Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 243 The Future of the Greyjoy Family

Euron Greyjoy stood at the end of the shadowy corridor of Sunspear, gazing at the southern sun, which remained blazing even in winter. His gaze, however, seemed to pierce through time and space, seeing the blood and fire that was about to engulf him.

He clearly sensed that the war destined to overturn the balance of power among the seven kingdoms was imminent, and its arrival was even faster than the melting of ice and snow in spring.

As the sea ice began to loosen and melt away, Euron found Elia and placed a strangely shaped silver snail in her hand.

The object was cool to the touch, its surface shimmering with a mithril-like luster, and its shell was engraved with ancient, intricate patterns—clearly no ordinary object. He carefully taught Ilya and her most trusted companion, Victoria, how to communicate with him over a long distance through this mysterious creation.

This magical item amazed Elijah and Victoria, who marveled at the wonder of magic and the mysteries of creation.

Having done all this, Euron did not linger any longer, and formally bid farewell to the scorching sun and red sands of Dorne.

He must return to his fleet and his people before the storm fully arrives.

Euron returned alone, sparing himself the burden of a large contingent, and his journey became remarkably simple and direct. He did not travel by ship, but instead lay leisurely on the broad, ridge-like back of the colossal beast "King of the Near Seas." This terrifying sea king cut through the waves, its speed far exceeding that of the fastest longships, and sped towards the Iron Islands like an arrow.

Upon arriving at Pike Island, Euron leaped directly off the back of the "King of the Near Seas," waded through the shallows, and emerged from the icy water, his muscular upper body bare and soaking wet. The salty seawater flowed over him, making him look like an ancient god returning from the deep sea under the gloomy sky.

As soon as he stepped onto the familiar black rock beach, he encountered a group of children practicing swordsmanship on the beach; they were all future members of the Greyjoy family.

Those were his brother Baron's children: the older Rodrik Greyjoy, struggling to wield a heavy iron sword; Maren Greyjoy, competing fiercely with him; and Asha Greyjoy, who, though young, already displayed astonishing agility and a stubborn gaze.

At the same time, his gaze also swept over his three younger brothers: the tall and imposing Victarion Greyjoy, who already showed the makings of a fierce warrior; the taciturn but sharp-eyed Urgon Greyjoy; and the youngest, yet exceptionally composed Ellen Greyjoy.

The future of these Iron Islands all stopped what they were doing and looked at their uncle (brother) who had returned in an extraordinary way with awe and surprise.

When Euron Greyjoy strode onto the shore, all sound fell silent, except for the whistling of the sea breeze through the stone windows.

They swarmed around the newly returned captain like a tide, each pair of eyes gleaming with a different kind of longing.

The Roderick and Maren brothers were the first to push their way to the front, their young faces flushed with excitement. "Uncle Euron," Roderick's voice was trembling with barely suppressed urgency, "I heard you defeated three knights at the tournament in Harrenhal! Is that true?"

Maren then added, his fingers unconsciously gesturing towards the name: "They say you shattered the Golden Rose's shield with a single spear!"

Ur had just emerged from the crowd, the scent of sea salt still clinging to his hair. He grabbed Euron's fur cloak without a second thought: "Where's the giant beast! Where's the giant beast that brought you back? You promised to let me see the giant beasts of the sea! Are they really like the sailors say, some bigger than warships, with tentacles that can lift an entire manatee?" His eyes shone with a frightening intensity, as if he could already see the shadows in the abyss.

Victalion stood motionless, his arms crossed over his solid chest. His deep, thunderous voice boomed over the surrounding noise: "Matches are for children's amusement. Brother Euron, tell me about the battle on the Steppes. How did it begin? How were the supply lines maintained? What are the weaknesses of the fleets of those free-trading city-states?" His gaze was sharp as a knife, concerned with the truths forged in blood and steel.

Asha's clear laughter came from behind the crowd. She pushed aside several of her cousins, the double-edged daggers at her waist clanging. "War, sea monsters—is that all you know? Individual strength is the only true measure of power!" She raised her chin at Euron, her green eyes gleaming with a challenge, and grabbed his arm affectionately, saying, "Uncle, you owe me a lesson. You said you'd teach me how to use two longswords, to become a tournament champion like you—right now!"

Iren stood quietly in the corner, his fingers tracing the water pouch at his waist. When the commotion subsided, he spoke slowly, his voice hoarse like waves eroding rocks: "Brother, you must tell me how to hear the whispers of the Drowned God? Those ancient legends from the Gray Sea King era—are they still sung on the distant shore?"

Euron's lips slowly curled into a smile as he swept his gaze across every pair of eyes. He took the wine flask from his waist, tilted his head back, and drank it all in one gulp. Then he threw the empty flask to the ground with a dull thud.

"One at a time," he said with a half-smile, pointing to his still-dripping hair and trousers, "but you wouldn't expect me to talk to you all soaking wet—we'll see you at the banquet later! Alright, you all should start by learning from Mr. Raphael Ortega. My swordsmanship and footwork were all taught to me by him."

Euron bowed to his teacher, and then his figure disappeared at the end of the stone path leading into the city.

Raphael Ortega—the old coach with skin as rough as tanned leather—chuckled and looked away. He kicked the sand, raising a small cloud of dust, drawing the children's attention back to him.

"You little brat, stop staring at him!" His voice was hoarse, yet it cut through the seaside noise like a blade. "Didn't you hear what Euron said? His killing skills were all taught to him by me."

He abruptly drew his blunt training sword from his waist, the tip whistling as it sliced ​​through the air. Several young men instinctively took a half-step back.

"Stand still, all of you!" Raphael growled. "Show yourselves like this when facing the enemy sideways! Hide half your body, don't be stupid and offer your whole chest as a target." He demonstrated a nimble sidestep, his body twisting like a sea serpent. "Reduce exposure, avoid physical confrontation! Brute force is a game for idiots, and you want to go home alive for dinner?"

His sword tip suddenly thrust out, so fast it was just a blur. "Attack the vitals! Throat, armpits, groin—go wherever they're vulnerable. Move! Never stay in one place for more than a breath!" His boots slid across the damp sand, as steady as a seagull on a reef.

"Balance! A swordsman who loses his balance is a dead man, only not quite dead yet." He stood on one leg, the other dangling in the air, yet remained as steady as a rock. "Be swift! Be deadly! Don't try to dance like those knights in tin cans."

Raphael suddenly stopped, his gaze sweeping over each young face like a hook.

"Sharp senses!" He tapped his temple. "Fight with these, not just with muscles. Elegant killing can be an art. Control your fear, let it become ice in your veins, not fire burning your brain."

Finally, he sheathed his sword with a crisp clang.

"Remember: a true swordsman never needs armor." The sea breeze ruffled his gray hair, and in that moment he seemed to be the legend himself. "His speed is his shield, his insight is his armor. Now, all of you, step aside! Let me see if you brought your brains to the beach! Let me see how much of Euron's talent for swordsmanship you possess."

The teaching continues, and you can hear the Water Dancer's pride in having a disciple like Euron.

The waves crashed against the shore, making a loud, clattering sound, as if echoing this ancient and cruel teaching.

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