Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 109 Iron Horse Island - Equestrianism and the Long Spear

While King Coron was conducting his massive ship exhibition and demonstrating his power everywhere, Balf's fleet, weary from its long voyage, finally returned to the port of Pike.

Before the deck had even come to a complete stop, the cabin was filled with the high-pitched and restless neighing of horses, mixed with the salty sea breeze and a strange, wild atmosphere belonging to the grasslands.

Balf brought back 295 Dothraki horses from across the Narrow Sea. These horses were robust, with flowing muscles, high-necked heads, and an untamed fire burning in their eyes. Of the original 300 horses, five had succumbed to the long and turbulent sea voyage, collapsing on the ship, whimpering in distress. This had troubled Balf for days; each horse could fetch at least 200 gold dragons, and with a good buyer, perhaps even 1000.

Five horses—Barf felt like a longship had vanished just like that.

The sudden influx of 295 horses presented a sweet yet challenging problem for the Iron Islands, who were accustomed to longships and reefs.

Soon, an uninhabited islet, originally used only for grazing lean goats, was swiftly cleared and emptied. The island was renamed "Iron Horse Island" and became the new home of these grassland spirits. As word spread, any Iron Citizen curious about riding these four-legged creatures was allowed to go to the island and try.

However, the one who came most frequently and practiced the hardest was undoubtedly Euron Greyjoy himself.

Every day, whenever the government permitted, people could see Euron riding his magnificent pure white warhorse, Faruru, onto this white sand field.

On Iron Horse Island, the sea breeze still carries a salty smell, but now it is mixed with the fresh smell of soil, the sweat of the horses, and the dust from the training ground.

Euron temporarily transferred Dothraki instructor Vittorio Gray from Pike City to this location, entrusting him with an unprecedented mission: to train the Ironborn, skilled in naval warfare, into elite warriors capable of fighting on horseback.

Vittorio Gray stood on the sidelines, whip in hand, his deep gaze sweeping over the Ironborn who were trying to tame the Dothraki horses, his expression complex and indescribable.

These islanders, whose veins flow with saltwater, are clumsily trying to understand how to communicate with their mounts using the strength of their knees and the subtle guidance of the reins, how to maintain balance while galloping and wielding a knife, and even how to twist their bodies to draw their bows and shoot arrows while on horseback.

Watching these spirits from his homeland's grasslands being ridden by unfamiliar riders, Vittorio's heart was filled with a myriad of emotions, a surge of indescribable homesickness and bitterness. Especially when he realized that his old injuries prevented him from riding freely again, that sense of powerlessness transformed into a burning, throat-searing liquor in the night, repeatedly leaving him utterly drunk.

However, as daylight came and the numbness from the alcohol wore off, the stern coach regained the upper hand.

Vittorio watched as the Ironborn swayed from side to side on their horses, some nearly being thrown from their saddles by the wild steeds, and they treated it as a joke. He was so enraged that veins bulged on his forehead. He even forgot the rough Westeros common language he had just learned and roared and cursed in the most authentic and fierce Dothraki. His roar was like that of a lion on the plains, enough to make even the most unruly warhorse cower.

But it was under this almost cruel and strict supervision that the Ironmen's horsemanship improved at an astonishing pace. Their inherent tenacity and fighting spirit were ignited, and they quickly transformed from initially being ruthless and cowardly into skilled riders.

Also returning with the ship were Vittorio's sons Brook, his wife Morika, and several hundred Dothraki children, none taller than a cartwheel. The Khal who had made the deal had just defeated a tribe and acquired many prisoners, whom he intended to sell as slaves. However, satisfied with the quality of Balf's swords, he gifted them to him as a reward.

These children were undoubtedly the most skilled riders, the blood of the steppe coursing through their veins, with Brooke being particularly outstanding. But Vittorio also had higher expectations of them, cracking the whip more often and harder.

Euron himself was inseparable from his beloved horse Faruru, and their coordination became increasingly refined, as if they had truly achieved a state of oneness between man and horse. He even had the audacity to bring some methods far beyond the cavalry training concepts of the time to the field—he ordered the setting up of obstacles that the warhorses had to leap over with precision, rattan hoops that could be traversed, and even required Faruru to perform a rhythmic, almost dance-like gait on uneven ground.

