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Chapter 294: The Non-Cannibals
🕑 Added 2025-03-01 16:04:04 +0000 UTCSabastine paused momentarily, then reached out to pat Charlot Mecklenburg’s head and said, “I don’t think he’s pretending.”
Charlot replied, “A dignified Saint rank like him wouldn’t change his expression even if cursed at for days and nights. My insults were so weak—how could they have driven him to vomit blood?”
Sabastine glanced into the distance. There was only a single ship, the empty port of Saint Michael, and the almost desolate city of Saint Michael. She remarked, “I don’t think it’s a matter of how strong or weak your words were—it’s that your methods were too ruthless.”
Sabastine couldn’t help but feel sympathy for Herolf, the leader of the Golden Rams Fleet. After all, she had also suffered the loss of her base to Menielman Soumet. She even wondered if it was a trait of all graduates from Sheffield University. Could it be the university’s motto?
Nearby, Tumisan, still nursing his grievance, silently used a secret orc technique to infiltrate Saint Michael City unnoticed.
Herolf had just managed to stand up when Tumisan struck, delivering a claw to the pirate leader’s back.
Although Herolf had been struck twice in the chest by Charlot earlier, his battle-hardened experience as a Saint rank helped him react in time. A burst of water energy erupted from his back, and his figure wavered before vanishing.
Dozens of steps away, a turbulent jet of blue water surged forth, and Herolf reappeared within it.
Tumisan immediately realized his attack had missed. Although he extended his middle finger in time to land a follow-up hit, the force of this improvised strike couldn’t compare to his initial, fully-charged claw.
Laughing loudly, Tumisan shot into the sky.
Herolf, though furious, could only give chase. However, Tumisan, a veteran leopard-man warrior, prided himself on his unmatched speed. Before Herolf could activate the island’s spiritual defenses, Tumisan had already escaped their range.
Herolf reluctantly halted his pursuit, seeing four other Saint ranks watching him from afar, their predatory gazes unnerving. Suppressing his anger, he returned to Saint Michael Island.
Tumisan let out a deep sigh of regret. “If that old man’s reaction had been just a bit slower, my Ten Thousand Leopards’ Heart-Piercing Claw would have landed. That alone would’ve reduced his combat strength by at least ten percent.”
Menielman smiled faintly. “Take your time. We’ve got patience.”
Up in the air, Charlot was the only one among the group who wasn’t flying independently. Instead, Sabastine carried him like a noblewoman with her pet. His discomfort was evident as he muttered under his breath, “Can you just let me down? I’m afraid of heights!”
Sabastine bore a slight resemblance to Wonder Woman, save for her notably fuller figure.
Charlot wasn’t so much afraid of heights as he was feeling... overwhelmed by proximity.
He dared not act out of line toward a female Saint rank. He simply wanted to end this ordeal as quickly as possible.
Sabastine patted his head again and said, “You’ll get used to it. I can carry you like this often if you’d like.”
Charlot hurriedly declined, “That would be too much trouble.”
Sabastine smiled gently. “No need to be so formal with me.”
Meanwhile, High Priest Auguslatin thought to himself, Charlot is someone best approached politely. When he drops the pretense of courtesy, he’s truly ruthless. To this day, Baron Febollet still doesn’t know where his wealth vanished to.
Herolf, though trapped on Saint Michael Island, remained unconcerned. As a Saint rank, he had never experienced real hunger. Food had always been an afterthought for him, especially with Saint Michael Island being a bustling hub of trade. Supplies were abundant—until Charlot and Menielman looted the entire island, leaving it barren.
Initially, Herolf was too distraught to notice the dwindling provisions. But as time passed, the lack of food became apparent. Menielman neither attacked nor issued challenges. Instead, he simply maintained a blockade. Occasionally, passing ships were intercepted. Only vessels from the Fars Empire or the Ingrima Empire were allowed to pass—but even they were forbidden from approaching Saint Michael Island.
Apart from the remaining guards, the island still housed the alchemical warship crew, totaling two to three thousand people. The lower levels of Saint Michael City contained Herolf’s amassed wealth, but precious little food. After over half a month of consumption, supplies were nearly depleted. Now, after another seven or eight days of siege, Saint Michael Island was truly on the brink of famine.
Charlot, sometimes flying with Sabastine to observe from above, noticed something horrifying: the people of Saint Michael City had begun slaughtering pirates for sustenance.
As someone from Earth, he found the sight unbearable. Sabastine, however, seemed accustomed to it. She whispered, “So, you’re also a non-cannibal?”
Charlot, taken aback, asked, “What do you mean by ‘non-cannibal’?”
Sabastine pouted slightly and explained, “It’s a philosophy originating among orcs, advocated by another leader of the Orc Assassin Alliance, Septimius. He believed that orcs should neither prey on their kind nor eat other intelligent species—including humans.”
“He argued that orcs should adopt civility, morality, and so on. Anyway, it’s a very rigid ideology. Tumisan happens to be a non-cannibal. He probably respects you somewhat because you show no prejudice against orcs, and because he adheres to that principle.”
“Septimius and Tumisan want to make non-cannibalism a doctrine of the Orc Assassin Alliance, but not all the leaders support them.”
“Some humans, including vampires, have embraced the concept. The most extreme adherents among vampires even insist on consuming only the purest blood, rejecting the practice of devouring life energy entirely.”
Charlot was astonished. “There’s such an enlightened movement?”
Sabastine remarked, “There are very few non-cannibals among pirates. I don’t eat humans either, but I don’t belong to their faction.”
“I always thought non-cannibalism was a joke. It’s just a set of ideas, and they don’t even teach any extraordinary techniques. Who could truly remain faithful to it?”
Suddenly, Charlot felt a glimmer of hope for this world.
Looking back at the cruelty unfolding in Saint Michael City, he found it... slightly more bearable.
Not acceptable, but bearable.
Drawing a deep breath, he shouted, “Pirates of Saint Michael! If you escape, you can survive! Stay in Saint Michael City, and one day, the cruelest fate will befall you!”
“Herolf is not a good leader. He’s finished!”
“Come! Join us!”
In response, Herolf hurled a knight’s lance at him in fury.
The lance, however, traveled too far and was easily intercepted by Sabastine, who caught it with a playful grin. “Not bad. This is a fine weapon.”
Charlot glanced at it, noted that it wasn’t a transcendent weapon, and couldn’t help but think of Zhuge Liang borrowing arrows with straw boats…
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