Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 100 Distribution of Loot

The sea breeze of the Iron Islands always carries the roughness of salt and the chill of the deep sea. When Euron's fleet returned carrying the treasures of Greenwood Island, even the wind seemed to carry a strange sweet fragrance—the aroma of rich wine and gold from the south.

Longboats docked one after another at the main port of Kuroshio Island, their keels rubbing against the pebble beach, letting out a tired but satisfied sigh.

Though the crew looked weary, their eyes burned with a fierce fervor. Soon, the news spread like wildfire across the islands: the fleet had returned with unprecedented spoils.

On the pebble beach of Pike Island, the salty sea breeze howled, stirring up a hazy mist and the smell of gunpowder.

The priests of the drowning god, clad in long, grey-green robes woven from seaweed, stood in knee-deep water, their deep, resonant chants mingling with the roar of the waves, blessing the victorious warriors returning home.

The bodies of the fallen were placed on several dilapidated longboats. For those with missing limbs, the priests of the drowning god stitched them up with replacements, ensuring they were "whole bodies for the divine feast." The corpses were surrounded by piles of dried driftwood and kindling, and also carried wine jugs...

Round shields, as well as the warriors' pelvises and weapons.

The priest poured seawater over the head of the deceased, chanting: "The dead are not truly dead; they will rise again, with even greater force!"

All the Iron Citizens roared in unison!

"In the Name of the Drowning God, Part 1"

"Bless him with the blessing of sea salt!"

"Give him the blessing of a rock!"

"Give him the blessing of steel!"

The ship slowly sailed into the deep sea. With a long, mournful conch shell horn blast from the high priest, a burning arrow pierced the gloomy sky and landed precisely on the ship. Flames erupted, greedily devouring the wood and hull, crackling and popping. Thick smoke billowed upwards, like invisible steps leading to the watery palace of the drowning god.

The Ironborn stood solemnly on the shore, pounding their chests with their fists and letting out deep, rhythmic roars, bidding farewell to their companions as they returned to the embrace of God.

As the burning ship sank, the ironworkers sang a funeral dirge:

"We are reborn in the sea, buried in the sea, and will meet again in the Water Palace!"

Carrying iron and fire, carrying blood and humiliation, the steel was taken away!

We will meet again eventually.

As the embers of the sea burial cooled, the assigned war drums were sounded before the Seastone shrine in Pyke City.

According to ancient tradition and strict laws, the allocation was conducted before the Seastone Altar in Pike City under the supervision of King Coron.

A huge bonfire was lit in the square, the leaping flames tearing through the night and illuminating the rough, yearning faces etched by the sea breeze.

The spoils were carried up the platform one by one, piling up into shimmering little mountains: chests of heavy gold dragon coins were poured out, flowing like a golden river in the firelight, eliciting low gasps from the crowd. Barrels of wine bearing the golden grape emblem of Qingting Island were rolled up, the oak barrels clanging with a dull thud; this was the renowned nectar of the seven kingdoms, its value even exceeding its weight in silver.

Exquisite silverware, brocades, and jewels, plundered from the halls and chambers of nobles, shimmered with an incongruous, refined light under the gloomy sky. There were also artisans—brewers, coopers, and goldsmiths—chained up, their faces pale and their eyes filled with terror.

King Coron sat on his seastone throne, his face as calm as the iron-grey sea. Baron stood beside him, his jaw clenched, his sharp gaze sweeping over each piece of spoils, assessing their value and how the glory they represented would be distributed. Euron, meanwhile, leaned against him, a faint smile playing on his lips, as if this vast wealth was merely an amusing game.

The allocation process has begun.

The scribes of the Harlo family, carrying the heavy registers, first solemnly handed over, according to ancient tradition, the heavy bags of money or precious items—the share of each deceased warrior—to their trembling relatives. Each handover was accompanied by a suppressed sob or a word of gratitude to the drowning god; death and wealth intertwined coldly at this moment.

Then, the rewards for the living began.

The captains with the loudest voices and the bravest warriors were called out one by one to receive the king's gifts.

"Euron Greyjoy!" The shouts were particularly loud. Euron stepped out of the crowd, his eyes reflecting the flickering firelight, a faint smile playing on his lips.

