Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 255 The Capture of Seagull Town

Euron's fleet, like ghosts blending into the night, stealthily made its way to the outer harbor of Seagull Town, aided by the thick darkness and the dense fog summoned by the dancing powder.

By this time, the siege on land had been going on for a full day and night. The combined forces of the Eyrie and Storm's End were launching an offensive against Seagull Town with unprecedented ferocity.

The area inside and outside the city walls has been transformed into a living hell.

The raging flames devoured houses and towers, and thick black smoke, like an ominous veil, shrouded the sky, almost completely blocking out the moonlight and dawn. The cold stone walls were splattered with congealed and undried blood, emitting a pungent stench. The air was filled with the continuous echoes of the dying cries, the clashing of weapons, and the collapse of buildings, all composing a brutal symphony of war.

Euron stood at the bow of his flagship, gazing at the faint lights and sounds of battle emanating from Seagull Town harbor in the distance, and gave his Ironborn subordinates the final command: "Now, it's our turn!"

The horn of attack was not sounded by men, but by roaring flames and surging tides!

Euron decisively gave the order, and more than ten specially modified "fire ships," laden with deadly flammable materials, were quietly released. These death ships, carried by the precisely calculated tides and a perfectly timed gale, were like enraged venomous snakes engulfed in flames, their scorching tails trailing behind them, as they plunged into the heart of the royal fleet's densest anchorage.

In an instant, disaster struck.

Deafening explosions rang out one after another, and towering flames illuminated the entire harbor, even dispelling the fog.

Fueled by the wind, raging flames spread and leaped across the water and between ships at an astonishing speed, greedily devouring everything in their path. Wooden warships twisted and disintegrated in the horrific explosions, turning into floating charcoal and ashes. Thousands of warships serving the royal family within the harbor were completely paralyzed in a short time, before they even had a chance to set sail. The seagulls' proud maritime defenses vanished overnight.

Euron stood at the bow of the flagship, gazing at the infernal sea of ​​fire reflected in his eyes in the distance.

When the towering flames of the harbor illuminated the night sky and dyed the sea a strange and terrifying orange-red, it was the agreed signal for a simultaneous land and sea attack.

Clad in grey-brown chainmail, his gaze calm and serene, Eddard Stark abruptly swung his arm, personally leading the Vale Legion in a general assault on Gulltown as the vanguard.

The soldiers, wielding massive oak battering rams and under the cover of a dense rain of arrows from their own archers, surged towards the sturdy oak gates like a moving steel forest. On the walls, the defenders rained down arrows like locusts, and scalding oil hissed and dripped down with deathly screams, as warriors fell one after another. But the allied forces of Storm's End and the Vale displayed astonishing resilience; they formed shields, trampled over the corpses of their comrades, and advanced relentlessly, step by step.

"boom!"

"boom!!"

"boom--!!!"

The heavy impacts, like the heartbeat of a giant, shook the entire battlefield. Each strike caused the heavy city gate to groan in pain, sending splinters of wood flying. Finally, with a deafening, tearing roar, the city gate burst open!

Eddard Stark was the first to rush into the breach, his massive Valyrian steel sword, "Ice," gleaming with a pale, cold light in the firelight.

Ed led the charge, letting out a battle cry characteristic of the Northerners, and led the surging tide of knights and soldiers behind him, instantly flooding the city gate passages. A brutal and bloody street battle ensued with the panicked but still stubbornly resisting city defenders. Every inch of street and every house became a focal point of contention, the sounds of clashing swords and screams echoing through the night sky of Seagull Town.

As the flames in the harbor reached their highest point, turning the night sky blood orange, Robert Baratheon roared for the final assault.

Robert's massive figure, illuminated by the firelight, resembled a god of war descending to earth, his fearsome warhammer, "Skullcrusher," radiating a chilling aura of death.

Without further ado, Robert himself was the strongest banner of attack. He let out a battlefield-shaking roar and personally led the elite knights of the Stormlands in a devastating, overwhelming charge. They were like an iron torrent carrying thunder and storm, crashing irresistibly into the hastily assembled ranks of the defenders.

Robert charged ahead, and wherever he went, shields shattered, spears broke, and lives were mercilessly harvested like stalks of wheat. Each ferocious swing of his massive warhammer was accompanied by the ear-piercing screech of metal being smashed and the dull thud of bones being crushed; no armor could withstand the pure power born of rage and grief.

He easily tore through and penetrated the defenders' lines, leaving a trail of blood paved with broken weapons and fallen bodies.

Robert's gaze, like an eagle locking onto its prey, pierced through the chaotic battlefield, fixing its eyes on the fortified castle stronghold behind Seagull Town, the ancestral home of the Gledd family. It was the city's last and most impregnable fortress. Robert Baratheon's resolve was unwavering; he led a destructive torrent straight toward that castle.

On the walls of Seagulltown, Ser Leonor Corbry, the garrison commander, saw the colossal figure climbing like a god of war. He knew he was no match for him, but knightly honor compelled him to grip his longsword tightly, let out a defiant roar, and meet Robert Baratheon head-on.

