Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 194 Seven Teams - Winning the Championship

The seven teams each occupied a corner of the vast arena, the atmosphere tense and fraught with tension. The warriors of the Iron Islands and Storm's End stood side by side, while the two legions of the North stood closely together, trusting each other implicitly. The Golden Company, the Vale, and King's Landing's three teams were spread out, maintaining a wary distance from one another.

Harry Strickland, leader of the Golden Company, broke the deadlock first. His calm and pragmatic voice carried clearly throughout the room: "If you don't want to be the first to be eliminated, forming an alliance is the only sensible option. Look at those high and mighty lords; they will never truly look us in the eye. But what we need is not just dignity, but also victory."

Brynden Tully, the leader of the Vale, responded with a cold snort: "Some things are far more important than a victory in a duel. An alliance with King's Landing? Absolutely not. But if it's with you—" His sharp gaze swept across the Golden Company's ranks, "—it might not be out of the question."

Upon hearing the conversation, King's Landing commander Genos Slynt scoffed and arrogantly shouted, "An alliance? Who wants to ally with traitors and country bumpkins like you!" He then turned to the Northern camp and raised his voice, "Hey! Northerners!"

"Why don't we join forces first and clear out all these oddballs, then we can settle things fairly and squarely? What do you say?"

However, Genos's suggestion was met with laughter. Brandon Stark of the North, Euron Greyjoy of the Iron Islands, and Robert Baratheon of Storm's End exchanged a glance almost simultaneously. Robert's booming voice rang out first, filled with undisguised disdain: "Why don't we join forces and kick those gold-robed bastards from King's Landing out of there first? The sight of them makes my hands itch, and—" he grinned, adding, "—they don't look very tough."

Euron nodded with a cold smile: "Agreed. They are indeed an eyesore."

Brandon Stark succinctly summarized: "Yes."

Brynden Tully, nicknamed "Blackfish," and Harry Strickland, leader of the Golden Company, exchanged a glance and almost simultaneously shouted, "Agreed!"

In the blink of an eye, the situation on the field became crystal clear. The once arrogant "Army of Justice" had suddenly become the target of a coordinated attack by all forces.

"Then what are we waiting for?" someone roared, "Kill—!"

The battle erupted with a roar! The once arrogant Royal Guard was instantly thrown into a boiling cauldron, subjected to a fierce attack from all sides. Swords, battle axes, and spears rained down like a storm, and the golden-robed men didn't even have time to organize an effective defensive formation.

In just a few dozen breaths, the once arrogant golden-robed warriors had suffered heavy casualties, leaving behind the corpses of half their companions. The remaining fighters, utterly demoralized, dragged their wounded bodies in a panicked and desperate escape from the dueling circle, drawing a chorus of scorn and disdain from the stands. Fortunately, the match had just begun, and they were very close to the dueling circle's boundary; otherwise, they would surely have perished there.

King Iris II, perched atop the stands, witnessed his "righteous army" being besieged and annihilated in an instant by a coalition of forces. His eyes instantly filled with bloodshot rage, and his face darkened like the sky before a storm, a chilling black aura emanating from its iron-blue color.

His withered fingers gripped the armrests of the throne tightly, his body trembling slightly with extreme rage, as he muttered repeatedly in a low, hoarse voice, "Treason—treason! All of them are traitors! They should all be burned at the stake—"

All the nobles, knights, and even servants around him were well aware of the king's madness. They either deliberately looked away or pretended to be focused on the game on the field. No one spoke up to him, and no one even met his crazed gaze.

After all, this was just a duel that followed ancient traditions and rules. Victory and defeat are common occurrences in war, so how could it be considered "rebellion"? The king's words were just another out-of-control outburst of madness.

The remaining six teams created a new balance on the field. The Valley and the Golden Company quickly merged to form an allied force;

Meanwhile, the alliance between the Iron Islands and Storm's End, as well as the two legions in the North, remained firmly in place, creating a tense "three-way standoff."

"A three-way battle! Interesting, very interesting!" Robert Baratheon, far from being afraid, was instead ignited with boundless fighting spirit. His eyes turned bloodshot, and with a roar, he disregarded strategic coordination and charged headlong into the direction of the Golden Company and the Vale coalition, brandishing his warhammer like a mad bull!

Euron, witnessing this reckless act, couldn't help but growl, "That idiot!" His planned coordinated attack was instantly disrupted.

