Chapter Nineteen: Orcs Will Never Be Slaves

“Boss, can we pull him up now?”

“Wait a little longer.”

Watching the polar bear flailing in the water, Qiubai quickly grasped the situation. First of all, this fellow in the water was truly a handful—like a hyperactive poodle between two and five years old during the spring months. Second, in terms of combat strength, this bear posed no threat to him at all; Qiubai could easily turn a white bear into a red one. Lastly, this talking bear was obviously not an ability user.

An animal, beastman, or half-beast with an intelligent mind and the ability to articulate advanced human language, yet not an ability user—there was, in this world, only one race that fit all these criteria.

The Fur Tribe.

The Fur Tribe is an ancient people living on the back of the giant elephant Zou in the New World. They possess a rich history and distinct culture, and have founded the nation known as the Fluffy Grand Duchy. Isolationist, formidable, and overwhelmingly powerful in combat—these are their defining traits.

Their primary attack method is channeling electricity through their bodies or weapons to strike their foes. While the Fur Tribe is said to be peace-loving, in reality, the entire nation is militarized; they can instantly transform into a formidable fighting force at the slightest provocation. Any infringement upon them turns the entire country into an uncompromising faction of warriors.

In terms of strength, their nation could probably stand toe-to-toe with the synthetic Zoan Devil Fruit army of the Beasts Pirates years down the line.

Comparing them to human nations, their temperament and strength are quite similar to Amazon Lily, the island of warrior women where everyone is a master of Armament Haki.

And if this was merely a white bear… Qiubai gradually recalled the most likely identity. Thinking carefully, the details seemed to fit: this ship was bound for the North Sea, and in the “story,” there was indeed a young white bear from the Fur Tribe who had drifted from the New World to the North Sea as a cub.

Even knowing all this, Qiubai still had no intention of hauling the bear onboard.

At this moment, Captain Grisha approached the rail. Though the crew were each attending to their duties and could ignore this matter, the sudden appearance of a talking creature—be it man or bear—could not escape the captain’s notice.

However, seeing the bear’s size, Grisha’s anxiety eased somewhat; at least the bear’s appearance was not enough to make him break into a cold sweat.

Watching the polar bear struggle so helplessly in the water, it was difficult to imagine him posing any real threat.

Yet after observing for a while, Grisha could no longer stomach Qiubai’s antics. Or rather, he suddenly realized: this was the Calm Belt—was it really wise to let this creature shout on the heads of Sea Kings?

It was absolutely unwise.

“Qiubai…” Grisha was about to put a stop to it, at least to get the bear aboard and shut him up; disturbing the Sea Kings’ rest was not something to take lightly. But as he called Qiubai’s name, his voice abruptly cut off, as though something had gripped his throat, choking it back down.

At the same time, the bear’s shouting ceased instantly—for he too had seen what the captain saw.

If there was any similarity between the two, it was their sharp eyesight: about two hundred meters from the ship, a thick, massive body rose from beneath the waves. Its earthy-red color made it look like an enormous earthworm, standing out starkly against the calm surface of the Calm Belt.

A Sea King.

They had barely entered the Calm Belt, and already a Sea King had appeared.

The giant earthworm moved parallel to the Titanic, and thankfully, it seemed not to have noticed the ship. Perhaps the powdered Seastone was masking their presence?

What emerged was the middle section of the creature’s body—it was hard to say whether these beings relied on vision to perceive their surroundings, at least not exclusively. But the absence of its head above water was a blessing; imagining the pressure of locking eyes with a Sea King was daunting enough.

To avoid drawing attention, everyone aboard held their breath, not daring to make even the slightest sound.

In that tense and unnerving silence, even without an order, the rowing crew instinctively froze.

The Calm Belt resembled a suspended tableau: no wind, no waves, the sky a blue drapery, clouds nailed motionless in place.

The only sound was the water stirred by the sea beast.

The Titanic, propelled by inertia, continued its gentle forward motion. If it were possible, the captain would have wished the ship could be as motionless as those clouds, minimizing the chance of discovery.

The Sea King’s body, rolling and undulating, gradually sank back beneath the surface, its slick, rubbery hide gleaming with sunlight reflected off the water. The crew could almost see it up close.

It was a narrow escape—the Sea King did not care about the Titanic’s tiny presence, nor did it linger in these waters, but instead departed swiftly into the distance.

The massive body visible beneath the shallows soon vanished altogether, and from its trajectory, it no longer lay in the ship’s path.

At the very instant the sea beast appeared, Qiubai had already hauled the white bear from the water—though he didn’t bring him fully aboard, instead letting him dangle like a weight, the fishing line stretched taut from the bear’s heft.

The polar bear, too, was frozen in terror, not daring to move. In terms of size and strength, he was no match for a Sea King—not now, at least.

And Qiubai’s intentions were crystal clear—he had no scruples whatsoever. If necessary, he’d toss the bear to the Sea King without hesitation, even if only to buy the ship a moment’s reprieve.

The young troublemaker, Aelren, said nothing. This wasn’t the kind of Sea King he wanted. To be precise, what he desired was for Qiubai to hook him a “juvenile supergiant Sea King,” not a full-grown one—a fundamental difference.

After the Sea King departed, five minutes of utter stillness passed aboard the ship.

The others were likely still recovering from the shock, while Qiubai quietly observed their reactions.

But, as expected, the captain was the first to regain his composure. In a low voice, he called into the hold, “Row!”

Perhaps he felt his order might not carry, or the crew below needed a moment to steady themselves. In any case, Captain Grisha repeated himself as he hurried into the cabin. He had no time to worry about the bear now, and it was clear that the Sea King’s appearance had been a coincidence, unrelated to the bear’s commotion.

Otherwise, they would have been discovered already.

At last, Qiubai relented and reeled the “bait” back onto the deck. Aien watched the polar bear intently, but spoke to Qiubai:

“Well?”

“No problem,” Qiubai replied, his tone certain. But they weren’t talking about the bear—they meant the Sea King.

Yes, for Qiubai, it was no problem… if there was only one.

But the real danger of the Calm Belt was that Sea Kings rarely moved alone. If one was stirred up, an entire troop might surface, then spread out rapidly—perhaps even the whole Calm Belt would be thrown into chaos.

That is what makes these waters so terrifying—the Sea Kings are truly countless.