My Fusion System: Fusing Weak Soldiers with Direwolves at the Start-Chapter 92: Golden Scale Is No Longer An Option

"Bountiful harvest this time." Kaelor heard Grant’s voice, warm and booming with satisfaction, as the man dismounted from his towering Cerberus, its three heads growling low before settling at his command. They clasped forearms in greeting, a familiarity forged through repeated exchanges.

"I see you conquered the baron of Graystone. Tell me, will you still be interested in slaves now that you’ve taken all his people?" Grant’s light-hearted tone carried an undercurrent of sly humor, his eyes glinting as if testing Kaelor’s appetite.

"Of course," Kaelor replied smoothly, though his attention shifted to Grant, who moved straight toward the wagons with the eagerness of a hawk sighting prey. His eyes widened at the sight of the piled sacks, his breath almost catching. He pointed a thick finger at them.

"Are all these Starlight Rice and Eonwheat?"

Kaelor nodded once.

A gleam flickered beneath Grant’s gaze, subtle, predatory. "Offload them. Once I reach the capital of Count Lancaster, I’d sell all these in a heartbeat. The nobles there would bleed themselves dry for a taste of such grain."

The thought made Kaelor’s lips twitch, appreciating the scope of the profit. Grant, however, seemed intoxicated by it. His excitement calmed only when he turned back, a merchant’s pride in his stride.

"I’ve brought about three thousand slaves. It was harder this time, but a good load of them... are a bit sick."

"Sick?" Vi mumbled, her eyebrow lifting, suspicion sharpening her tone.

Grant gestured, leading Kaelor to the slave lines. But as they neared, the first thing to reach them was not sight, it was stench. The foul buzzing of flies thickened in the air, making Kaelor wrinkle his nostrils in disgust.

What he saw next curdled his stomach. Some slaves bore festering wounds that oozed black pus, the skin around them rotting as if gnawed by worms. Others coughed wetly, spitting blood and bile into the dirt, their bodies trembling with fever. Many simply leaned against one another in their wheeled cages, too frail to stand, their hollow eyes glazed as if death had already claimed their will. The air was heavy with the sour reek of vomit, sweat, and decay.

’These aren’t slaves fit for any guild to purchase,’ Kaelor thought, his eyes narrowing. ’No merchant in his right mind would waste coins on such husks. These... these are already bought slaves, discarded like spoiled meat.’

He turned his gaze toward Grant’s side profile, studying the faint, calculating smirk tugging at the man’s lips.

’Is he...’ Kaelor’s thoughts hardened like stone. ’... giving me someone else’s used slaves?!’

"They’re not good, I know. So I made sure I got good draft horses, about a thousand of them, and twenty thousand pounds of wrought iron." Grant revealed with a wide smile, his teeth flashing as he gently rubbed his palms together, almost as if he could already feel the weight of Kaelor’s coin and obligation in his hands. His tone carried the smugness of a man who thought he had come thoroughly prepared.

Kaelor, however, had already grown offended before the words were finished. His gaze, sharp and unwavering, lingered on Grant as though the man had insulted his entire lineage.

"I have little need for such an amount of wrought iron. I will take five thousand pounds, and the horses." His voice was calm, yet carried the steel of command, one that admitted no argument.

Grant’s eyes gleamed at the response, his smirk widening. He leaned back, savoring the chance to press the issue further.

"You took thousands of people, Kaelor. With the kind of plate armour your men wore, you should not even have enough left to cater for basic tools, let alone forges." His words were oiled with mock concern, but the underlying taunt was evident, he wanted Kaelor to admit weakness.

"I shall deal with that." Kaelor replied, the corners of his lips curving into the faintest smile, one meant to unsettle. His tone was measured, deliberate, like the tightening of a blade in its sheath. "You have no need to worry."

Grant let out a low chuckle, though it sounded more like the purr of a predator amused than the laugh of a friend. His fingers drummed against his thigh as though he weighed Kaelor’s words against his own hidden calculations.

"No problem," he said at last, feigning ease. "I would love to visit your place. I had to wait an entire day before you arrived, and since you’ve gathered such a good number of people now, we can set up a store. Trade would flourish."

"Next time," Kaelor replied simply, his smile never widening, his eyes never softening. The words, though politely given, landed like a door being firmly shut.

....

After the trade, on their way back, Vi stared at the line of slaves dragging their feet, their chains clinking weakly against the hard ground. Most of them couldn’t even walk properly, skin clung to bone, their lips cracked and bleeding, eyes glazed with sickness. A foul stench clung to them, the sour odor of rotting flesh and fevered sweat. Some even sat in wagons.

"These people are infected with a plague," Vi said, her voice low, yet edged with sharp concern. Her eyes flickered over the sickly crowd, narrowing at the hollow coughs and wheezing lungs. "We don’t have enough Apothecaries to heal them, and if we don’t, the sickness will spread like wildfire through our camps."

"I know how to handle it," Kaelor replied, though his voice carried the weight of strain. His mind drifted to the Spirit Tree he had fused months ago, its white roots like veins of light buried deep in the soil. He had never dared fuse anyone with its spirits, uncertain of the outcome. Yet now, he hoped, desperately, that its essence might hold even a silver shard of healing.

Vi studied him, her jaw tight.

"We would need to find a different means of trading," Kaelor said at last, his tone solemn, heavy with the decision he already knew was inevitable.

His gaze lingered on the broken slaves as though their misery was a silent reminder of the dangers that came with Golden Scale. "Golden Scale is no longer an option."

Vi clenched her teeth until her jaw ached. "Then we’ll have to deal with the Titan River," she said, her voice fierce, like steel striking steel. "It should lead us to the Duchy of Luciana. The current may be treacherous, but if we use the river, we can mask our trail and trade while keeping our location hidden."

The thought hung between them, sharp and uncertain. Kaelor’s brow furrowed as he pondered Vi’s idea, his mind caught between the threat of the river’s monstrous beast and the survival of their people.

.....

A/N: Sorry, to write this but there’s a possibility this series might not receive uploads after this month’s end. Unfortunately, progress hasn’t been up to my expectations and has affected me quite a bit.

I’m not complaining, if you see it as so but stating what I have decided to do in order to free my heart and focus on something else. Writing isn’t just my hobby, I make a living out of it.

I treat my eyes with the funds and do my part in my family (not a husband, by the way.). Sorry for this unexpected news.