Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 281 The Battle of Harrenhal

Just as the heavy east gate was pushed open, the sound of horses' hooves thundered from the inner streets of the castle!

Quasimodo and Lann Hoan, the two brothers, led dozens of cavalry and nearly a hundred infantrymen to rush over and head straight for the east gate that was about to fall.

"Open the door now!" Euron shouted at the Ironborn who were pushing the door open, while he himself stood in front of the door like a gatekeeper, holding two swords.

The iron gate was extremely heavy; even with the combined efforts of dozens of people, it could only be moved slowly. It would take some time before it could be fully opened to allow the army to pour in.

As the River Clan's cavalry charged towards him, Euron suddenly unleashed a massive, blazing fireball from his shoulder. The fireball was incredibly hot and bright, like a small sun. Strangely, it seemed to have eyes, a mouth, eyebrows, and a nose in the center of the sun. It was none other than Apollo, an elemental life form created by Euron using the Soul-Soul Fruit.

With a wave of Euron's arm, Apollo unleashed a torrent of flames from his mouth, creating a wall of fire that instantly engulfed the narrow area in front of the door.

The infantry at the forefront were forced back by the flames, screaming in agony.

However, urged on by the knight, the warhorse leaped up and, despite the burning pain all over its body, forcefully broke through the wall of fire! The cavalryman's lances gleamed with a deadly cold light in the firelight.

At that moment, the iron gate had only just opened a narrow crack, allowing only one person to squeeze in sideways. Seeing the cavalry about to arrive, Euron took a deep breath, his eyes snapping shut and then snapping open—

Conqueror's Haki!

An invisible pressure surged forward like a tangible tsunami!

That wasn't magic, but a powerful aura that transcended martial arts.

The leading warhorses reared up in terror, as if they had encountered a monstrous beast, throwing their riders off their backs. Many more horses seemed to have had their bones suddenly removed; their forelegs buckled, and they collapsed to their knees, emitting painful neighs.

Inside and outside the city gates, for a moment only the crackling of flames, the neighing of horses, and the groans of fallen riders could be heard.

Quasimodo Hoan and Lann Hoan stumbled to their feet from beside their startled horses, their longswords flashing as they drew. The two brothers did not roar, but simply stared silently at Euron, who stood blocking their way, their eyes filled with a mixture of despair, resolve, and a death wish driven by family honor.

Euron crossed his twin swords in front of him, and with a light graze, a burst of blinding sparks erupted. Crimson flames, as if drawing life from the void, suddenly coiled around the blades, transforming them into two blazing, fiery blades.

Without further ado, the battle erupted in the next second. The He'an brothers, one on the left and one on the right, launched a coordinated attack from both sides. Quasimodo's swordplay was steady and sharp, aiming straight for vital points; Lan's swordsmanship was more agile, specializing in attacking the lower body.

Euron's figure moved like a ghost amidst the flashing blades, his burning twin swords drawing dazzling yet deadly arcs of light. The flames not only brought the threat of burning but also obstructed his opponent's vision. After several ear-piercing metallic clangs, Euron seized upon a tiny opening in Lann's defenses, his flaming longsword darting into his gaping hole like a venomous snake, instantly piercing his chest.

Seeing his brother fall, Quasimodo let out a furious roar of grief, his attack becoming even faster, but his movements were now chaotic. Euron dodged the self-sacrificing blow, and with another flaming blade, he swung it upwards, a blazing arc of light flashing, and Quasimodo's sword-wielding arm was severed! Before he could even scream, Euron's backhand slash had already precisely grazed his neck.

The two brothers fell to the ground one after the other, their blood quickly spreading across the ancient stone slabs. Euron flicked the blood-stained flames off his sword and turned to look at the city gate that had finally opened.

The sight of the city gates wide open inspired the allied forces more than any war drum.

The soldiers who had fought fiercely outside the city erupted in thunderous cheers, rushing into the fatal breach like a flood bursting its banks.

The myth of Harrenhal's invincibility collapsed completely at this moment.

With Euron forcibly opening the east gate, the allied forces poured into Harrenhal like a flood bursting its banks.

The city's mere two thousand defenders seemed utterly powerless against the overwhelming and battle-hardened allied forces numbering in the tens of thousands. Moreover, the allied forces included unstoppable warriors like Robert Baratheon, exceptionally skilled fighters like Oberyn Martell, composed commanders like Eddard Stark, and enigmatic and powerful figures like Euron Greyjoy.

With such overwhelming superiority, the other main gate was quickly breached from the inside. The main battle at Harrenhal ended in a short time, and the banners of the rebel alliance were raised across the city walls.

Conquering a vast, labyrinthine castle like Harrenhal is far more complex than simply controlling a few gates. This colossal fortress, with its countless towers, cellars, secret passages, and abandoned halls, is an ideal hiding place. Scattered, desperate resistance erupts from the shadows, and stray arrows occasionally dart from unexpected corners.

The allied forces had to organize small teams to thoroughly clean the castle, like combing through a fine mesh. They cleared each tower floor, searching every corner and secret room where people might be hiding. This process was tedious and dangerous, requiring immense patience and time.

The last bit of resistance inside the castle was finally extinguished when night completely fell.

The remaining members of the Hean family and their loyal followers were either killed in the desperate battle or captured due to exhaustion. Harrenhal, this ancient and weathered fortress, finally fell completely into the hands of the rebel coalition after several days of torment. In the firelight, its shadows seemed to take on a different meaning.

After the fall of Harrenhal, a complex emotion permeated the hearts of the Allied leaders.

On the battlefield where the outcome was still uncertain, the He'an family was an enemy that had to be defeated without mercy; but when the city fell and the dust settled, when faced with these people who were ultimately victims of the mad king's tyranny, the thought of leniency naturally arose.

The dukes were all willing to make an exception and give this traumatized family a way out.

But the cruelty of war lies in the fact that it rarely provides a satisfactory ending.

After taking stock, it was discovered that among the direct descendants of the Hoan family, only the third son, Matthias Hoan, was still alive, but he was also seriously injured and his fate was unknown.

In the deepest bedroom of the main castle, a silent tragedy had already unfolded. The moment Earl Walter Hoan heard the deafening crash of the city gates falling, he calmly swallowed the poison he had prepared beforehand.

When the Allied soldiers found him, he was lying quietly on the huge bed, his face unusually peaceful, as if he had simply fallen asleep, all the pressure, humiliation and struggle had left him.

His wife, Sheila Hoan, neither wept nor fled. She simply sat quietly by the bed, gently holding her husband's already cold hand with one hand, and smoothing the silver hair from his forehead with the other. Her back was straight, silently guarding her husband's last dignity, as if the clamor and victory of the outside world were irrelevant to this room.

Outside the window, the bugle calls of the Allied forces celebrating their victory could be faintly heard, while inside, there was only eternal silence and the company of a wife.