Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 336 The King Killer

Before the morning light had completely dispelled the darkness of the Red Keep, Euron had already woken up when Cersei quietly got up.

Euron had his eyes closed, yet he could clearly perceive the subtle sound of silk rubbing as she left, and the lingering scent in the air...

The queen's cool, icy scent. He pretended to be asleep; perhaps it was more dignified for both of them that way.

Last night's events, shrouded in the hazy atmosphere of alcohol and power, resembled a passionate yet fleeting spring dream. It occurred during Cersei's most vulnerable yet lucid moment, an unexpected product born from a confluence of anger, humiliation, and ambition.

Cersei left without a trace of lingering affection. She had never considered, nor did she need Euron to be, "responsible" for this. Her world was constructed of colder, harder rules; last night was merely a fierce revenge against Robert's humiliation, a brief respite from her shackles.

Euron felt the same way. He opened his eyes, looking at the empty dragon's lair, without a ripple of responsibility stirring within him. The blood of the Iron Islands flowed with a more direct, pragmatic law. This was a fleeting affair, devoid of promises and future considerations.

Of course, they all felt immense joy during that fierce battle.

When the morning light fully illuminates the dragon's lair, everything from the previous night is sealed away.

Cersei remains the noble and cold Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, walking a tightrope of power; while Euron remains the newly crowned Duke of Harrenhal, the Lord of the Kraken.

In the early morning, the corridors of the Red Castle were bathed in pale golden sunlight.

Queen Cersei had risen, dressed in a brand-new, deep green velvet gown. Her blonde hair was meticulously combed, jewels gleaming at her neckline, her face radiant, her eyes calm. It was as if the room filled with vomit, drunken ramblings, and humiliation of the previous night, the repulsive groom, and everything that had happened in the dragon's lair were nothing more than a dream long since dissipated by the sunlight. She remained as radiant as ever, even possessing a newfound, regal, and austere grandeur befitting a queen.

When her gaze met that of Euron Greyjoy approaching, a perfect and appropriate smile appeared on her face, the same one she wore when dealing with other nobles, elegant and aloof.

"Lord Euren." She nodded slightly, her voice steady, revealing nothing unusual.

"Your Majesty the Queen." Euron also stopped and bowed, his tone respectful and his expression unchanged.

There was no extra eye contact, no hesitation or pause. After a brief greeting, the two, like two parallel lines that will never intersect, naturally brushed past each other and went their separate ways.

The sunlight briefly drew their shadows closer on the stone ground before quickly separating them again. A cold, unspoken understanding, based on a shared secret, was silently achieved in the air, and as they moved away, it quietly settled into the depths of the Red Castle's magnificent facade.

Today, as the final part of the king's coronation and wedding celebrations, the tournament begins in the wilderness outside King's Landing.

However, compared to the grand spectacle Robert had envisioned, comparable to Harrenhal, this tournament appeared exceptionally rushed and meager.

The conference lasted only three days, and its scale and number of projects were significantly reduced.

The most anticipated jousting competition had very few renowned knights among the participants; Jaime Lannister was the only truly recognizable star. The seven-way team and individual duels, which were usually the most exciting and bloody events, were cancelled, along with axe throwing, horse racing, and other competitions.

The pool of participants was very small; only knights and nobles in the royal domain and surrounding areas received the hasty notification. The most embarrassing aspect was the repeatedly reduced prize money—the champion of the jousting tournament would receive eight thousand gold dragons, and the archery champion four thousand, totaling only twelve thousand gold dragons.

This was a world apart from the enormous prize money that once filled the Harrenhal tournament, enough to buy the castle itself. This cast a shadow of meticulous planning and financial constraints over what should have been a grand event showcasing the new king's grandeur.

Compared to the legendary splendor of Harrenhal in Robert's dreams, the scene before him seemed rather shabby and cramped.

The stands were made of rough hemp and makeshift wooden structures. Even the captain of the Kingsguard, Sir Barristan the "Fearless," did not step onto the field to show his skills. He simply stood tall and solemn behind the throne of the King and Queen, like a silent snow mountain, upholding his highest duty of protecting the monarch.

