On the third day after Ace left Mount Colubo, he finally understood something.
The sea was completely different from the mountains and forests.
On Mount Colubo, when he was hungry, he could hunt. When he was thirsty, he could find a mountain spring. When he got lost, he could climb a tree and look at the sun.
If a wild beast chased him, he could turn around and beat it up instead.
But the sea did not work that way.
With nothing more than calm waves, it could leave a hot-blooded young man dizzy and disoriented.
"Growl..."
Ace lay sprawled across the little boat, his stomach letting out an extremely loud protest.
He raised his head, looked at the last piece of hard bread in the cabin, then at the plank by his feet that was slowly leaking water. His face darkened like the bottom of a pot.
"Damn it."
"Why is this boat leaking again?"
Before setting sail, he had thought he was thoroughly prepared.
A steel pipe, luggage, rations, a small boat, and the Log Pose Uncle Rock had stuffed into his hands before he left.
But reality told him—
Knowing how to fight did not mean knowing how to sail.
Knowing how to read the wind did not mean knowing how to repair a boat.
Being able to take on a black-horned bear alone on Mount Colubo did not mean he could cook a tasty pot of soup.
Ace lowered his head and glanced at the black, sticky lump in the pot, still bubbling with strange bubbles.
After a moment of silence, he decisively put the lid on the pot.
"This thing definitely can't be called food."
Then there was the Log Pose. It had been wobbling around in his hand for three days, and Ace had