For Euron's outstanding achievements in venturing deep into enemy territory, destroying the wildfire, opening the city gates, and capturing the enemy leader, King Coron bestowed upon him a most special spoils of war: not dazzling gold and silver, but all the captured brewers, their exquisite tools, a learned physician named Keben, and a thick library containing the centuries-old brewing secrets and knowledge of Green Pavilion Island. This was something Euron had proposed long ago, so he readily accepted the distribution. These silent treasures were far more powerful than gold coins, and only in Euron's own hands could they be used to their fullest potential.

"Baron Greyjoy!" Baron strode forward, his figure as straight as a steel spear. For his valiant command in the naval battle and his achievement in capturing Redwin's heir, he chose his most coveted spoils: a large warship captured from the Greenwoods fleet, along with gleaming swords and brand-new armor sufficient to arm an entire ship of elite warriors. His choice drew envious roars from the sailors.

The Chodough family of Old Wake Island, having made the first move to the beachhead, were granted the right to choose, selecting large quantities of gold and silver, and enough wine to fill their family castle.

Belon Blacktes of Black Tide Island fought bravely, using his extraordinary combat skills to kill two enemy captains. His family received a corresponding reward based on their merits and status, with King Coron personally bestowing the share upon them.

The heavy money bags were taken away, the wine barrels were rolled off the platform, drawing envious shouts and pounding from their companions, and the craftsmen were assigned to families that needed their skills.

Each reward was accompanied by cheers and revelry, the air thick with the mingled aromas of ale, wine, and desire. The ancient ceremony, conducted to the accompaniment of bonfires and the crashing waves, served both as a reward for merit and a reaffirmation and consolidation of power.

The Ironborn shared the spoils of victory in the most direct way. Every golden dragon that fell into their palms, every sip of fine wine they swallowed, spoke of the sweetness of plunder and the laws of the Iron Islands—in the deep sea, the strong prey on the weak.

Before the main altar of the Sea Stone, the flickering firelight made the figure of King Koren appear exceptionally tall, as if he were the very embodiment of the Drowning God.

King Coron slowly rose to his feet, the dark golden wine of Qingting Island in his giant goblet resembling molten gold. His gaze, like an anchor, swept across every rugged face below the stage, weathered by the sea breeze, yet now flushed with excitement and alcohol.

"Ironmen!" His voice, like the crashing waves beneath his feet, drowned out the crackling flames and howling sea wind, reaching clearly into everyone's ears. "Look at the wealth piled up around you! Smell the air filled with the scent of gold and the aroma of wine!"

Remember this day!

He raised the giant goblet high, the wine swirling within.

"At the Battle of Greentree, our longships shattered their pride, and our battleaxes reaped their fear! From this day forward, our names will be etched in the annals of Westeros in blood and fire! And we, the great Ironborn, are the victors of this legendary battle!"

His voice was like thunder, every word striking the hearts of the Iron People and igniting the most primal flame in their veins.

"Rejoice! This is the right you won with iron and blood! Drink deeply of their most precious wine! Devour the flesh they offered! Celebrate our supreme victory with their wealth!"

"Meow-a-ah-ah—!"

The king's roar was like a spark thrown into gunpowder, instantly igniting the long-awaited wild passion.

The entire square was in an uproar.

The warriors pounded their chests and shields with frenzied force, creating a thunderous roar like war drums. Ale and wine flowed freely from their lips, soaking their beards and clothes. The grease from roasting meat dripped into the fire, igniting even stronger flames and releasing a richer aroma. Laughter, shouts, the clinking of glasses, and unrestrained singing blended into a deafening cacophony that nearly lifted the roofs of Piketown off the city.

Amidst this surging roar, the fervor of the Iron People transformed into a rough yet powerful battle song, each shout accompanied by the muffled thud of fists pounding chests or shields, its rhythm primal and awe-inspiring:

"Reclaim our glory!"

"Drink their golden grapes to your heart's content!"

"Steel axe cleaves the waves!"

"Dawn Breaks on the Longship!"

These synchronized, wild, sea-breezy roars rose in waves, eventually converging into two inseparable...

Representing the core of power and faith, like waves ultimately returning to reefs and abysses:

"Greyjoy!"

"By the God of Drowning!"

Flames danced wildly in their fanatical eyes, and the roar tore through the damp sea air, soaring into the star-studded night sky. This was no longer a simple celebration, but a declaration that the children of the icy sea were drinking the wine of their enemies, igniting their ambitions with plundered riches, and bathing in the spoils of war, a glorious victory won through fire and blood.