In stark contrast to Robert's hot-blooded enthusiasm, the two armies of the North remained as immovable as mountains. Brandon and Eddard exchanged a calm glance, choosing to hold their ground, observe the situation, and wait for the best opportunity to intervene.

Seeing this, Euron immediately ordered his troops, "Keep up! We are one. If Storm's End falls, we'll be the next ones left isolated!"

Upon hearing this, Baron grinned bloodthirstyly. He didn't care who he fought or who won in the end; he just wanted his axe to drink its fill of blood before worrying about anything else. He roared, "Kill!" and led the Ironborn warriors in a charge.

Euron charged forward, quickly closing in on Robert, who was waging a fierce attack amidst the enemy ranks. Robert was indeed like a god of war, each swing of his warhammer carrying devastating power; none could withstand its force. Euron seized an opening and shouted to Robert, "Fight and retreat! The North are watching, hoping to reap the benefits."

We must drag them into the battlefield too!

Robert was no fool; he instantly understood Euron's intentions. He swung his warhammer, shoving aside the enemies before him, and roared deafeningly, his voice even drowning out the din of the battlefield: "Did you hear that?! The North are just watching! The Golden Company, the Vale—I'm giving you two choices: either turn your weapons on us and take care of those Northby spectators first! Or," he pointed his warhammer at the allied forces before him, threatening, "we'll wipe you out now, then we'll deal with them!"

The warriors of the Iron Islands and Storm's End began to fight and retreat, spreading out slightly to the sides in perfect unison, like a tide quietly clearing the central passage and cleverly exposing the Valley and Golden Company allied forces to the Northern Legion, who were on high alert.

"Blackfish" Brynden Tully instantly saw through the scheme and cursed angrily, "Damn it, these lunatics!"

Harry Strickland, the leader of the Golden Company, also looked grim, but he weighed the pros and cons very quickly, his tone cold and pragmatic: "It's better to be caught in a melee than to let the Northerners sit there peacefully and reap the rewards of victory." Clearly, he believed that it was better to accept this forced shift than to face pressure from three sides at the same time.

The Northern Alliance, which had been observing from the sidelines and waiting for the opportune moment, suddenly turned ashen-faced. Their strategy of patiently waiting for the right opportunity had been completely shattered, forcing them to be drawn into this chaotic vortex prematurely.

The situation on the field reversed instantly. The Northern Legion, which originally intended to stand by and watch, was suddenly caught in a pincer movement between the Iron Islands-Windbreak Fortress alliance and the Valley-Golden Legion alliance, and had to deal with the threat from two directions.

Faced with such an unfavorable situation, Domilik Bolton of the Dreadfort remained calm and shouted, "Everyone retreat! Tighten the formation! Let them clash against each other!" The order was quickly carried out, and the well-trained Northern warriors moved in unison, transforming the original defensive arc formation into a more resilient and deep, tight cone formation.

This ingenious tactical adjustment immediately proved effective. The Valley-Golden Legion, which had originally been advancing towards the North, inevitably clashed on its flank with the Iron Islands-Stormhold alliance that was closing in!

The center of the battlefield was instantly transformed into a brutal meat grinder.

The three forces—the wedge formation of the North, the allied forces of the Valley and the Golden Company, and the alliance of the Iron Islands and Storm's End—are completely entangled and can no longer be distinguished from one another. A predictable three-way melee has thus fully erupted.

Euron maintained extraordinary restraint and rationality amidst the chaos of the battlefield, unlike his brother Balon who charged ahead with fanatical abandon. He was more like a calm firefighter, hovering on the edge of the battle, constantly observing the overall situation, ready to provide support in times of crisis or patch up gaps in the defenses.

The warriors of the Iron Islands, apart from maintaining their alliance with Storm's End and supporting each other, were attacking almost indiscriminately against all other factions, striking down anyone they encountered, their wild battle axes slashing mercilessly at any non-ally.

When Robert Baratheon, this "madman," broke all the tactical plans, the entire arena seemed to be infected by some kind of insane plague, and more and more warriors fell into a bloodthirsty frenzy. They only had eyes for offense, forgot about defense, and abandoned the idea of ​​retreat.

Everyone charged forward, almost all of them blinded by rage, their boiling blood and primal desire to kill completely overwhelming their reason. They completely forgot that this was not a real battlefield where it was a matter of life and death, but merely a martial arts tournament that, despite its lenient rules and the allowance of casualties, was still essentially a competition.

