Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 159 Blood Opera Troupe—Kill them all! Leave no one alive!

With numbers and power, they have nothing to fear!

The bald mercenary grinned, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth. Far from backing down, he spat even more arrogantly, "So, you little iron bastard from the Iron Islands? Let's see who's courting death!"

"you!"

Euron's answer was only one word, but it was colder than ice.

Before the words were even finished, the blade flashed like a venomous snake!

No one saw how he drew his sword; all that was heard were two almost simultaneous, teeth-grinding tearing sounds, followed by screams of agony. The two nearest mercenaries had barely grasped the hilts when their hands, weapons and all, fell to the muddy ground, blood gushing from their severed wrists.

Almost instantly, Euron's figure spun like a ghost in front of the bald mercenary. The mercenary's mocking expression hadn't faded before it froze forever as a cold arc of light swept across his neck.

The next second, the head, covered in paint and bearing a look of astonishment, detached from the body and rolled to the ground. The headless body stood frozen in place for a moment before collapsing heavily, blood gushing from its neck cavity, staining the ground beneath its feet red.

Euron paid no heed to the warm blood splattered on his face. He reached out and pulled the terrified, blood-covered girl to safety, gently pushing her towards a safer direction. His voice brooked no argument: "Go!"

[Conqueror's Haki] Activated!

With a deft flick of Yu Lun, the blood-stained twin swords Sakura Jū and Kōki were sent flying. Crimson blood beads traced two sharp arcs before splashing onto the sand with a thud, leaving a shocking dark red mark.

Euron stood proudly amidst the corpses, a cold flame burning in his single eye, his voice booming like thunder: "Those who insult the Iron Islands shall die!"

The mercenaries of the Blood Play Troupe were completely overwhelmed by this terrifying aura. Their faces turned pale, and they were drenched in cold sweat. Although they held their weapons, their hands trembled uncontrollably, and their feet moved backward involuntarily, as if they were facing not human beings, but terrifying beings crawling out of the deep sea.

The crowd slowly parted, and a tall, thin man with a sparse goatee strode out. Around his neck hung a necklace made of various coins—each one a relic from the battlefields he had trodden and the cities he had plundered. Drooling uncontrollably dripped from the corner of his mouth, and his voice was hoarse and distorted when he spoke.

Waghot, leader of the Warriors, is known as "The Goat".

"What a boastful tone, you little sea monster!" Waghot spat, "You dare kill members of our Blood Play Troupe just for a filthy whore who delivers drinks?"

"Kill them if you will, as easily as slaughtering chickens and dogs. It doesn't matter who it is, but whoever insults the Iron Islands shall die!" Euron's voice was resolute and left no room for negotiation.

"Just—just for that 'little iron bastard'?" Wag laughed strangely, a cruel light flashing in his turbid eyes.

"Say it again," Euron's voice was low and menacing, like the approaching winter: "I'll have your Blood Play Troupe wiped out from the face of the earth."

Wagner Holt grinned, revealing a mouthful of crooked, yellow teeth, and suddenly roared, "Cut off his limbs! I want him to watch as—how we entertain this Greyjoy girl!"

Iron...bastard!

Euron laughed as he faced the oncoming forest of swords and blades. Instead of retreating, he charged into the enemy ranks like a black whirlwind. His twin blades transformed into two deadly silver arcs, churning up a rain of blood among the crowd.

His movements became unpredictable, like a piece of paper fluttering in a gale, always dodging fatal blows at the slightest angle. Occasionally, an attack that couldn't be completely avoided would land on him, but it would only make a dull "clanging" sound, as if striking a reef. Even if it pierced through his hard chainmail, the defense of his "Iron Block" meant that the swords could only leave a white mark on his skin, unable to harm him in the slightest.

His eyes were fixed on Waghot, who was retreating relentlessly. Every step forward trampled over the corpses of the Blood Troupe members, every swing of his sword was accompanied by a piercing scream. Finally, he closed in on his target.

A tall mercenary captain crossed his two swords and roared as he tried to block.

Euron's right sword slashed down with the force of splitting mountains and shattering rocks—the Dragon Slayer! The moment the blade collided with the sword, a teeth-grinding cracking sound rang out—the mercenary's two swords were simultaneously severed!

Euron's sword strike did not falter in the slightest, continuing its terrifying, devastating force as it descended, cleaving the burly man and his broken sword in two from head to toe! Blood and internal organs exploded in a horrifying display.

It's now a fight to the death, with no room for retreat!