Robert sat high on the throne, his enormous hands gripping the gold armrests, his eyes blazing with fury. During the opening ceremony, his face was terrifyingly ashen. He was filled with resentment towards this tournament, whose scale and prize money Jon Arryn had so drastically reduced; every simplistic detail seemed to mock his predicament as king, unable to act with impunity.

As the match progressed, his anger seemed to be replaced by a heavy headache from the previous night's hangover. His imposing body sank deep into his throne, his eyes unfocused, often drifting off to sleep amidst the fierce clashes and clanging of metal by the knights, seemingly out of place with the surrounding clamor.

Cersei, sitting beside him, maintained an impeccable queenly demeanor.

A perfectly measured smile graced her face as she applauded each victor, seemingly immersed in the festive joy. Yet, that smile, like a meticulously crafted mask, lacked any genuine warmth. Occasionally, her gaze would sweep swiftly and imperceptibly over her dejected husband beside her; that fleeting glance, too quick to catch, clearly contained a contempt akin to that for filth, and a chilling indifference that penetrated to the bone.

Euron only made a brief appearance at the opening ceremony of the banquet, symbolically fulfilling his duties as a duke, before leaving with Tywin Lannister, "Queen of Thorns" Olenna Redwynn, and Prince Oberyn of Dorne to gather in a council chamber overlooking the Blackwater River.

There were no drunken chatter, no insincere toasts, only maps spread out by candlelight, parchment covered with numbers, and calm calculations concerning enormous future interests. The four factions sat around a massive black wooden table, engaging in deeper discussions about the bank's various specific details.

In this high-level meeting, the most eye-catching figure was Tyrion Lannister's active participation. Since receiving Euron's public approval, this previously overlooked "little devil" seemed to have shed an invisible shackle, his confidence soaring. He was no longer just a passive listener, but actively involved in every topic.

Regarding risk rating, I believe a chamber of commerce guarantee system could be introduced.

"Perhaps the accounting system of the Old Town branch could be improved by adopting Dorn's double-entry bookkeeping method—"

Whenever he spoke, he consistently offered unique and constructive ideas that were both practical and forward-thinking. His sharp mind and talent for numbers even drew admiring glances from the shrewd Mrs. Olena. With his active participation and the deliberations of various industry giants, many details of the bank's structure, operating rules, and risk management were continuously supplemented, revised, and improved. The blueprint for a vast financial empire was becoming increasingly clear and feasible.

The three-day tournament came to a close, with Jaime Lannister unsurprisingly taking the title. He was unstoppable in the spear duels, winning every single one.

However, when he stood on the podium, receiving the championship wreath and generous prize money from King Robert, his handsome face showed little joy, only a faint, formulaic reserve. For the proud and arrogant Jaime, the overall level of the participants this time was far inferior to the star-studded Tournament of Harrenhal in his prime, naturally diminishing the satisfaction of this victory.

Even more embarrassing moments followed.

King Robert, clearly still recovering from the wedding night's hangover and some deeper discontent, laughed loudly in his booming voice...

A voice loud enough for the entire arena to hear, as he shoved the wreath into James's arms and shouted, "Well done, Kingslayer!"

It seems your sword is better at dealing with living people than with the Mad King! Hahaha!

The contemptuous title of "King Killer" resounded throughout the hall once again, like a public brand, with the king's personal endorsement.

Instantly, a low, suppressed chuckle and whispers erupted from the stands, their eyes flashing with mockery and the excitement of watching a good show.

Jaime's fingers tightened slightly around the wreath, his knuckles turning white, but his face maintained its impeccable, slightly arrogant expression, as if the laughter had nothing to do with him. His sister Cersei coldly watched her smug, laughing husband, and then looked at her pale, humiliated brother. She snorted and pulled Jaime away from the table.

In stark contrast, the archery champion who followed, a young hunter from the Stormlands, knelt on one knee with excitement and honor, respectfully accepting the reward from the king. He then immediately accepted Robert's offer to join the royal army and serve the Iron Throne.

The pure, overwhelmed joy on the young hunter's face, and the humiliation James endured when he won the championship, formed an incredibly ironic scene on the same podium.

The clamor of the banquet was still echoing in the Red Castle's hall, but Euron had already left early.

Upon reaching the secluded room, Euron took out the golden telephone snail. After a brief flash of light, Ilya's familiar voice came from the other end. After a short conversation to confirm she was available, Euron put the snail away.

