Werebeast Gongs CH 142 Berg Side Story
In this ancient world, the ocean depths were much like the land, divided into numerous tribes. The most prominent among them were the Merfolk and Siren Tribes. The eastern continent served as a boundary—the territory east of it belonged to the Merfolk Tribe, while the west was ruled by the Sirens. The two races coexisted without conflict, though interactions between them were sparse.
Within the Merfolk Tribe, there were countless smaller tribes, each distinguished by subtle differences, the most obvious being the color of their tails. The ruling class among them were known as the Royal Merfolks, whose tails were the same deep blue as the ocean itself.
The Royal Merfolks were few in number—less than a thousand in total. Yet, they possessed the most formidable power among all merfolks. Their mighty tails could effortlessly crush even the fiercest of tiger sharks. A year after birth, Royal Merfolks could freely shift between legs and tails. With legs, they gained the ability to survive on land and gather precious white sand fruit from islands—something other merfolks could not do until adulthood, and only after bonding with a mate. However, Royal Merfolks had one fatal flaw: their fertility was exceptionally low. The stronger their abilities, the worse it became. For the most powerful among them—the King—the chance of producing offspring was practically zero.
In stark contrast stood another renowned race in the merfolk world—the Golden Merfolks. Three hundred years ago, every member of the Golden Merfolk Tribe possessed a magnificent golden tail. They were the darlings of the sea god, blessed with unparalleled beauty and the strongest reproductive capabilities. In most tribes, females were scarce, and even the most fertile could bear only three or four children in their lifetime. But Golden Merfolks typically produced five or six, with the most robust among them bearing eight, ten, or even more. If that wasn’t enough to set them apart, they had one more trait no other merfolk tribe could claim: Golden Merfolk males, like their female counterparts, possessed the same reproductive abilities—sometimes even stronger.
Yet, possessing such gifts without the power to protect them was a curse in itself. Over nearly two centuries, the Golden Merfolks were brutally plundered by other races, reduced to mere tools for breeding. But their bloodline was precious—only by mating within their own tribe could they produce pureblood Golden Merfolks with golden hair, golden eyes, and golden tails. Offspring from unions with other races invariably carried mixed traits, and purebloods became increasingly rare. While mixed-blood female merfolks retained relatively strong fertility, the males almost entirely lost their reproductive abilities. Generation after generation, the Golden Merfolk traits dwindled, pushing the race toward extinction.
About a hundred years ago, a pureblood Golden Merfolk bore the King’s child, leading to a pact between the Golden Merfolks and the Royal Merfolks. Every five years, the Golden Merfolks would offer ten purebloods as tribute in exchange for the Royal Merfolks' protection.
After the agreement, scattered remnants of the Golden Merfolk bloodline gathered and embarked on a long migration, eventually settling in a bay not far from the Tiger Tribe’s territory. The area was beautiful, with a mild climate and islands abundant with white sand fruit trees—a fruit highly valued by merfolks for its healing properties, ability to enhance constitution, and most importantly, its role in ensuring safe childbirth for pregnant females and newborns.
Fifteen-year-old Berg was the treasured son of Lance, the chief of the Golden Merfolk tribe. Lance was a rare pureblood Golden Merfolk, but Berg had not been so fortunate—he was merely a weak, mixed-blood merfolk with pale, faintly golden hair and a large blue tail that matched his eyes. Though his tail was shapely and long, in the Golden Merfolk tribe, bloodline was everything.
Berg had never known his papa. His dad told him he had long ago dissolved into seawater under the sunlight. While he regretted never meeting him, he wasn’t overly sad—his dad doted on him, fulfilling his every whim.
"Qingning, do you want to go for a walk?" Berg lounged lazily on the beach, his blue tail flicking water droplets into the air. He squinted at his betrothed, the female merfolk Qingning.
The most obvious difference between male and female merfolks was the latter’s chest—female merfolks had two soft mounds that, after childbirth, could produce milk to nurture their young. Females were scarce in the Golden Merfolk tribe, but as the chief’s son—even a mixed-blood one—finding a mate had been easy for Berg. Qingning, slightly older than him, had grown up by his side. She had golden hair, green eyes, and a beautiful golden tail tinged with green at the tip. Her bloodline wasn’t pure enough to qualify as tribute but was still considered excellent in a tribe where pureblood males had vanished and pureblood females were exceedingly rare.
"Where do you want to go?" Qingning toyed with the seashell hanging from his neck, tilting her head toward him.
"Not sure. Just wandering, clearing my mind." Lately, he’d been irritable. His uncle and cousin were pressuring him relentlessly, and he was sick of dealing with them.
"Alright. After my sister leaves, though. You know how chaotic my family is right now." At the mention of her sister, Qingning’s eyes dimmed. Another five-year cycle had come, and her sister was among this year’s tributes. Most tributes met tragic fates—respected in their tribe, they were reduced to mere breeding tools among the Royal Merfolks, forced to submit to any who desired them. Worse, her sister already had a male she loved.
"Don’t be too upset. Once our tribe grows stronger, we won’t need to offer tributes to those Royal Merfolks anymore." Berg was angry too, but he knew he couldn’t contribute to the tribe’s strength. He was just a weak mixed-blood, reliant on his dad’s protection. If he left, maybe his dad wouldn’t have to keep compromising with his uncle.
Qingning forced a smile. "That’ll be hard." The Royal Merfolks ruled the entire eastern sea. Breaking free wouldn’t be easy.
Berg scratched his head. "I know. But let’s focus on the good things. I’ll catch some cod for you."
Qingning laughed. "Sure. We’ll stock up for the journey."
Berg nodded. "Good idea."
But Berg’s plans were shattered seven days later.
"Dad, where’s Qingning?" He couldn’t believe it. The tributes had left yesterday, and when he went to find her today, her family said she had been sent as a replacement.
"Her sister threatened to kill herself rather than go. She’d rather be exiled to the Abyssal Sea with the one she loves."
"But why Qingning? There are others with purer bloodlines!"
"There are. But it was her sister’s fault. Why should others pay for her family’s mistakes?" Lance sat sternly, his expression cold. His only concern was protecting his son. As for the rest, he was powerless. His brother and nephew were watching like hawks—they had demanded Qingning as the replacement, and he couldn’t refuse.
"But Dad, Qingning is my future mate!"
"Uncle, is Cousin Berg unhappy about Qingning being sent?" Berg’s cousin, Zisang, had golden hair, golden eyes, and a large, pale-yellow tail. His bloodline was nearly pure, but since his tail wasn’t fully golden, he lacked reproductive abilities and thus wasn’t eligible for tribute. Still, his lineage made him the next in line for chief.
"Don’t touch me." Berg twisted away. He knew exactly how much his cousin despised him beneath that pleasant facade. In the Merfolk Tribe, the chief’s position was hereditary, but as a mixed-blood, Berg had lost his eligibility. His uncle and cousin had been pressuring his father to step down.
Zisang’s hand hung in the air, his smile turning icy. Pathetic half-breed.
"When did you arrive, Zisang? Sit here." Lance gestured politely to a seat beside him.
Zisang gave an elegant bow and sat without courtesy, glancing at Berg’s furious face. "No need to be angry, little cousin. Once I’m chief, I’ll find you a mate with a purer bloodline."
Berg gritted his teeth, itching to punch him despite knowing he’d lose. Lance gave a slight shake of his head.
Three months later, those who had accompanied the tributes returned with news—Qingning had caught the King’s eye and been kept by his side.
The entire Merfolk Tribe knew their King’s name.
Lan Qi.