His bravery was met with absolute overwhelming force. Robert didn't even use any technique, just three pure and ferocious swings: the first hammer, with overwhelming brute force, smashed down, instantly knocking Ser Leonor's longsword from his hand and splitting his hand in two! The second hammer, without pause, pounded on his breastplate, the steel armor denting and shattering like paper, the crisp sound of bones breaking clearly audible! The third hammer, the final blow, struck directly at his head, smashing the helmet and everything beneath it to pieces!

Sir Leonor's headless body fell to the ground, and Robert became the first attacker to set foot on the walls of Seagulltown.

Robert didn't even glance at the corpses at his feet; his eyes, burning with rage, were fixed on the Targaryen red dragon banner fluttering in the wind atop the highest point of the city wall. He strode forward, grabbed with his massive hand, and violently ripped the banner he loathed most from the flagpole, throwing it roughly onto the blood-soaked stone ground beneath his feet. He then trampled and ravaged it repeatedly with his heavy war boots.

After venting his anger, Robert raised his head and let out a roar that shook the entire battlefield, his voice filled with the satisfaction of revenge and boundless rage: "This is what happens when you support the Mad King!"

Just as Robert's warhammer shook the inner gates of the fortress, another destructive force surged into the city from the direction of the harbor.

Euron's Ironborn, like bloodthirsty sharks, stormed into Gulltown along the burning docks and crumbling defenses. Wielding axes and scimitars, they roared ancient war horns, leaving a trail of brutal carnage in their wake.

With a deafening crash of exploding wood, Robert Baratheon, with his unparalleled strength, personally smashed the last gate of the inner fortress with his warhammer. Splinters of wood and twisted bolts flew everywhere as the warriors of Stormlands, along with their duke, surged like a raging tide into the heart of the castle.

Inside the castle's lord's hall, the final resistance is unfolding.

Sir Lynn Cobbry and Earl Mark Grafson, two loyal royalist leaders, rallied their last guard in an attempt to put up a desperate resistance.

But they were facing Euron.

Euron moved with the speed of a ghost and the ruthlessness of a viper. His two longswords flashed deadly arcs in the dimly lit hall. After a brief but fierce struggle, Ser Lynn Cobbry was struck in the throat, his blood staining the family crest on his back. Immediately afterward, Euron struck back with deadly precision, piercing the blade that Earl Mark Grafson was trying to parry, and striking him through the heart.

The two nobles collapsed, dying in the very hall where their families had served for generations. Lynn Cobblestone's Valyrian steel sword—the Lady of the Empty—was taken by Euron.

Euron stood among their corpses, his expression indifferent, as if he had merely completed a trivial cleanup.

Essen Erin, the so-called "heir of the Vale" forcibly appointed by the Mad King Iris II, stood in the blood-soaked hall, his stomach churning. The heavy smell of rust in the air and the corpses lying before him almost made him vomit.

Although he gripped a longsword tightly in his hand, faced with Euron's oppressive aura as he approached step by step like a predator from the deep sea, he could only retreat, his face pale. His boot heels scraped against the cold stone wall, and finally, he had nowhere left to retreat.

In despair, Essen let out a scream that was almost a cry, and wildly thrust his sword forward. The strike was weak and powerless, lacking any speed, and posed no real threat.

A flicker of boredom crossed Euron's eyes; he didn't even bother to raise his weapon to parry. He simply shifted his body slightly, like a ghost, letting the futile sword tip graz the hem of his clothes. Then, Euron's leg swept out like a steel whip, accompanied by a piercing shriek as it tore through the air.

Navy Six Style: Tempest Kick!

The sheer force of the kick slammed into Eisen Erin's chest and abdomen, sending him flying like a puppet with its strings cut. He crashed backward against a thick stone pillar in the hall with a thud before slumping to the ground, completely incapacitated.

Euron strode forward, coldly surveying the man curled up on the ground, groaning in pain. He did not kill him, but instead signaled his men to bind his hands behind his back, dragging him along like livestock awaiting slaughter, until finally tossing him at the feet of Jon Arryn, the true Warden of the Vale, for his disposal.

Eisen Erin had long lost the glimmer of hope he had when he accepted the appointment. Tears streamed down his face as he prostrated himself on the ground, his forehead pressed against the cold earth. His voice, broken and trembling with extreme fear, cried out, "Your Grace—have mercy! For the sake of our shared Erin family, our blood ties—spare my worthless life! I was foolish for a moment, forced by the Mad King!"

Jon Arryn looked down at his distant relative, who had tried to seize his family's inheritance, his face devoid of pity, only displaying a cold, contemptuous sneer. He didn't respond to any pleas for mercy, but merely gave a wink to his guards.

Essen was roughly dragged to the center of the square in Seagulltown, where victorious Allied soldiers and countless Seagulltown garrison soldiers, forced to surrender and filled with trepidation, had gathered. Under everyone's gaze, Jon Arryn slowly drew his longsword.

There was no lengthy trial, only a swift and decisive execution of justice. A flash of sword light, and Ethan Arryn's terrified pleas for mercy ceased abruptly as his head rolled to the ground. Jon himself used his spear to lift the still-bleeding head, hanging it high beneath the plaque at the entrance to Seagull Town.

The frozen expression of fear on that head became the clearest warning, proclaiming the ultimate fate of all those who betrayed their lords and attempted to establish themselves as kings.