Ever since he suddenly appeared using his Door-Door Fruit ability and unfortunately stumbled upon Victoria breastfeeding Caesar, Elijah and Victoria have imposed a "ban" on him. If he wants to visit again using this unconventional method, he must communicate with Snail by phone in advance and obtain permission.

Euron readily complied. He raised his left hand, the ring inlaid with the Dayne sigil shimmering. He drew his fingers like a knife, and casually slashed through the air before him—a spatial rift, its edges shimmering with light, appeared. Euron stepped through, his figure vanishing instantly into the night of King's Landing. The next moment, he stood in Sunspear, Dorne, in Elia's room, filled with a faint fragrance and warmth.

As night deepened, a rare warmth filled Dorne's chambers.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Euron and Elijah's relationship is progressing well. At least Rhaenys can now naturally call him "Dad," and Elijah herself no longer rejects his closeness. Instead, she often shows dependence and tenderness.

Euron had just played with the energetic little Caesar and the adorable Rhaenys for quite a while, until the two little ones finally rubbed their eyes and were taken to sleep by Westeros. Only then did he chuckle and turn to Elia, spending some time with her.

Afterwards, Euron rested comfortably on Ilya's soft thighs, his eyes closed, but a thoughtful expression lingered between his brows.

Ilya's slender, gentle fingers were lightly combing his black hair. She keenly sensed his subtle emotions and asked softly, "What's wrong? Is something bothering you?"

Euron kept his eyes closed, a faint smile playing on his lips. "It's nothing. The bank is about to open, the framework is set up, but I don't have a single person who truly understands how to run a bank and manage funds. Let alone those talented individuals who can stand alone and manage such a complex business." He sighed, opened his eyes, and looked at the ceiling. "The Seven Kingdoms had banks before, but they all failed and went bankrupt. There haven't been any banks for many years. People who understand these things are extremely rare, and I really don't know where to recruit them."

Ilya's fingers continued to gently stroke his hair. She pondered for a moment, then smiled and said, "Just because the Seven Kingdoms don't have them doesn't mean they don't exist across the Narrow Sea. Braavos' Iron Treasury has extremely strict control over its core personnel, so poaching people from them is indeed difficult. But—Telosi can."

She leaned slightly forward and said softly, "That free trade city-state is filled with banks of all sizes, fiercely competitive, with banks failing almost every day. Bankers are as numerous as hairs on a cow, but there are also often unemployed, bankrupt, or even homeless bankers. If you want, there are plenty of experienced candidates there, eager for an opportunity—"

Before she could finish speaking, Euron's eyes suddenly lit up, as if a lightning bolt had struck in the darkness. He abruptly sat up from Ilya's lap, his movement startling her. Laughing, Euron pounced on her, pushing her down onto the soft bed, exclaiming joyfully, "Yes! Tyrosy! How could I not have thought of that! Haha, my Ilya, you're so clever!"

This solved my biggest problem!

Elia blushed at his sudden enthusiasm, and with a mixture of embarrassment and annoyance, she spat lightly, pushing against his chest: "Pah! Who—who is your Elia! I am Elia of Dorne, of Martell!"

Euron buried his head in her warm chest and chuckled, "That was before. Now, you're mine—"

Suddenly remembering something, Ilya pushed Euron away and said solemnly, "There's one more person you should keep an eye on!"

Euron asked, "Who?"

Ilya said calmly, "Teochew Nestos!"

Euron recalled: "The Westeros chief of the Iron Bank?"

Ilya nodded. "That's right! You should know the rules of the Iron Treasury! That loan of two million gold dragons, overseen by Techu Nestos, is now sunk at sea, but the debt will be on Techu Nestos's head. Heh, with a loss of two million gold dragons, he has no other option but death. Unless—"

Euron's eyes lit up: "Unless, I'm willing to take him in! As the heir to the Golden Key, he knows many secrets of the Iron Vault, which would be extremely useful to me!"

Ilya sighed, "That's true, but there's one thing you must understand: the Iron Bank's relationship with the Faceless Men is closer than many people imagine. It's possible they employ Faceless Men—"

Euron laughed, "I should be able to solve the problem of the Faceless Ones!"

Before Ilya could ask any more questions, Euron had already silenced her with a kiss.