Chapter 22 – The First Branch
The ink on the Goldbear Fusion Company charter was barely dry when Glic gathered his closest retainers. The Goldbear estate's council chamber, once a place of timid financial discussions, now buzzed with the charged anticipation of empire.
The steward, still flushed from the success at the Three-Legged Crow's Hut, clutched the parchment like a holy relic. "My lord—no, Master of Fusion—where do we plant the first branch?"
"Not here," Glic replied. "To rule trade, we must strangle the arteries of commerce. The first branch must be on the river."
He spread out a map across the table. The river Vale, wide and deep, connected inland Fae Wood with the southern trade routes. Bandits had plagued the roads, but the water remained a lifeline. A small town, Drenwick, sat along its banks—a halfway point between the capital and Goldbear territory. Poorly defended, underdeveloped, but perfectly placed.
"If we control Drenwick," Glic continued, "we control the caravans that restock there. We will feed them, clothe them, and arm them. They will carry our goods into every corner of the kingdom."
The council murmured. "But the town belongs to Baron Tyreth," one guard captain noted cautiously.
"Tyreth is weak," Glic said coldly. "Bandits bleed his toll stations dry, and his militia numbers barely a hundred. He will welcome us if we offer protection—and he will have no choice if he refuses."
The steward adjusted his glasses nervously. "And the goods for sale?"
"Begin with basics. Self-Cleaning Armor, Tracking Rope, Firebolt Crossbows. The essentials for merchants and mercenaries. Add healing items like Mending Bandages. We will flood the market with tools that no other can replicate."
The System pulsed in his mind:
> [System Notification: Branch Module Unlocked.]
You may now establish outposts tied to your merchant company.
Each outpost will generate Trade Reputation and passive income.
Branches can be defended by fused creatures or enchanted militia.
A grin tugged at his lips. So it begins.
Two weeks later, a caravan of wagons rattled into Drenwick under the banner of the Goldbear family. Glic wore his artificer guise, cloaked in shimmering robes, staff in hand. Behind him marched thirty guards clad in Blade Ward armor, their shields gleaming with enchantments.
The townsfolk stared. Drenwick was accustomed to ragged merchants and weary soldiers, not a company bristling with magic. Children pointed at the Firebolt Crossbows slung across the guards' backs.
At the gatehouse, Baron Tyreth himself appeared, his lined face taut with suspicion. "Goldbear… I was not informed of your arrival."
"I come not as Goldbear," Glic intoned, voice booming with illusory resonance, "but as the Master of Fusion. I bring trade, protection, and prosperity. Drenwick will be the first outpost of my company."
Tyreth stiffened. "You presume much."
"No," Glic countered. "I offer much. My men will clear the bandits from your roads. My goods will fill your coffers. In exchange, you grant me a district here for trade."
The baron faltered, greed and fear warring across his face. His people's eyes gleamed at the sight of enchanted armor and clean, sturdy wagons. Finally, Tyreth bowed stiffly. "Very well. Let us discuss terms."
Within days, construction began. The chosen district—once a derelict warehouse quarter—was reshaped under Glic's design. Masons reinforced walls while artificer-led guards installed glowing rune-lamps along the streets.
At the heart of it rose the Goldbear Fusion Hall, a tall building of stone and blackwood, banners fluttering with the sigil of a hammer striking a spell circle.
Merchants flooded in almost immediately. Crossbows that fired firebolts sold faster than they could be unloaded. Self-Cleaning Leather Armors became prized by caravan guards who had no time for endless polishing. Even the Tracking Rope found buyers among bounty hunters.
Every sale fed into the System:
> [Trade Reputation: +5. Current Value: 15 (Apprentice).]
Passive Income Established: 12 Gold/day (local).
Glic stood on the balcony of the hall one evening, watching smoke curl from new chimneys. The air carried not just the smell of cooking, but of growth, ambition, power.
Yet trade was only the surface. Beneath the Fusion Hall, hidden chambers became his true workshop.
There, cages lined the walls—holding goblins, kobolds, hobgoblins, and even the dire wolves recently purchased. Each waited, restless and wary, for their fate.
"Begin," Glic whispered.
The System flared. He selected a goblin first. The creature snarled, baring jagged teeth. Glic summoned the spell Sword Burst into the merge module, fusing it with the goblin's frail body.
Light blazed. The goblin screamed. When the glow faded, the creature stood panting—yet alive. Its crude dagger shimmered faintly, and when it swung, spectral blades spun outward in a burst.
The steward gasped. "They… they can fight as living weapons!"
"One test is never enough." Glic turned to a dire wolf. Into it he poured the spell Fear, merging beast with terror.
The wolf's eyes burned red. When it howled, a wave of dread rippled outward, sending even guards trembling back.
A slow smile crept across his face. Merchants above. Weapons below.
Word of the company's meteoric rise spread quickly through Drenwick. Baron Tyreth grew uneasy as his citizens flocked to the Fusion Hall, spending coin in heaps.
One evening he confronted Glic in private. "Master of Fusion, your hall eclipses my own authority. My coffers shrink while yours swell. Tell me—do you intend to supplant me?"
Glic's illusory eyes glimmered cold. "Baron, I have no need for thrones. Trade is my crown. But if you stand in its way… then yes, even a baron may fall."
The threat hung in the air like a blade. Tyreth paled, retreating with muttered excuses.
That night, the System's voice returned:
> [Branch Established: Drenwick Fusion Hall.]
Current Trade Reputation: 20 (Apprentice Merchant).
New Feature: Branch Defense System – Assign fused beasts or enchanted guards as permanent defenders.
Optional Quest Updated: Create 3 branch outposts (1/3 complete). Reward: Merchant Fleet Module.
Glic exhaled slowly. His empire had taken root.
Standing in the shadows of the new hall, he gazed at the bustling streets of Drenwick, alive with torches and trade. His steward joined him, whispering, "This is only the beginning, isn't it?"
"Yes," Glic said. "Today a town. Tomorrow a kingdom's trade routes. And beyond that… the world."
The System pulsed warmly, as though approving.
And when I rise, not as Goldbear, not as a mere artificer, but as the true Master of Fusion… none shall stand before me.