Whitebeard

Time flew by, and though some time had passed since the war that shook the entire Eastern Continent,

most of the factions on the continent remained on edge, maintaining a high state of vigilance.

The humans feared a retaliation from the evil dragon; if it struck back, the Human Kingdoms would face a devastating catastrophe.

Meanwhile, the evil dragon they spoke of was also on guard against human retaliation.

The only exception was the Dwarven Empire, sandwiched right between them.

Having remained strictly neutral throughout, this nation was barely affected from the start of the war to its end. They still went about their days as usual—mining, drinking, and playing friendly little games with their brothers.

Until one day, an uninvited guest arrived at the Dwarven Empire's Great Hammer Tavern.

“Drink! Keep drinking!”

“Go for it, Audibas! Drink him under the table!”

“For the glory of our Dwarven Mutual Aid Association, you cannot lose!!!”

“Come on, Whitebeard! Drink Audibas under the table!”

“Me too! I'm betting ten more iron ores! I bet Whitebeard wins!”

The small tavern was currently packed with dwarves, their noisy roars and shouts echoing throughout the space.

Many dwarves, having no room to stand, simply climbed onto the shoulders of others, stacking up layer upon layer like human pyramids until they reached the ceiling.

At the center of the crowd was an ordinary stone table covered in empty bottles. Two dwarves sat on opposite sides. One had a signature bushy beard stained with grease and alcohol, looking as disheveled as a beggar.

Swaying from side to side, he was clearly drunk.

Yet, he forced himself to hold a bottle in each hand, tilting his head back to pour the liquor down his throat.

His eyes, from beginning to end, remained fixed on the figure sitting across from him.

That was a rather peculiar dwarf. He wore animal hide clothing that was much cleaner than what the other dwarves wore, and his thick beard had barely any stains, save for a few drops of alcohol.

The most eye-catching thing about him was his hair.

Unlike the hair color of ordinary dwarves, this dwarf's hair and beard were completely snow-white. Under the light, they even reflected a metallic sheen, which was quite extraordinary.

Because of this rare coat of white hair, ever since he arrived in the Dwarven Empire, he had been given the nickname “Whitebeard.”

No one knew where he came from. He only claimed to be a traveler who liked to wander around, see the sights of the world, and taste various delicacies.

If that were all, he wouldn't have drawn so much attention.

The main reason was that Whitebeard could drink far too much.

In just a single day since arriving in the Dwarven Empire, he had already drunk dozens of dwarves under the table.

And he hadn't taken a single break.

To this bunch of alcohol-loving big guys, this was undoubtedly a provocation from a despicable foreigner against the local dwarves.

Thus, more and more dwarves heard the news, put down their work in the mines, and made a special trip to challenge him.

Those who knew they weren't up to the task simply chose to watch.

As the crowd grew larger, someone naturally started a betting pool, wagering on which of their burly brothers could outdrink this outsider.

However, things weren't looking good.

So far, Whitebeard hadn't shown even the slightest hint of drunkenness.

Instead, the challengers came and went in waves. The sheer number of drunkards tossed outside the tavern had already piled up into a small mountain.

As the dwarf across from Whitebeard, known as Audibas, slammed his face heavily onto the table, the drinking contest officially came to an end.

Instantly, a tsunami of cheers and groans erupted throughout the tavern.

Some laughed hysterically, while others wailed in despair.

Dwarves who lost their bets reluctantly pulled hard-earned ores from their storage rings, while those who won raked in several times their original stakes.

They then happily took their ores to the bar to exchange them for large bottles of wine, eagerly waiting for the next challenger to step up.

“Is there anyone else who wants to challenge our invincible, keg-guzzling Battle God, Whitebeard?!”

A dwarf acting as the temporary host and referee stood on the bar, holding a wine bottle like a microphone, and roared, “Are you all just going to admit defeat like this?! Are the brothers of our Dwarven Empire really inferior to an outsider?!”

“I'll do it!”

Unable to resist the goading, a dwarf in the crowded room raised his broad, calloused hand.

The other dwarves immediately cheered and cleared a path, watching this brave brother walk toward the challenger's stone table with a look of grim determination.

“Excellent!” the host roared into his glass bottle. “Next, let's welcome our warrior to the stage! Will he be the one to finally drink Whitebeard under the table? Let's wait and see!”

“Everyone else, you can start placing your bets now!”

But before the new challenger could even reach the table, a rough voice suddenly boomed from outside the tavern door: “Damn it! How could you not call me for something this good?!”

The tavern fell dead silent.

As everyone turned their heads, the wooden door of the tavern was pushed open, and a filthy dwarf walked in, carrying a pickaxe on his shoulder.

Judging by how pitch-black he was, looking like a literal lump of coal, he had probably just come out of the coal mines.

Yet, when this incredibly ordinary-looking dwarf shouted, the entire crowd went silent for several seconds.

Simply because this coal-black dwarf was their uncrowned king.

The Dwarven King—Herbert Alexander!

“Could it be... His Majesty wants to join the drinking contest himself?!” This thought suddenly popped into everyone's minds.

The Dwarven King, the legendary heaviest drinker in the entire empire, going up against this mysterious Whitebeard!

This was practically the battle of the century!!!

To witness a drinking duel between two such titans, even losing every last piece of ore on them would be entirely worth it!!!

The eyes of the surrounding dwarves grew brighter and brighter!

No one knew who was the first to snap out of it, but someone suddenly roared, “The King!!!”

Like a chain reaction, all the dwarves began to chant. Under their thunderous, earth-shaking shouts, even the tavern's roof began to tremble.

Not wanting to let his subjects down, Dwarven King Herbert tossed his pickaxe onto the ground. He stretched his limbs and cracked his neck. With a sudden grunt, two puffs of black smoke mixed with coal dust snorted out of his nostrils.

Walking through the path the crowd eagerly parted for him, he approached the stone table. He grabbed the arm of the previous challenger, who was passed out cold on the table, and with a heave, threw him out of the tavern in a beautiful arc.

Sitting down on the stone chair, Herbert picked up a bottle of wine from the table. He looked at Whitebeard, who was still drinking away across from him, took a swig, and used a special telepathic transmission to say, “You bastard, why did you come to my place to drown your sorrows again?”