Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 213 Unexpected - First Battle!

On the high seas, Euron's fingers unconsciously tapped the edge of the nautical chart. Suddenly, he posed a seemingly simple question: "How long do you think it would take to sail from the Iron Islands to the Steppes?"

Everyone was stunned for a moment. As captains who spent their lives at sea, this was common sense ingrained in every Iron Man.

Finally, the experienced Dagmore cautiously replied, "My lord, if the winds are favorable, it will take at least twelve days. If there are ordinary storms, it will take at most fifteen days. Of course, this excludes those extreme storms that can capsize whales."

Euron's lips curled into a deep smile, like a whirlpool suddenly appearing on the sea: "News of our expedition must have spread throughout the Seven Kingdoms by now. Those guys on the Stone Steps Islands, with their ears glued to the waves, have naturally heard the news as well." He surveyed the crowd, his gaze sharp, "But what would it be like if we had appeared before them like sea monsters three or even five days earlier?"

A hint of surprise flashed in Dagmo's eyes: "That—will surely disrupt all their plans, like a sharp knife piercing their heart!"

"But—" His rugged face was filled with disbelief, "How is this possible? The sea never accepts bargaining."

The sea breeze swept through the cabin, ruffling Euron's black hair. He didn't speak, but his eyes held confidence.

Twenty Ironborn longships sailed into the waters off Qingting Island in a grand procession, anchoring and resting there without any attempt to conceal their presence. The fleet swaggered ashore, and the Ironborn people boisterously replenished their fresh water and dry rations, treating this once hostile land as their own port.

Earl Redwin stood on the castle terrace, gazing at the unbridled Ironborn in the harbor. A complex expression flickered in his eyes, a mixture of admiration for Euron's ability to assemble and set out in just three days, and a lingering sense of resentment.

Around the campfire at the harbor, the Ironborn looked relaxed and carefree, laughing and talking loudly, drinking fine wine, eating large chunks of meat, and boasting unrestrainedly about their past victories. If it weren't for the sharp weapons they carried and the battle scars all over their bodies, one would easily mistake them for a group of travelers on a sea voyage for warriors heading to the battlefield.

Earl Redwin descended from the castle and approached Euron, his tone slightly embarrassed: "I'm sorry, our fleet is not yet fully assembled, but we will catch up with you as soon as possible."

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Euron laughed heartily and patted the Earl on the shoulder: "It's alright, I trust the Redwyn family's reputation." His gaze swept over the Redwyn family flag in the harbor. "After all, we are now partners who share interests, aren't we?"

Earl Redwin's expression softened considerably, and his tense lips finally relaxed.

However, not long after the Ironman Longship sailed away from Green Pavilion Island, countless ravens took flight from the crow nests in the castle.

These black messengers not only carried the message to all parts of the Seven Kingdoms, but also flew to every corner of the Steppes Islands—the Iron Islands fleet had set sail and was heading towards that sea filled with bloodshed and wealth.

As the fleet sailed away from Qingting Island and into the embrace of the vast sea, completely out of sight of anyone on shore, Euron, standing at the bow, suddenly issued a perplexing order: "Connect all the ships together with iron hooks!"

Upon hearing this, Baron turned his head sharply, his expression filled with disbelief: "How can we sail together? What are you doing?!"

Euron slowly turned around, the sea breeze ruffling his dark robes. "Father did allow you to come, but don't forget," his voice was calm yet carried an undeniable authority, "I am the commander of this fleet. Execute orders, Brother Baron."

The brothers' eyes clashed in the sea breeze. Finally, Baron spat angrily, but turned and roared, "All men, listen up! Ships, grapple! Hook them together!" His voice rolled across the sea like thunder. "I'll see what you little madman are up to!"

Although confused, the iron people quickly carried out the order.

Huge iron hooks were hurled at neighboring ships, the chains clanging in the waves. Soon, the twenty longships formed an unprecedented, monstrous fleet on the vast sea, like a chain of moving islands.

When all the longships were linked together by iron chains to form a huge floating island at sea, Euron suddenly opened his eyes, a deep and unfathomable light flashing in them: "Now, let everyone experience the speed of our sea friends."

As soon as he finished speaking, the sea suddenly churned violently.

Hundreds of giant whales, sharks, and all sorts of unheard-of giant sea fish broke through the waves and circled the fleet. Even more terrifying were Euron's famous pets, the giant beasts known as "Kings of the Coast," the agile and ferocious "Sea Cats," and the "Saw Sharks" covered in steel scales, which were now swimming docilely beside the flagship.

Many Ironborn were so frightened they nearly drew their weapons, but were stopped by Balf and Dagmo. Euron personally secured the thick ropes to the "King of the Coast," the "Sea Cat," and the "Steelscale Sawshark," then turned to the stunned crowd and said, "Don't just stand there, use the ropes to lasso those whales and sharks."

These colossal beasts were as docile as long-trained hunting dogs, approaching the ship in an orderly fashion, voluntarily pressing their massive bodies against the gunwale, quietly waiting for the Ironmen to lasso them. Each time a lasso was successfully placed, they would tacitly dive into the sea, making way for the next behemoth, the whole process resembling a well-trained army conducting precise drills.

The Ironmen carried out the orders with trembling hands, their palms drenched in cold sweat. They stared in disbelief at what they were seeing, some even pinching themselves to make sure it wasn't a bizarre dream. These tough men, who could usually battle storms without flinching, were now speechless with awe at the extraordinary sight before them. The sea breeze, carrying salty vapor, swept over them, but it couldn't dispel the astonishment and awe that permeated the air.

Once all the ropes were secured, Euron pointed forward: "Let's go! Destination: the Stone Steps Islands!"