Amidst the deafening battle cries and utter chaos, Euron's figure was like an extremely calm ghost. He abandoned the warrior's frontal charge, and at this moment he was more like a precise and deadly assassin. The cruel teachings he received from the "Regretful Ones" in his early years had made him well-versed in how to seize that fleeting, fatal opportunity in the most chaotic moments.

His first target was Domilik Bolton, the commander of the Dreadfort in the Northern army. It was thanks to his calm mind and efficient command that the Northern Legion was able to maintain its resilient formation throughout the melee. He was the "brain" of the North at this moment. However, in terms of combat skills, he was somewhat inferior to the other leaders, making him the easiest to take down.

Euron moved like a ghost through the gaps in the fighting crowd. The intense battle had everyone's attention, and he seemed to be ignored by everyone, silently approaching Domilik. Only when the blade tore through the air and was about to strike did Domilik realize the deadly chill!

He didn't have time to raise his weapon to block; he could only instinctively raise his unarmed left arm to protect himself.

A flash of light appeared!

With a piercing scream, Domilik Bolton's left arm was cleanly severed below the elbow and fell to the ground.

Just as Eddard Stark, who was nearby, was furious and roaring as he tried to rush over to intercept Euron, the cunning attacker had already struck a blow and retreated without hesitation. His figure instantly disappeared into the chaotic fighting crowd, vanishing without a trace.

In excruciating pain and despair, Domilik Bolton, with his missing arm, was desperately protected by several Northern warriors as he staggered away from the bloody battlefield.

Euron didn't pause for a moment, like a hunter lurking in the shadows, calmly searching for his next target. His gaze locked onto Harry Strickland, the leader of the Golden Company. The soul and pillar of this renowned mercenary group was this "homeless" Harry. He was always within the core of the group's protection; in this frenzied meat grinder, his blade rarely even had a chance to be stained with blood, only needing to strategize, command, and issue commands.

Euron once again used his bizarre movement technique—[Paper Drawing]!

His body seemed to have lost all weight, transforming into a ghostly figure of distorted light and shadow. With an unnatural flexibility and elusiveness, he moved freely through the impenetrable clash of swords and shadows, and incredibly got close to the heavily protected Harry Strickland.

Like the silent arrival of death, a cold glint of light flashed—

The next second, the head of Harry Strickland, the leader of the Golden Company, had already left his shoulder.

Euron had already disappeared once again into the chaotic battle, as if he had never appeared.

The sudden death of Harry Strickland, the leader of the Golden Company, was like a blow to the backbone of this mercenary group. They had stepped onto the Harrenhal arena because of their leader's strong desire to return and his thirst for glory. Now that their leader had fallen so suddenly, their hopes of winning the championship seemed extremely slim. Continuing to fight in this bloody meat grinder had lost all meaning.

The surviving captains quickly exchanged glances, and one of them blew a sharp, specific whistle—the signal for the Golden Company to retreat. Upon hearing the sound, the remaining members immediately moved towards the center, forming a tight defensive formation. While vigilantly blocking any possible attacks, they began to retreat slowly and methodically.

They painstakingly withdrew step by step from the core area of ​​the fiercest fighting until they were completely out of the battle. Once they had a safe distance, the entire team did not hesitate and immediately turned around, retreating from the arena at top speed, leaving the melee and noise behind them.

Ever since Euron's ghostly attack that severed Domirick Bolton's arm, Brandon and Eddard Stark have been constantly on guard against his movements, wary of him launching another deadly sneak attack.

The sudden retreat of the Golden Company instantly shifted the pressure on the battlefield. Brynden Tully, the "Black Fish" of the Vale, immediately felt the increased threat. He let out a sharp and loud shout, ordering his Vale warriors to quickly tighten their formation and adopt a more solid defensive posture.

Euron, who had been calmly observing the situation, no longer played the role of a hidden assassin. He saw this fleeting opportunity and loudly issued the order to his allies: "Main force, concentrate fire on the valley! Crush them in one fell swoop!"

On the other side, though blinded by rage, Robert Baratheon, as a skilled warrior and lord, also possessed a keen understanding of the battle situation. Hearing Euron's shout, he didn't hesitate for a moment, immediately unleashing a battle cry. His warhammer swung in a deadly spinning arc, like a storm sweeping everything, as he charged headlong towards "Blackfish" Brynden Tully!

