Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 107 The Iron Islands - Iron and Wine

The first batch of scimitars produced on Iron Smoke Island has finally been completed.

In the dimly lit workshop, the embers of the charcoal fire still lingered, and Euron Greyjoy casually picked up a new knife.

The blade's curve was as smooth as ocean waves, reflecting the calm scrutiny in his eyes. With a flick of his wrist, the blade whistled through the air before slashing at an old iron sword lying to the side—a crisp "clang" rang out, and the old sword snapped in two, the cut as smooth as a mirror.

"Not bad." Euron commented calmly, his fingertips lightly tracing the spine of the blade, feeling the toughness and sharpness contained within it, far surpassing the current craftsmanship of the Iron Islands.

Euron handed the scimitar to Vittorio Grey beside him. The former khal took the curved blade, his thick fingers tracing every curve of the blade in a Dothraki manner, weighing its balance, before stepping outside and slashing it horizontally at the upright wooden stake!

With a flash of light, the wooden stake silently split in two, falling to the ground and sliding to either side.

Vittorio turned around, a look of near amazement appearing on his usually stern face. "This knife," he said in Common with a heavy accent, his voice hoarse with excitement, "is better, faster, tougher, and more bloodthirsty than the Dothraki scimitars currently used on the plains!" His affirmation was the most authoritative certification of this batch of new knives.

Now that the sword had proven its superiority, Euron's plan was immediately put into action. He summoned his uncle, Balf Greyjoy, who had accompanied him to the Dothraki Sea and witnessed the vastness of the steppes.

"You are familiar with the language of those horsemen and have seen their khao," Euron ordered. "You will lead the expedition in the best longships, carrying these new knives, to the plains. Our objective is clear: to trade knives for horses, the more the better."

Trading precious knives for horses that are practically useless to the islanders? This deal puzzled both King Coron and Baron. "Horses?" Baron frowned in the council chamber, his tone full of confusion. "What use do we have for so many horses?"

Are we going to charge through the rocks?

Although King Koren did not speak, his deep gaze carried the same question.

Euron remained calm in the face of his father and brother's doubts. "Horses are indeed useless to us living on the island," he admitted, but then he changed the subject, "but to the lords and knights of Westeros, they are symbols of war, honor, and status, a hard currency that never loses its value. We can sell as many as we want, and the price will never be low."

He paused, a deeper calculation flashing in his eyes. "Besides, who can predict the future? Perhaps one day, the descendants of the Iron Islands will not only be able to ride the waves, but will also need to roam across wider lands. Stockpiling fine warhorses now will never be a losing proposition." Although the explanation did not completely dispel doubts, the reason that "it will definitely not be a losing proposition" was convincing enough.

King Coron finally nodded slowly, and Baron no longer objected.

Euron smiled and said to Vittorio, "This time, you and Balf will return to the plains again. I remember your son is still in Braavos with his mother; take them back to the Iron Islands along the way. Only by receiving guidance from their fathers can they ultimately grow into true men."

Vittorio exclaimed excitedly, "Thank you, sir!"

Thus, the longships, laden with newly forged scimitars, under Balf's command, raised their sails and sailed toward the distant eastern steppes, heading toward unknown trade and destiny.

The smoke of the Battle of Green Pavilion Island had not yet completely dissipated, but Euron Greyjoy's plunder had precisely severed Highgarden's most prized lifeline.

Euron, commanding the Ironborn under his command, like sifting through treasures, bound and stuffed all the key artisans on Green Pavilion Island related to winemaking—from the masters who controlled the secrets of fermentation to the skillful hands who precisely adjusted the cellar temperature, and finally to the supervisors who assessed the quality of the wine—into a longship and brought them back to the Iron Islands.

When Count Adrian Redwin and his wise and resilient sister, Lady Olenna, the "Queen of Thorns," returned to their old haunts, exhausted, they were horrified to see the garden ravaged by war, its precious vines uprooted. Their hands and feet went cold, and they trembled with rage.

