Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 102 The Future Has Arrived

Before the Seastone, all the nobles and lords of the Iron Islands held their breath.

King Coron's voice, like thunder in the deep sea, resounded throughout the halls of Pyke City. Every word carried undeniable weight as he formally declared Baron Greyjoy the sole and rightful heir to the Iron Islands and announced this decision to the Seven Kingdoms.

This declaration, like an invisible yet indestructible barrier, instantly locked away Baron's previously wild and unrestrained life.

The Baron who once spent his days in fierce battles, honing his combat skills on deck, drinking and laughing with sailors and pirates, and even secretly participating in the deadly "finger dance," has vanished.

The fantasies of plundering across the fjords and the times spent indulging in pleasure in brothels are now a past that can never be touched again.

Instead, he felt an overwhelming sense of confinement.

Now, Balon must spend his days beside his father's mountain-like, steady, and imposing figure, learning how to govern this island ruled by iron and blood. He is forced to sit at a desk piled high with documents, listening to the endless territorial and fishing disputes between the island lords, trying to understand the convoluted grievances and accusations; he must rack his brains, carefully choosing his words, to correspond with the nobles of Westeros in a manner befitting an heir, both firm and courteous.

All of this made him dizzy, irritable, and extremely frustrated.

When Euron proposed handing over his extensive network of informants and his intricate intelligence system to Baron, and gestured for his maid Lisa to step forward and explain in detail the codes, coded messages, and methods for verifying the authenticity of intelligence, Baron's patience finally snapped.

"Enough!" He abruptly waved his hand, interrupting in a gruff voice, his facial muscles tense with extreme disgust and frustration. "My brain is like a ship's hold that's been ravaged by a bunch of drunkards, a complete mess, and it can't hold anything else! So many names!"

So many damn codes! And all this real and fake, true and false information—am I supposed to analyze which one is bait and which one is a trap? It's a nightmare! I don't need to know these details!

He grew angrier with each word, his fury directed at Euron, slamming his fist heavily on the table: "You bastard! You know perfectly well I hate all this nonsense, yet you deliberately force it on me, just to see me make a fool of myself, to see me humiliated?!" His frustration was palpable, and he even growled, "If I'd known that being this pathetic heir meant facing all this every day, I would have just given it to you in the first place!"

Upon hearing this, You Lun rolled his eyes clearly, his tone turning colder and carrying a businesslike detachment: "How is this intentional? You are the eldest son, this is an ironclad rule, and it is also the responsibility and obligation you must bear in that position. It has nothing to do with personal likes or dislikes."

Baron didn't immediately refute him; he simply stared intently at Euron, his gaze seemingly piercing through the usual cynical mask on his brother's face. After a long while, he sighed heavily, his voice revealing a rare, almost genuine weariness: "Euron, to be honest, actually—...you're more suited for this position than I am."

Euron's expression tightened slightly, but he quickly regained his composure. He lowered his voice, his tone becoming sharp and wary: "Shut up, Baron. Don't spout such stupid nonsense about 'not wanting to be the heir,' and don't say anything about me being suitable for you or not. Walls have ears. If outsiders hear this, they'll fabricate countless rumors to sow discord. Don't you think you have enough trouble already?"

Euron paused, seemingly weighing his options quickly, before making a pragmatic concession: "Here's the deal: from now on, when I receive news, I'll have Lisa compile a report for me first. I'll analyze and assess it, then tell you what kind of ancient road order to issue. You only need to make the final decision and issue the order. Is that alright?"

Upon hearing this, Baron's tense expression finally eased somewhat. This plan, at least, had rescued him from the endless quagmire of information. He let out a long sigh of relief, nodded, and accepted the arrangement.

Similarly, he had no interest in deeply managing the distribution rights of the incredibly profitable "Platinum Sand." He merely glanced at the distribution plan drafted by the scholar before handing over all daily management and accounting to him, only requiring the final results. As for the most crucial refining secret method, it was sealed away by King Koren with the highest secrets, and the location of its records was known only to the three of them—father and sons—and Baron had no desire to explore it.

As the clamor of war receded like the tide, life on the Iron Islands gradually returned to its original rough and resilient rhythm. However, the changes brought about by this victory, like salt seeping into the reefs, were deeply imprinted on the very fabric of the islands.

For the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, the conflict between the Iron Islands and the Greenwood was nothing short of a spectacular event.

A costly drama. The lords, in their respective halls, savored the battle reports from the Academy, reassessing with great interest the astonishing strength and profound political wisdom that had emerged from this long-neglected, icy archipelago.

Meanwhile, King's Landing casually shifted all responsibility for the wildfire explosion to the deceased Ser Harlan Grandson of the Kingsguard. This clumsy cover-up prompted the lords to re-examine, amidst their sneers, the growing madness and delusion of the king on the Iron Throne—a pretext that even the White Walkers wouldn't believe was itself a dangerous sign.

For Baron Greyjoy, the title of heir was like a cage. He was like a North Sea behemoth forcibly locked in a cage, endowed with the authority to command his pack, yet his soul yearned day and night to roar and fight in the storms of the wilderness. The tediousness of politics and the intricacies of strategy were far more exhausting and suffocating to him than facing a whole ship of ferocious enemies. It was a war without glory, only endless paperwork and whispers.

In the eyes of his brother Euren, the once crucial "White Gold Sands" trade and the vast "Ancient Road" intelligence network were now like two children who had long since been born, separated from their mother, and grown strong, no longer requiring his meticulous personal nurturing. Their smooth operation freed up his precious time and energy to devote to deeper and more dangerous schemes.

His thoughts drifted to a new frontier: the master brewers brought back from Qingting Island needed to be settled as soon as possible, so that their ancient skills could take root on the northern islands, brewing flowing gold for the Iron Islands and accumulating real wealth.

The "Iron Smoke Island" workshop, which has already taken shape, is about to produce its first batch of tempered ironware. This is just the beginning; continuous improvement and expansion are needed to create even more powerful weapons.

Most importantly, he needs to invest more time in honing his own combat skills. His swordsmanship, lance skills, and even the more subtle combat techniques derived from the One Piece system must be elevated to a new level.

For in his calculations, the skies over Westeros were being shrouded in ever-thickening clouds, and the inevitable storm of 282AC—the war of usurpers that would overthrow the dynasty—was drawing ever closer.

We must make thorough preparations for this and seize this opportunity to let the Seven Kingdoms and the whole world know about the Iron Islands, and to know me, Euron Greyjoy!

The future is here!