Faced with the sudden change in the battle situation, the Iron Islands-Stormhold alliance quickly made tactical adjustments: the side facing the north immediately reduced its attacking forces and adopted a solid defensive posture to resist possible counterattacks; while the side facing the valley poured all its remaining forces into a relentless all-out attack.

Without the Golden Legion, the Valley Legion, facing two opponents at once, could not withstand the sudden and fierce attack. Their defensive line was quickly torn apart, and the soldiers fell one after another, suffering heavy losses in no time.

Seeing that defeat was inevitable, Brynden Tully, nicknamed "Blackfish," knew that continuing the fight would only increase casualties. He gritted his teeth and forced out a command, filled with resentment yet crystal clarity: "Withdraw!"

Once the order was given, the remaining Valley warriors quickly rallied, protecting their commander, fighting and retreating until they were completely out of the arena. The Valley warriors were nowhere to be seen in the final team tournament at Harrenhal.

The situation instantly became clear and obvious.

As the Vale forces withdrew, the bustling battlefield suddenly became empty, leaving only two sides facing off: on one side was the alliance of Euron's Iron Islands and Storm's End under Robertmore, and on the other side were the two Northern Legions jointly commanded by Brandon and Eddard.

Robert Baratheon flicked the blood from his warhammer, grinning with a mixture of battle lust and exhilaration, revealing his gleaming white teeth. His booming voice echoed throughout the arena: "Now, the situation is finally clear! Come, let's settle this fair and square!"

Although it was a two-on-two situation with roughly equal numbers of players remaining on both sides, making the outcome seem uncertain, Euron's lips curled into a confident smile—he was certain that victory would be his.

The reason couldn't be simpler: Domilik Bolton of the Dreadfortress was not only seriously injured and forced to withdraw, but more importantly, the Northern Legion he led was essentially centered around the Bolton family's elite troops. Domilik's sudden departure was like removing the soul and pillar of this army, causing the morale of the remaining warriors to crumble.

During the chaotic battle, Euron observed that the soldiers were clearly hesitant between "continuing to fight to the death" and "giving up and retreating," their offensive was no longer decisive, and their defense seemed sluggish.

At this moment, all they need is a relentless and overwhelming attack. A single bloody battle, applying the final pressure, will surely cause this team, which has lost its leader, to collapse in morale and scatter.

Euron was not about to give the North any respite. He lowered his voice and decisively shouted, "Charge! Go all in! Don't give them time to regroup!"

While meticulous tactical planning might require some deliberation, the purest and most brutal form of attack—pleasingly reckless and all-out assault, cutting down anyone in sight and killing every enemy—is precisely the domain of Robert Baratheon and Balon Greyjoy!

At the command, Robert immediately let out a deafening battle cry and charged forward like the eye of a storm; Baron grinned bloodthirstyly and led the Ironborn in a roaring charge. The steel torrent surged forward once more, heading straight for the North's lines, whose morale was already wavering.

As expected, while the Stark warriors of Winterfell were still fighting desperately, another Northern army, the "Glory of the Old Gods," composed of Bolton and Umber families, had completely lost their will to fight. They initially retreated to avoid the onslaught, but eventually their formation collapsed completely, and the survivors scattered in all directions, scrambling to escape the boundaries of the tournament.

Brandon Stark, witnessing this, gritted his teeth in fury, veins bulging on his forehead. But the battle was now beyond saving. He spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva, and finally, with extreme resentment, gave the order: "Retreat! We surrender!" He led the remaining Stark warriors slowly out of the battlefield.

The dust has temporarily settled in the deafening arena.

The allied forces watched as the entire Northern Legion departed, leaving not a single one behind. The situation on the field suddenly shifted once again, ultimately turning into a one-on-one final showdown:

The alliance between the Iron Islands and Storm's End is now facing off against each other.

Former allies slowly parted to the sides, the Iron Islands warriors silently and swiftly gathering behind Euron Greyjoy, while the Storm's End soldiers equally steadfastly thronged around Robert Baratheon.

During the withdrawal, both sides watched each other warily, the air thick with tension and mutual respect. The honor of the soldiers compelled them to abide by the rules at this moment, and no one took the opportunity to attack.

The Iron Islands side had forty-two men remaining, while Windbreak Keep had thirty-six. Although there was a slight difference in numbers, both sides were exhausted but highly motivated elite troops after a fierce battle.

Euron's gaze swept over Robert and the warriors behind him, a complex smile playing on his lips, and he slowly said, "It's that time of year again."

