Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 297 The King Killer

Euron's patience had long since run out. Varys' lips moved slightly, as if he still wanted to use his silver tongue to negotiate a few more words, or to throw out some secret as a bargaining chip.

But Euron didn't give him a chance to speak. He didn't even bother to listen to any potentially swaying words, and instead struck with lightning speed, delivering a precise chop to the back of Varys's neck. The glint of light that had just appeared in the spider's eyes vanished instantly, and his body went limp.

Euron deftly tied him up with the prepared rope, then tossed him onto his shoulder like a piece of cargo and turned to leave.

Soon after, another important "guest" arrived at the dark basement of the inn next to the Red Keep. Varys was carelessly left in a corner, to keep company with the six captured pyromancers, and together they sank into the darkness of unconsciousness.

Elana, who played a key role in the operation, remained quietly in the basement. She did not ask to leave, and Euron had no intention of letting her return to the bloody hell outside at this time.

King's Landing, especially the Red Keep, the heart of power, has become a killing field. Lannister soldiers are ravaging the land, and any trivial pretext could lead to death. Euron will not allow her carefully cultivated and recently proven spy to die meaninglessly in the chaos.

She was one of the pawns he had planted in the Red Castle, and her usefulness would be even greater in the future than it is today.

In the distance, the flames of King's Landing pierced the night sky. Upon seeing this, Eddard Stark immediately sent a messenger to Euron's camp to report the military situation.

His response was that Lord Euron had already led a portion of the Ironborn to King's Landing. Eddard did not dwell on this somewhat abrupt action; with the battle situation pressing, he immediately ordered the main force of the allied army to set off at full speed, heading straight for King's Landing.

When the vanguard of the Allied forces arrived at the gates of King's Landing, a chaotic cacophony of hooves and shouts of battle echoed from within the heavy city gates. Eddard assumed it was Euron's Ironborn fighting a fierce battle inside the city, unaware that Euron Greyjoy had already infiltrated the Red Keep like a phantom once more.

The allied forces have arrived, and the Lannister banners fly in the streets and alleys, but what Euron most wants to see at this moment is the final fate of the once invincible Mad King Aerys Targaryen.

Inside the Iron Throne Hall, when news of Tywin's betrayal finally arrived, Aerys II did not erupt in fury. Instead, he let out a chilling, shrill laugh. His withered, claw-like fingers clutched tightly the jar of emerald wildfire in his arms, and an eerie light flickered in his pupils.

"Excellent!" he hissed, his voice like the scraping of rusty chains. "When that usurper and his rebellious lackeys step into the square—set it all ablaze! What I want for him is not King's Landing, not the capitals of the Seven Kingdoms, but charred bones and roasted flesh!"

The mad king abruptly turned his head, his withered fingers gripping Jaime's pure white cloak tightly: "Go! Go and bring me the head of your traitorous father!"

James's sword trembled almost imperceptibly in its scabbard.

He didn't move, but images flashed through his mind: Queen Leila's suppressed sobs in her chambers, the unmistakable bruises on her neck as she fled to Dragonstone, the muffled thud of Brandon Stark's throat bones shattering as he was slowly strangled by the iron collar, Rickard Stark's slow, burning death, and Ser Colton Chase's gruesome demise—

Just then, the fire mage, having received the order, raised his torch and rushed toward the entrance to the Wildfire Passage.

In a flash, Jaime moved. He caught up with the pyromancer in a few strides, his sword flashing like a cold light, piercing precisely into the back of the pyromancer. The pyromancer didn't even have time to cry out before collapsing to the ground, his torch rolling away, illuminating Jaime's expressionless face.

In a short while, Jaime reappeared at the entrance to the throne room. He walked back to Aerys' side, the longsword in his hand stained with warm, sticky blood, which dripped from the tip onto the cold stone floor, blooming into dark red flowers.

Aerys II cowered in the immense shadow cast by the Iron Throne, like a startled serpent. He stared intently at the dripping blood, a sliver of morbid hope flickering across his withered face, his voice dry and trembling: "It's—it's Tywin's blood?"

“No,” Jaime’s voice was eerily calm as he continued to approach, “it’s the blood of a pyromancer.” Each step was like a death knell. “The Wildfire Project ends here, Your Majesty.”

After a brief silence, Iris erupted in a desperate roar: "I still have Rosat!!" He leaped from the throne like a madman, his withered hands seemingly trying to grasp some illusory authority, lunging towards the steps.

In that instant, the sword light flashed like a cold lightning bolt.

A crimson arc bloomed at Aerys's throat. Blood gushed forth, flowing down the twisted, black steel blade of the Iron Throne like the bloody tears of a dying dragon. Before Aerys's body could fall, Jaime's second sword pierced precisely from behind, penetrating his heart and pinning the mad king's mangled body firmly to the steps leading to the Iron Throne.

"Fire should not devour innocent people."

Jaime stared at Aerys II's wide-open eyes and contorted face, an expression forever frozen between madness and astonishment. He slowly held the longsword in his hands, silently wiping the hot blood from the blade with a corner of his white robe.

The blood-stained cloth seemed to be the remnants of his vow.

"I am a member of the Kingsguard," he whispered, his voice so soft that only he could hear, "and a betrayer of my oath. From this day forward, the infamy of 'Kingslayer' will, like this blood, forever stain my soul."

He raised his head, letting the light shine over the mad king's corpse and onto the towering Iron Throne, forged from hundreds of swords.

It stood high above, cold and menacing, its ominous glow gleaming in the dim firelight.

Outside the window, King's Landing was in chaos, filled with cries and the sounds of fighting. Yet, within this heart of power, an eerie silence pervaded the city. A sudden, irresistible urge surged within Jaime; he wanted to sit on it.

He wanted to know what kind of magic this twisted chair possessed that could cause fathers and sons to kill each other, brothers to fight each other, and drive countless heroes and villains mad, willing to risk everything, including honor and life.

Once the thought took hold, it spread like wildfire. He strode forward, stepping over the sticky pool of blood, toward the Iron Throne, the symbol of supreme power in the Seven Kingdoms.