Weapon Mastery

All six of them dropped to one knee.

Their heads bowed low, not just in reverence, but in awe and fear. A man had spoken just a word… and they were reborn.

Power surged through their new bodies. Muscles coiled beneath their furred limbs. Their senses, scent, sound, sight, sharpened beyond anything they had ever known. The heartbeat of every villager nearby echoed in their ears like a drumbeat.

They were no longer broken men.

They were warriors.

Jon, once the one-armed hunter, lifted his head. His now-lupine eyes gleamed as he turned to the sky.

"Awoo!"

His howl rang out, loud and wild, cutting through the air like a clarion call. The people flinched. Children gasped.

"We shall do all you ask, my Lord," Jon said, his voice gravelly, charged with strength. His eyes burned with conviction.

For the first time in years, hope stirred in his heart. Maybe, the town would survive. Maybe the endless fear would end. Kaelor, strange as he was, might be the turning point. The wolves no longer haunted Jon's thoughts as monsters. No, they were the prey now.

Jon could already see it, himself and a lot others, transformed like this. Charging through the Devil Forest in packs, swift as shadows, strong as storms.

If Kaelor could grant this power, then this forsaken corner of the world had just become the cradle of a revolution.

Jon's claws curled into the dirt as he imagined the future.

And for the first time in years…it was bright.

The townspeople stood frozen, their gazes fixed on the six towering Dreadclaw warriors. It wasn't fear they felt, though; it was a mixture of awe, confusion, and something else, hope. They had never seen such strength, and yet, none flinched. The sight of these once-maimed men, now transformed into creatures of power, was no longer terrifying, it was... inspiring.

Kaelor tilted his head toward Hound. "What do you think?"

Hound lifted a clawed hand, flexing the fingers as he examined the obsidian sheen of his talons.

"They're strong," he said. "Stronger than I was before the fusion. We could enter the Devil Forest and scout without fear." His eyes narrowed. "But our old weapons won't suit our new size, weight, or form. And these claws, while deadly, lack the reach and versatility of crafted steel."

"First, we need to train," he continued, "To master these bodies. These claws can cut three inches deep into a tree trunk, but weapons… weapons will make us lethal."

Jon, who was now kneeling among the group, nodded with determination.

"Hound is the strongest hunter in town. We'll listen to him."

Kaelor's gaze hardened as he looked at the warriors, his voice firm.

"Hound isn't just a hunter anymore. He is the captain of this guard. From now on, he will train you, adapt you, and bring out the full potential of your new bodies."

The warriors nodded in unison.

"We understand, My Lord." Jon's voice was low but filled with respect.

"We won't fail!" another of the warriors hollered.

Hound snorted in response. A single glance at his towering form made the gap in strength between him and the others painfully clear.

Though all six Dreadclaw warriors were formidable in their own right, Hound stood in another league entirely. His source beast had been stronger. His body, sturdier. And most importantly, his experience, sharper. He was the culmination of raw power refined by years of survival.

Hound had been the stronger material to begin with, he had the foundation of a seasoned warrior. The beast he fused with was a formidable one, and the end result left a gap between him and the others that felt as wide as a chasm.

All six of them were powerful, no doubt. Their raw strength was undeniable, but when it came to experience and weaponry... they were still children.

Their hunts came from traps and bows most of the time.

In the continent of Glory, strength was measured by one thing: weapon mastery.

Weapon mastery was the ultimate metric for power. It was ranked from Novice, Adept, Expert, Master, Saint, Sovereign, to Zenith.

As they stood now, all six Dreadclaw warriors would be classified as Footmen in the military rankings, above militia, but still leagues behind the true soldiers. They were stronger than the average human Footman, but without the proper training, their strength alone meant little.

That was the reality.

Knights, the ones who led armies, came from the Expert rank. And even to achieve that, they needed more than strength. They needed skill, precision, and the ability to wield their weapons with deadly efficiency.

There was an old saying, one Kaelor had heard many times before:

All knights are military leaders, but not all military leaders are knights.

"Where can we get weapons?" Kaelor asked.

"The blacksmith," Mildred answered quickly, as though she'd been holding it in, waiting for the right moment to speak.

She didn't know what to make of this new Kaelor. Not long ago, she had steeled herself to give him the cold shoulder, assuming he'd set his lecherous eyes on her like he did with every other woman back in the capital. But here he was, talking about arming the town, helping people, giving food to the hungry.

Was it guilt? A façade? Or was he genuinely trying to change?

Mildred shook the thoughts from her head as she followed Kaelor, leaving Hound behind with the six newly transformed warriors who were already beginning to test their monstrous strength.

….

As they walked, Mildred cleared her throat gently. "My Lord, we're low on food. For the time being, you'll have to make do with broth, meat broth with barely any meat."

"That's fine," Kaelor replied flatly, without slowing his steps.

Mildred blinked, stunned. The Kaelor she remembered would have thrown a tantrum.

'Did his mother's death truly change him?' she wondered, watching his back as he walked ahead with steady, purposeful strides.

Then, without looking back, Kaelor spoke again. "I don't know the way to the blacksmith's forge."

"Oh! Apologies, My Lord!" Mildred yelped, snapping out of her thoughts and hurrying forward to guide him.