However, this was only the beginning of the nightmare.

They soon discovered that what was even more terrifying than losing the vines was that all the master winemakers who had mastered the art of turning grapes into gold had vanished.

In an instant, anger and panic gripped the brother and sister. They hastily wrote to Pyke, demanding the return of these "technical prisoners of war" from King Coron in the harshest terms, while simultaneously sending ravens to the Iron Throne with a series of blood-soaked accusations. However, the reply from Pyke was only a cold and arrogant "losses"—all losses attributed to the cruelty of war. The prisoners? Absolutely not. But the messenger added, not without irony, that perhaps in time, the Iron Islands could consider "selling" the wine of Greenwood back to House Redwyn.

This was undoubtedly rubbing salt into the wound. The Redwyn family's rise began with Gilbert "The Vine," who brought winemaking skills to this land and created a golden legend. But when his descendants were granted noble titles, they had long since distanced themselves from the fragrance of the earth and the dampness of oak barrels. All the knowledge and details of winemaking were handed over to these generations of trained artisans, who at least did not personally make wine, as that would be too undignified for a nobleman.

Now, they will pay the price for this dignity.

Now, these living treasures have been looted, even the scrolls recording ancient recipes and techniques have been swept away. The only scholar who could possibly reconstruct some of the processes from memory had his swollen, white body washed ashore by the waves several days later. The old scholar's death was naturally attributed to "battle damage."

Standing before the empty, desolate wine cellar, gazing at the barren vineyards outside the window, Count Adrian felt a profound sense of powerlessness and bewilderment for the first time. They possessed noble titles and vast territories, yet they had lost the ability to turn lead into gold, and could only watch helplessly as the wellspring of their family's centuries-old glory dried up completely.

Euron had no interest in the lamentations and curses of the Redwyn family; his sights were fixed on the future.

Those master brewers he uprooted from Green Pavilion Island must take root anew among the rocks of the Iron Islands, quickly producing golden wines and creating the value they deserve.

All those involved in brewing were housed on a carefully chosen uninhabited island, much like he housed the blacksmiths on...

Like "Iron Smoke Island," Euron named it Iron Fragrance Island. This name carries both the cold imprint of the Ironborn and hints at the rich fragrance that will soon spread. This island was given a single mission—to become the wine cellar and source of wealth for the Iron Islands.

Unlike the blacksmiths who are easier to control, these brewers are mostly free men native to Westeros. If word gets out that they are being held hostage, it will give the Seven Kingdoms a pretext to criticize them.

Euren was well-versed in this art, and thus his methods were even more sophisticated. On the surface, he offered astonishingly high rewards and generous provisions, promising that their blood relatives could also be brought to the island for a reunion in the future, showing the utmost appeasement. But in secret, his absolute control never wavered.

Ironscent Island's location was carefully chosen; it sits in the center of the sea between Pike Isle, Salt Cliff Isle, and Great Wick Isle, like a pebble guarded by three colossal beasts. No unauthorized vessel can approach this heavily monitored waters undetected. The island is teeming with Euron's most loyal Ironborn confidants, who act as both protectors and jailers, their cold eyes constantly scanning the area to ensure no one can escape and no outside spy can infiltrate.

The island's artisans have built sheltered dwellings and necessary living facilities for the winemakers, and all the winemaking equipment—from huge pressing tanks to neatly arranged oak barrels—has been moved and put into place.

The geography and soil of the Iron Islands meant that good grapes could not grow here, but grapes could be bought. During Euron's travels in his early years, he happened to know that there were several excellent vineyards on the other side of the Narrow Sea.

Three days ago, the first batch of premium grapes, urgently shipped from Braavos, finally arrived at the dock. As the deep purple juice of the grapes gushed out, the rich aroma of fruit began to mingle with the salty and astringent sea breeze.

This once-abandoned island, now known as the secret workshop of Tiexiang Island, has finally released the fragrance of new wine for the first time.