

[200 FP deducted.]

At once, blue flames ignited, flickering into existence with a soft hum before erupting into a blazing storm of light.

The flames didn’t just engulf the dogs, they devoured the cages and the iron chains. The air twisted, warped, and rumbled with force as the contents slammed together, metal shrieking and magic roaring as it reshaped the chaos.

The slaves fell back instinctively, terrified by what they were seeing. To them, it looked like God himself was forging something terrible within the inferno.

And Kaelor simply stood there, watching calmly, like a man who’d just struck a match and was waiting for the blaze to finish what he started.

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