The thugs of the Blood Opera Troupe roared with bloodlust and surged in from all directions like a tide, their eyes flashing with hatred.

"We outnumber them, let's kill this iron-blooded monster and avenge our brothers!"

Facing the surging enemy, Euron's lips curled into a cold smile. Instead of retreating, he advanced, his twin blades flashing in his hands like two sharks leaping from a tsunami, plunging into the blood-red crowd.

With the first slash, he precisely parried the oncoming longsword; the second blade, like a venomous snake, slashed across the man's throat, leaving a thin, red line. The man's eyes widened, and before he could even scream, he collapsed to the ground.

Euron's steps never faltered as he darted and weaved through the Blood Play Troupe, each step measured against the rhythm of death. Every dodge was perfectly timed, and every parry was accompanied by a deadly counterattack. The twin blades in his hands seemed to possess a life of their own, sometimes as fierce as a raging storm, and sometimes as unpredictable as a deep-sea current.

A burly man charged forward, a battle axe raised high. Euron dodged the fatal blow, his left hand, wielding a slewing sword, slicing precisely through the gap in the armor under the man's armpit. His right hand, dry and withered, swung swiftly, severing the wrist of the attacker from behind.

Amidst screams, Euron had already turned and left. A flash of light appeared, and another jet of blood shot into the sky.

This is a dance of death.

Euron's figure flickered erratically amidst the flashing blades, heads rolling and limbs flying in his wake. Blood rained down, reflecting an eerie glow in the setting sun. The ground was quickly covered with corpses, but Euron maintained his offensive rhythm without retreating an inch.

Twin swords hung at his sides, blood dripping from their tips, making a clear, rhythmic patter in the silence. Euron stood amidst the mountain of corpses and sea of ​​blood, like a war god stepping out of an ancient legend.

Wagh Holt's eyes were bloodshot. In a short time, nearly half of his brothers had died. He roared, "He's out of strength! Kill him!"

at this time!

The roar of horses and their bellies swept in from both sides like thunder. Two fierce groups of men charged in like an iron torrent, mercilessly cutting into the battle.

On the left, a contingent carrying a red banner with white bone hands—the Drow of Old Wake Island had arrived. Dunstan Drow led the charge, his legendary Valyrian steel sword "Red Rain" shimmering with dark red ripples in the sunlight, leaving a trail of blood and gore in its wake. On the right, the silver banner with black hydra of Salt Cliff Island fluttered fiercely in the wind, Dono Sucliff leading his men like venomous snakes, devouring the enemy's flank.

Further back, a black and green fur-patterned banner marked the Blackteis family of Kuroshio Island joining the battle, and Beller Blackteis's battle axe swung with a chilling aura reminiscent of the deep sea.

"Kill them all! Leave no one alive!" Euron's voice was cold, carrying an unquestionable authority.

The Blood Troupe mercenaries, already terrified by Euron's killing intent, completely collapsed upon seeing this and scattered in all directions.

However, a golden light flashed—a mercenary captain from the Golden Company unhesitatingly beheaded a member of the Blood Play Troupe who was fleeing towards him.

The massacre began suddenly and ended just as swiftly. Hundreds of Blood Troupe mercenaries were wiped out in just a few tens of minutes by the Iron People's attack, leaving mutilated corpses scattered across the sand.

Finally, Dunstan Drough grabbed Waghot by the neck and slammed him onto the sand at Euron's feet like a rag doll.

Euron looked down at the "goat," who was limp as a board yet still grinning, his voice carrying a deep-sea chill: "Now, do you know what kind of people the Iron Islands are?"

Waghot did not avoid the horrifying gaze. Instead, he spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva and let out a hoarse "heh heh" laugh. There was not a trace of fear in his turbid eyes.

Euron was unmoved by this display of toughness. With his left hand, his famous sword "Sakura Ten" swept across the ground like a bolt of lightning, and the head, still bearing a twisted smile, rolled to the ground, its blood quickly seeping into the sand.

Euron was covered in blood, but he still turned around and gave the Golden Company mercenary captain who had helped him a horrifying smile made even more so by the blood: "Thank you for your help."

The leader of the Gold Team laughed heartily, flicking the blood off his sword: "These scumbags are a disgrace to us mercenaries!" He glanced at the mess on the ground and said seriously, "I just want you all to know that not all mercenaries are as despicable as them."

Euron nodded to him but did not reply.

Ashara and Tyrion nervously pulled him away from the scene as quickly as possible.

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