Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 217 Snake Fang Island

The fleet did not linger at Bloodsail Cape. Euron ordered two ships and necessary personnel to remain to clear the battlefield and deal with the surrendered soldiers, while the remaining warships once again hoisted their black sails and set sail into the vast ocean as the sky began to brighten. The wind filled the sails, and the bows cut through the grey-green seawater, leaving long, turbulent trails. On deck, the warriors polished their weapons and adjusted their armor, a silent anticipation of the next conquest filling the air.

Their destination was Snake Tooth Island.

When the fleet arrived, the island was eerily silent. There were no warning horns, no enemy ships to intercept, and not even any sentries patrolling the coast. The jagged black cliffs rose menacingly from the sea like the fangs of a silent beast, and an almost stagnant stillness pervaded the island, as if even the sound of waves crashing against the rocks had been swallowed up by some unseen force.

In this unsettling silence, they spotted a lone figure on the shore.

She was a woman with a graceful figure, her dark robe clinging to her curves and fluttering slightly in the sea breeze.

Most striking was her face—a mask woven from countless fine metal plates covered the upper half, revealing only her sharply defined jawline and a pair of deep, seemingly soul-piercing eyes. Sunlight occasionally pierced through the clouds, casting a cold and eerie glow on the metal mask.

She was Evelyn, the mysterious Shadowbinder of Euronmor. She stood alone on the desolate dock, as if she had been waiting for a long time, silently welcoming her master and his iron fleet.

The ruler of Snake Tooth Island was named Dag Riftthroat, whom the pirates called "The Laughing One".

The nickname stemmed from the horrific wound that ripped across his throat—a deep, bone-revealing gash, like an abyss. His vocal cords were long since shattered, emitting not human speech, but bursts of hoarse, intermittent, yet utterly manic laughter, which rang out during his killing sprees, sending chills down the spine. His face was also covered in crisscrossing claw marks, adding to his ferocious appearance. He had two passions:

First, he would behead his enemies amidst wild laughter; second, he indulged in debauchery. His fortress was filled with women plundered from all over the world, and he would often spend a fortune to summon highly skilled prostitutes from the Silent Bay of the Steps Islands for revelry day and night.

His end had already been written by Euron himself.

Long before the Iron Fleet arrived, the Shadowbinder Evelyn had already infiltrated Serpentfang Island like a shadow. She carried with her a secret poison that she and Maester Qyburn had painstakingly developed—a potent poison similar in appearance to "Stranger," but whose toxicity was insidiously delayed by a full half hour.

The Shadowbinder Evelyn blended into a group of women from Silent Bay. She changed into a gossamer-thin dress, her figure graceful, and her metal mask hidden in the shadow of her hood. Together with the other women, she entered Dag Ripper's noisy and filthy hall without any hindrance, thanks to her alluring attire and seductive demeanor.

The hall reeked of ale, sweat, and lust. Dag sat high on the throne, his cracked throat emitting unsettling, maniacal laughter. He was inherently suspicious, even when indulging in pleasure, he remained extremely cautious. Every wine and delicacy served was first tasted by his servants or the pirates nearby, and only after a moment, seeing that nothing had happened, did he himself partake.

The same goes for tonight.

The prostitutes giggled as they filled cups of mead and served them to the pirates in turn. Evelyn personally handed a cup to a burly man, watching him drink it down. Another cup was cautiously sampled by a female slave. Dag Ripperthroat observed with his murky eyes, waiting. Moments passed, and those who tasted the mead showed no ill effects, only increasing their excitement. Relieved, he took the cup, downed it in one gulp, and a satisfied yet terrifying gurgling sound escaped his torn throat.

He was unaware that the fuse of the poison had already been lit, and the hourglass of death was quietly turning backward.

For the next half hour, the revelry reached its climax. Then, Dag Ripper suddenly stopped his signature laughter. He clutched his stomach, his face contorted with shock and pain from the grotesque claw marks. He tried to roar, but only a series of choking gasps escaped his lips. Almost simultaneously, all the pirates and prostitutes in the hall who had drunk the liquor screamed and collapsed, their bodies convulsing violently, black blood spilling from their mouths and noses.

The once bustling fortress was suddenly replaced by deathly silence, with only the agonizing sound of suffocation echoing between the stone walls.

Evelyn stood silently amidst the carnage and corpses, her dark robes unstained by a single drop of blood. She coldly surveyed the silent hell she had created, her gaze beneath the metal mask utterly unwavering.

Oberyn Martell stood at the ship's railing, the light piercing the approaching dock and landing on the lone Shadowbinder. Evelyn's figure remained motionless in the salty sea breeze, her metal mask reflecting the cold sunlight. A complex emotion flickered in Oberyn's amorous eyes, culminating in a barely audible sigh.

“Three whole years,” Oberyn murmured to himself, his voice almost drowned out by the sound of the waves, “We traversed the seas together, exploring the shadows of Valyria, for three whole years we were together—” His fingertips unconsciously tapped the carved railing, his tone tinged with a rare, almost regretful sigh, “Back then I never thought that what I should have brought back from those ruins was not the ancient Valyrian steel, but such a talent.” He could almost imagine the role such a Shadowbinder could play, one that would be more deadly than any poison, more invisible than any conspiracy.

The warships of the Iron Islands slowly approached the shore, but the expected resistance did not occur.

There were no horns, no clashes of swords, only a suffocating silence.

The login process felt like a bizarre tour.

Soldiers, armed with knives and axes, silently surged into the depths of the fortress to carry out a chilling "finishing touch."

They dragged out from the cellars, storerooms, and even under heavy oak beds the trembling survivors—cooks, servants, and a few pirates who had been lucky enough to escape the poison. Pleas and cries were quickly cut short by sharp iron blades, abruptly silenced.

In the hall and corridors, even the already dead corpses were not spared.

Whether they were powerful pirates or alluring prostitutes of Silent Bay, none were spared from having their heads chopped off. It was a cold and bloody job; the Ironborn mechanically carried out orders, axes rising and falling, the dull thuds echoing across the empty island.

All the heads—terrified, lifeless, and bewildered—were eventually gathered on the open ground before the fortress. Roughly piled up, mangled and mangled, of various shapes, they formed a massive and nauseating pyramid. The empty eye sockets all gazed out to the distant sea, silently testifying to the conqueror's cruelty and absolute power.

This newly formed "Crown of the Sea" exudes a strong stench of blood, becoming the only and most terrifying decoration on Snake Tooth Isle, signifying that Greyjoy's rule has taken root here.