Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 229 I Might Be Wrong

Marin the Bloodhand, the pirate king, with his last expression of madness remaining, was casually tossed up by Euron. His head traced a precise and cruel parabola before crashing heavily onto the very top of the "Crown of the Sea Corpses," a monument built from countless dead souls. It became the newest and most "honorable" offering to this terrifying monument.

Euron walked slowly down the execution platform with a blank expression, his famous sword "Sakura-ju" quietly returned to its sheath, as if he had just completed a trivial matter.

His steps were steady, the soles of his boots striking the wooden steps with a monotonous yet clear sound that jarred in the deathly silence. He didn't walk towards the cheering or flattering crowd, but instead stopped directly facing the audience.

Euron's gaze swept past the silent representatives from all sides, landing with a chilling intensity on the direction of the delegation from the Kingdom of the Three Daughters. He watched them silently, the tension and commotion that had just been stirred up by Marin's accusations seemingly frozen solid under his gaze.

After a long silence, Euron finally spoke, his voice so flat it betrayed no emotion, yet it sent a chill down the spines of everyone who heard it: "I said the war was over." Euron paused slightly, his eyes narrowing as if scrutinizing some disappointing fact, "But it seems—I might have been wrong."

These words, though seemingly light, carried immense weight, like the prelude to the final judgment. He ignored Commander Gustav Drummond's deathly pale eyes, filled with urgency and panic, almost bursting with a defense, as if the commander and everything he represented were now utterly insignificant.

Euron simply turned around, leaving behind the deathly silence of fear and the unresolved crisis for all those who were deeply shaken.

Euron's gaze swept past the still restless crowd, landing precisely on the group of members of the new pirate alliance surrounding Edwin Ramirez. He stopped, his voice carrying a clear, scrutinizing tone: "You, are you the one who calls himself the Pirate King of the New Pirate Alliance—Pirate Captain Edwin Ramirez?"

Edwin Ramirez stepped forward, removed his peacock feather-adorned hat, pressed it to his chest, and gave a slightly exaggerated yet sufficiently respectful bow, replying frankly, "Yes, sir. I am honored by the brothers' kindness. I dare not accept the title of Pirate King. From now on, there will only be a leader, not a king. There is only one king on the Stone Steps Islands, and that is you, sir!"

Euron's face showed a playful smile, but his eyes remained cold: "As a member of the old pirate alliance, you dare to appear here, standing in front of me—aren't you afraid I'll kill you on the spot and eliminate any future trouble?"

Edwin straightened up, a shrewd, businessman's smile on his face, but his tone was neither humble nor arrogant: "You are now the undisputed crown of the sea on the Steps Isles," he said. "You yourself declared the war over, so all the grudges with the old pirate alliance should naturally be settled as well. Moreover," he subtly emphasized, "we did not participate in that war against you—or, more precisely, we withdrew from the battlefield as soon as the war began and we understood the situation. We chose to go with the flow rather than fight against it."

Euron listened quietly, his fingers unconsciously tapping the hilt of "Sakura Jū". After a moment, he nodded slowly, as if acknowledging the explanation.

"Pirates, smugglers, outlaws from all over the world—these scum are an integral part of the Steppes Islands, they were, and they are," he declared, his words carrying an almost fateful pronouncement. "From this day forward, all these active seafarers" will be under your command. I permit your new pirate alliance to exist.

His tone suddenly turned cold, carrying an iron will and undisguised threat: "But—you must learn to follow the rules and maintain order. You must clearly understand what you can take and what you absolutely cannot touch! Otherwise—"

He didn't finish speaking, but turned slightly to the side and casually pointed to the two hideous "Crowns of the Sea" in the distance, especially the two freshest heads at the very top, still dripping with blood.

"They are the best role models for all of you."

Edwin Ramirez glanced in the direction Euron pointed, his businessman's smile unchanged. He bowed deeply again, his tone utterly submissive yet tinged with a barely perceptible cunning: "Of course, my lord. From this day forward, your word is the only rule on this sea."

Euron faced the entire room, his face once again bearing that enigmatic, faint smile, as if the tense interlude had never occurred. He raised his voice, his tone even becoming warmer: "Gentlemen, you have come from afar, thank you for your hard work. Food and wine have been prepared in the hall; please do me the honor of joining me for lunch."

Having said that, he didn't even glance at the restless representatives of the Third Daughter Kingdom again—completely ignoring Commander Gustav's anxious, argumentative, and expectant gaze—as if they were merely insignificant decorations. He turned and, surrounded by the Ironborn Guards, led the way to the noisy, fragrant hall of the fortress.

Euron's departure made his stance clear.

All the merchants, pirate leaders, and representatives of other forces present were astute enough to immediately understand. Almost simultaneously, people began to subtly shift their positions, consciously maintaining a noticeable distance from the delegation of the Three Daughters Kingdom, as if they were carrying a deadly plague.

No one wants to be misunderstood by the "Sea Corpse Crown" at this sensitive time because of an unnecessary close encounter, and thus suffer an undeserved disaster.

For a moment, an awkward silence formed around the people of the Three Daughters Kingdom. Their faces turned extremely pale, alternating between red and white, filled with anger and resentment, yet they dared not lash out on the spot.

"What—what does he mean?!" A Mil representative said in a low voice, almost gritting his teeth, his voice trembling slightly with anger. "Did he really believe Marin's indiscriminate accusations before he died?!"

Another Rees representative interjected anxiously, cold sweat beading on his forehead: "He said at the end—the war is over, but it seems—I might be wrong." This clearly means—" The words were cut short, but the greatest fear had already gripped them all.

Is Euron Greyjoy really going to pin this trumped-up charge on them? Does his statement "may be wrong" mean that he needs an excuse to bring the war to the three rich free-trading city-states of Tyrosh, Lys, and Myr?

The thought of that possibility, and the destructive power Euron had displayed, instantly overwhelmed all their anger with an endless chill.

The oppressive atmosphere of being isolated from the crowd was almost suffocating. Commander Gustav Drummond took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the humiliation and panic in his heart, and whispered to his pale-faced colleagues in as calm a voice as possible: "Don't panic. It's precisely at times like these that we need to stay calm. Let's go into the hall and attend the banquet."

His cloudy gaze swept over the crowd who were avoiding him like the plague. His voice lowered, carrying an undeniable resolve: "Everything will be discussed with him privately after the banquet. We must make things clear!"

Upon hearing this, the representative from Tyrosi, standing to the side, showed no sign of relaxation. He simply sighed heavily, his voice filled with uncertainty and deep worry: "Hopefully—he's still willing to give us a chance to talk."

They exchanged a glance, both seeing the same pessimism in each other's eyes. No one held genuine hope for this anticipated "peace talk." Euron Greyjoy's attitude just now made it all too clear—it wasn't friendly, not even suspicious, but more like a cat-and-mouse game, a cold scrutiny as he searched for his next target.

What awaits them is likely not a conversation to clear up misunderstandings, but a deeper, more unfathomable political vortex, or even—the fuse of war.