Upon hearing this, Robert let out his characteristic loud and hearty laughter, which dispelled some of the tension but ignited an even fiercer fighting spirit: "Hahahaha! You're right, buddy! Enough talk, let's settle this here and now!"

Euron stood with his sword in hand, calmly looking at Robert: "How shall we decide this final battle? Shall we have a one-on-one duel, or shall the brothers have another team battle?" He threw the choice to Robert.

Robert raised his thick eyebrows, a hint of mockery in his voice, and retorted, "You want me to choose?"

Euron's face broke into an undisguised smile of confidence. He declared loudly, "No matter what you choose, the advantage is mine. In a one-on-one duel, I'm the undisputed champion, killing you is a piece of cake; in a team battle," he paused, his gaze sweeping over the larger, less wounded Ironborn warriors behind him, "we have the numerical advantage and fewer injuries. By any measure, this championship should belong to the Iron Islands, shouldn't it!"

"Roar~~~Roar~~~Roar~~~"

Before he finished speaking, all the Iron People warriors behind him erupted in a wild, tsunami-like cheer and the clanging of weapons, cheering on their leader's confidence and strength.

Upon hearing this, Robert abruptly raised his terrifying warhammer high above his head, his deep laughter booming like thunder, filled with untamed wildness: "A champion in a duel? Does wearing a laurel wreath make you invincible in the Seven Kingdoms?! How shallow and laughable!" His deafening laughter abruptly ceased, but his eyes burned with a fierce, surging fighting spirit. "Just because you killed a Mountain who was all brute force and no skill, you dare to be so arrogant?! Have you forgotten that on this vast Westeros, the Sword of the Morning, Arthur Dayne, and the fearless Barristan Selmy walk?" His voice rose again, shaking the entire arena like a declaration, finally slamming his warhammer heavily on the ground, producing a dull thud, proclaiming his name: "6

"And I am Robert Baratheon, burning with fury!"

He abruptly turned to the warriors of Storm's End behind him, his booming voice like the beating of war drums: "Brothers! I'll personally teach him a lesson right now, let him know who the true number one in the Seven Kingdoms is! How about it?"

"Good!!" The warriors of Windbreak Fortress roared deafeningly, their fighting spirit soaring into the sky as if it were a tangible force, and the huge sound waves echoed throughout the arena.

"Ha~~~ha~~~ha~~~!"

However, they were unaware that Euron had already used the strange power of the Soul-Soul Fruit to quietly consume his soul points and repair all the physical and mental damage he had suffered, returning him to his peak condition. Robert, though incredibly brave, had been exhausted after a series of bloody battles, relying solely on his indomitable fighting spirit and strong physique to keep going.

From the moment Robert generously agreed to the duel, the balance of the contest had already shifted.

Upon hearing this, Youlun crossed his twin swords in front of him, and with a "boom," blazing flames erupted from the blades. The dazzling fire and rolling heat waves instantly drew a tsunami-like roar from the stands, creating a spectacular scene.

Robert simply grinned, his voice booming, "Ha! A mere trick, yet you dare to show it off! Even the jesters at my Storm's End banquets can perform such a feat better!"

Before he finished speaking, Euron no longer used the hit-and-run tactics he had employed against the Mountain, but instead launched a fierce and relentless attack! His movements were as fast as lightning, and his twin blades transformed into two roaring fire dragons, his attacks relentless, constantly drawing dazzling streaks of fire in the sky, as if weaving a deadly net of flames.

Robert's strength was unparalleled, and each swing of his warhammer produced a terrifying whooshing sound, creating an immense spectacle. However, Euron's movements were incredibly agile and unpredictable; the heavy warhammer seemed poised to strike, yet he always narrowly avoided it at the last moment.

On the contrary, in this fierce battle, almost every two or three breaths, Euron's burning twin blades could accurately find an opening, adding one after another scorching and burning wound to Robert's strong body.

Finally, as Robert's offensive faltered for a fleeting moment due to his rapidly depleting strength, Euron's eyes flashed with a sharp light: [Shave!]

His figure blurred instantly, appearing like a ghost behind Robert, the twin blades, still glowing with embers, already positioned firmly on either side of Robert's neck. The cold blades and scorching flames pressed against his skin simultaneously.

The warriors of Windbreak Castle cried out in alarm and prepared to rush forward to rescue their lord.

The one-on-one duel has already decided the outcome.

The winner is Euron Greyjoy!

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