The "King of the Nearshore," the "Sea Cat," and the "Steelscale Saw Shark" took the lead and set the pace, with other marine behemoths following closely behind.

The linked fleet of longships shot forward like arrows, cutting through the waves at more than three times the speed of before, leaving an astonishing white trail on the sea.

The moonlight, like a rusted silver dagger, was slanted into the inky black horizon.

The cliffs of Blackrock Island were sharply sculpted by the bleak light, and the mottled moss on the rock face shimmered with a faint green light, like scabs that had never healed in a thousand years.

The sea breeze, carrying salty, fishy vapor, swept over the cliffs, turning the rolling waves into pale foam, which then slammed against the rocks again and again. The sound was like the bones of countless drowned people colliding with each other in the darkness, intertwining with the regular footsteps of the guard patrol, weaving an invisible and impenetrable net in the night.

On the Steps Islands, there is no safe place, nor is there ever a safe time. To survive long, one must be cautious at all times—this is the most valuable advice, bought with the blood of all survivors.

At this moment, the "Invincible Ironborn" was like a lurking black eel, silently hidden among the reefs to the west. The hull blended perfectly into the shadows, with only the figurehead—the ferocious sea monster statue—occasionally illuminated by the moonlight, its eyes gleaming with a predatory glint.

Euron Greyjoy stood at the bow, the light piercing the night like a hawk's flight. His meteorological knowledge allowed him to make an accurate judgment: "The tide will come in three hours. When the bright star sinks into the Tear of the Sea God, the thick fog will engulf the entire sea." His voice was deep and resonant, carrying an undeniable certainty.

Veteran Admiral Balf bent over the nautical chart, the dim lamplight casting a long shadow. The ink on the parchment, softened by the night dew, spread like a drop of congealed black blood. He dug his rough fingernails deep into the chart, his knuckles turning bluish-white from the force: "The sentries at the eastern landing point rotate every half hour, with ample time in between." He raised his bloodshot eyes, the flickering candlelight reflected in his pupils, "enough time for twenty longships to glide into the shallows like ghosts."

The sea breeze swept across the sails, producing a dry, grating sound like bones grinding together. As the two locked eyes, a meticulously planned massacre was quietly unfolding under the pale moonlight.

The distant lighthouse flickered in the tidal fog, like the last heartbeat of a dying man. Euron raised his copper-plated monocular telescope, the lens reflecting the harbor scene: massive breakwater chains rusted in the sea breeze, and the guards on the city walls casually prying open fishing nets with their spears to dry salted fish, appearing completely unguarded and relaxed.

"Their salt concubines are still drying their underwear on the deck," Glenn Gubler grinned, his gold-plated canines gleaming in the moonlight. "I heard that red-haired widow is the widow of some Green Pavilion merchant, and her breasts are whiter than salt from the salt pans."

Greton Gubler glared at his brother, annoyed. "They're not citizens of the Iron Islands, you idiot brother. Those aren't salt concubines." He gripped his battle axe, a bloodthirsty excitement flashing in his gray eyes. "But soon, they'll learn the habits of us Ironborn." The sea breeze carried the faint sound of laughter from afar, a cruel contrast to the impending bloodshed.

All the soldiers were immersed in the deathly silence before the attack, as silent as reefs. They silently chewed on their dry rations, which were as hard as gravel, and sipped the fresh water from their leather bags, clutching their blood-stained weapons tightly to their chests. Most of them closed their eyes to rest, gathering the power of slaughter in the darkness, with only the occasional trembling of their eyelids betraying the turmoil in their hearts.

"Now," Euron's voice was extremely low, like a blade scraping against a whetstone, "the tide is coming in."

Twenty longships, like a pack of sea monsters drawn by the scent of blood, glided silently along with the force of the tide. Their hulls scraped against the fine sand of the shallows, making a rustling sound like the flicking of a viper's tongue. The warriors opened their eyes, their pupils gleaming with a wolfish, eerie light in the darkness.

The lead ship had already touched the shore, and the first Ironborn warrior leaped into the knee-deep water, his scimitar drawing a cold arc in the moonlight.

The moment of slaughter has finally arrived.

Soon, towering flames suddenly tore through the night, illuminating the entire bay as bright as day.

Euron stood atop the city wall, coldly watching the defending troops scatter and flee like a swarm of startled ants in the firelight.

One young guard had his hair licked by flames and let out a mournful wail; another was pierced through the chest by an arrow from the Ironborn and staggered into the burning tent.

The first defender to approach was a burly man with a full beard, his shield comically adorned with half a loaf of uneaten black bread, as if he had hastily risen from the dining table to meet the enemy. The man roared and swung his sword, but the blade stopped abruptly midway as Euron's blade had already precisely sliced ​​across his throat.

Blood splattered on the scorching sand, making a sizzling sound, which intertwined with the cries and burning sounds from the bay to create a cruel nocturne.

The arrows tore through the air like iron locusts, emitting a deadly whistling sound.

The Iron Warriors surged onto the castle like a tidal wave, the sharp clash of swords and the muffled thud of bones breaking intertwining to create a cruel symphony.

Their fighting style was characteristically ferocious, with each swing sending sprays of blood and each strike accompanied by a scream. The battle continued until no one dared to raise their weapons in resistance, until the last standing figure flew the monstrous banner.

As the first crimson rays of dawn pierced the clouds, the beaches of Blackrock Island were completely dyed dark red, and the golden sea monster flags of the Iron Islands were planted along the coast like tombstones.

Euron stood atop the highest rock, the sea breeze billowing his dark cloak, his feet resting on a mountain of corpses and scattered spoils. The rising sun cast a long shadow behind him.