These elaborate and precise demands finally enraged Vittorio Grey, who adhered to the wild and pragmatic style of the steppes. He roared at Euron in a furious rage, a mixture of Dothraki and broken Common tongue: "This is turning warhorses into monkeys on a stage!"

Euron's ambitions went far beyond simply teaching the Ironborn to charge on horseback. Hedges and hoops could improve the warhorses' agility and obedience in complex terrain, while ritualistic movements such as "dance gait," though lacking direct lethality, could enhance their battlefield prowess.

Euron understood Vittorio Grey's anger, so he listened calmly and humbly accepted his advice, intending to continue experimenting afterward.

Finally, Euron realized he had been somewhat presumptuous. Those fancy equestrian training techniques were indeed more suited to equestrian competitions; they might have some use, but they were too time-consuming, and these skills were of little practical use in battlefield combat. —In the end, Euron shook his head and chuckled, calling it "flashy but impractical 'battlefield ballet.'" He then abandoned these impractical equestrian skills training and instead began accepting Vittorio Gray's orthodox battlefield combat techniques.

For the Iron People, the most important training is still on horseback archery accuracy, stealthy maneuverability, group charges, and cavalry coordination, which are essential for the battlefield.

In addition to horsemanship and mounted combat, Euron specifically ordered the clearing of a vast flat area on the island, transporting fine white sand from afar to carefully lay it out, creating a standard arena exactly the same as the one where knights on the continent of Westeros would engage in jousting.

The blazing sun poured down on the white sand of the Iron Horse Island racetrack, baking every grain of sand to a scorching heat. The air distorted in the heatwave, and the only clear sight was the figure of a man and his horse in the center of the arena, repeatedly witnessing the charge and the destruction.

Euron's entire weight pressed down on his horse, his body leaning forward, perfectly in sync with the rhythm of his galloping steed, Faruru. The heavy lance, over four meters long, was held steadily under his arm, its tip aimed at a static target practice session ahead.

It was a large, humanoid wooden target covered in sheet metal, with a fist-sized center marked in striking red dye on its chest. Euron's gaze, like that of a hawk, locked onto that point; the world around him blurred and faded, leaving only that red target. Faruru's speed increased, its hooves pounding the ground heavily like war drums.

Ten yards! Five yards! Contact!

"Duh!"

A very short, muffled bang rang out. The steel tip of the lance struck the bullseye precisely!

The immense impact caused the metal casing to dent and tear instantly, sending wood chips flying violently from behind the target. The entire wooden target shook violently backward, almost being overturned from its base.

Euron's arms and even his entire shoulder and leg bones perfectly transmitted and absorbed the fierce reaction force. At the moment of impact, he used the momentum of the horse's forward charge to lean his body slightly backward, while releasing his grip and letting the broken wooden spear fly out behind him—this was a standard and perfect force-dissipating technique.

A servant quickly ran forward and handed him a new lance.

Next comes dynamic target training.

On one side of the field, a wooden target covered with iron was placed on horseback by three ironmen and moved rapidly laterally in a cross shape, simulating enemies passing by on the battlefield.

Euron lightly nudged the horse's flank, and Faruru accelerated again. He had to simultaneously calculate his own speed, the target's trajectory, and the optimal moment of impact. His core muscles were taut, maintaining absolute balance, and his lance adjusted its angle precisely as the target moved.

In the blink of an eye!

"boom!"

Another tooth-grinding impact!

The spear tip didn't hit the bullseye directly, but slightly ahead, precisely anticipating the target's movement and plunging deep inside, sending the moving target spinning halfway through the air, emitting a painful groan. This ability to anticipate and hit the target in motion is the key difference between ordinary riders and top riders.

Sweat had already soaked through his linen shirt, clinging to every muscle that ached and burned from exerting extreme force. The sea breeze brought a brief coolness, but it could not extinguish the cold flame in his eyes, focused solely on the ultimate skill. He seemed tireless, driving Faruru into charge again and again, broken gun barrels scattered behind him like withered bones he had chopped off.

He was using this most cruel and focused method to forcibly forge the art of killing, which the continental knights were so proud of, into the blood of the Ironborn.