Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 345 Baron Greyjoy, King of the Iron Islands

The heavy stone door of the secret room slowly opened, and the attendees filed out.

Despite the island owners' best efforts to restrain themselves, the radiant spirit in their eyes and the barely suppressed smiles on their lips were clearly visible to those waiting outside.

Those weathered faces no longer held their usual solemnity or drunken wildness, but rather a smile that was a mixture of immense excitement and burning anticipation, as if they had discovered a map of a deeply buried treasure, yet remained tacitly aware of it.

The ironworkers under the eaves exchanged knowing glances, and whispers spread like a tide.

Needless to say, this scene signifies only one thing—the ancient path to drowning the gods is about to reopen!

That ancient path, woven with honor and fear through iron and fire, will once again appear on the vast seas under the Greyjoy family's kraken banner.

Regarding the specific objectives of this voyage and the exact location of that uncharted sea that harbors ambition, everyone who emerged from the secret room remained silent.

Euron has given strict instructions that the matters discussed today must remain within the stone walls and are strictly forbidden from being divulged. This will be a secret to be guarded together until the longship truly sets sail.

The next day.

-

The main hall of Pike Island Castle.

Salt frost hung from the beams made of whalebone, dark green barnacles climbed the stone walls, and the candlelight was enveloped in salty, fishy steam.

Colum Greyjoy sat in the Seastone seat; this would be the last time he sat there.

The Sea Rock Throne—which resembles a giant sea monster—was carved from a single, dark, glossy rock. Legend has it that this rock lay on the beach of Old Wake Island when the First Men first set foot there. An unconfirmed claim is that the throne was left by visitors from beyond the Sunset Sea.

King Coron rested his left hand on the sealskin on his knee, while his right hand caressed a crown carved from dark gray wood—the Driftwood Crown.

Baron Greyjoy stood below the steps, his Adam's apple bobbing, he could hear the muffled thud of his own heartbeat against his leather armor. For thirty years, he had grown up in the shadow of this man, watching him crush rebellions with his iron hands and crush the spines of rebels with the Ring of Seastone, and now, those hands would crown him.

"Baron." Coron rose from his seat on the sea stone, stepped aside, and called out loudly, "Come up here."

Baron strode forward and knelt on one knee.

In the shadows beneath the throne, twelve "Ironborn Elders" of the Iron Islands stood in a row, their silver hair adorned with seaweed crowns, and they held battle axes inlaid with shark teeth. The eldest, Orban Greyjoy, coughed and handed a scroll of parchment to Coron—an ancient code of the Iron Islands, outlining the rules for succession to the throne of the Iron Islands.

Koren raised the driftwood crown high, gesturing to all the Ironborn watching the ceremony.

The crown gleamed with a deep blue light, having passed through the hands of nine kings.

"In the name of the Seastone, with the blood of the former king," Coron's voice was deep and resonant like a whale's song, "I, Coron Greyjoy, King of the Iron Islands, transfer the rule of the Iron Islands to you—Baron Greyjoy." He raised his hand and placed the crown on Baron's head.

The sharp edges of the wood hurt Baron's scalp, scratched his skin, and drew blood.

A low growl echoed through the hall as the Ironborn Elders slammed their battle axes into the ground simultaneously, the clanging of metal creating a tidal wave of sound.

Baron rose to his feet, the crown firmly set on his forehead. Looking into his father Coron's eyes, he placed his hands on his heart: "I swear by the waves of the Iron Islands, I will fulfill my duty and live up to this crown!"

Corren nodded, picked up a battle axe inlaid with black whale teeth from beside the throne, and tossed it to Baron's feet. It was the weapon symbolizing the King of the Iron Islands. He solemnly said, "Take it. Remember, the weight of power is measured in blood."

Baron picked up the battle axe; the handle still held the warmth of Coron's body. He looked up and saw on the stained glass windows of the hall that a sea monster was tearing apart a sailboat—the totem of the Iron Islands, and his future journey.

The waves crashed against the rocks of Pike Place, the sound carrying through the stone walls like a hymn to a new king.

Baron Greyjoy dons the driftwood crown and becomes King of the Iron Islands, while Coron Greyjoy, the "Old Sea Monster" who has ruled the Iron Islands for thirty years, will soon head to the more turbulent King's Landing.

The two stood side by side before the Seastone, Coron holding Baron's wrist and raising it high, as a tremendous cheer erupted in the hall to celebrate the coronation of the new King of the Iron Islands.

After that, naturally, came another round of fine wine, delicious food, and revelry.

For true Iron People, the allure of setting sail and conquering the waves is far more intense than the fertile fields of the Green Lands or even a prestigious title.

Although the Ironborn hold Euron in high esteem and even yearn to follow his banner, the vast majority would still hesitate to leave the embrace of the sea for an extended period and settle in Harrenhal, deep inland.

Ultimately, only a handful of three hundred Ironborn warriors were willing to bid farewell to the salty sea breeze and head to Harrenhal. This number was far from sufficient for that vast and ancient castle and the territory it needed to control.

Faced with this dilemma, Lisa came up with a practical and efficient idea.

The Iron Islands' main wealth no longer relies solely on the salt fields and mines of the seven islands; each island also possesses a large number of salt and iron slaves. She suggested that half of these slaves could be directly transferred to Harrenhal. Simultaneously, skilled blacksmiths from Ironsmoke Island could also be assigned to Harrenhal, which urgently needs to establish its own forging workshops.

Euron thought for a moment and decided the plan was feasible. He immediately ordered the message to be sent to the Seven Islands via ravens.

Soon, a massive force of three thousand people, consisting of salt slaves, iron slaves, and their families, gathered on the islands.

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Ironsmoke Island had always had two supervisors, Marvin Stephens and Atticus Whitney. Euron transferred Marvin Stephens to Harrenhal and appointed him as the head of the craftsmen in Harrenhal, along with dozens of blacksmiths and blacksmith apprentices.

Carrying meager belongings and tools for production, they, led by Euron himself, flowed like a grey river from the coastline toward Harrenhal, beginning their inland migration.

The scene on the other side contrasted sharply with the lackluster recruitment efforts at Harrenhal.

The Ironborn, eager to participate in the expedition to conquer the Summer Islands, flocked from various islands like fish drawn to bait, gathering beneath Pike City.

The Ironborn's eyes burned with a thirst for adventure, wealth, and glory, and their clamor soared to the heavens.

This campaign will be long and the front lines are far away, venturing deep into the unknown Summer Sea. The forces required will naturally be far greater than usual, but it is obviously unrealistic to send all those who are eager to participate out to sea.

After careful consideration and calculation, Euron finally determined the scale of the conscription: two thousand places for each of the other six main islands, and five thousand places for Pyke, the main island.

The order was immediately issued: each island's lord was to rigorously select the most elite and resilient warriors and sailors needed. Those chosen would return to their respective islands for initial, rigorous training.

Three months later, all the selected warriors gathered again in Pike City for a final unified drill and coordination exercise.

Combat training.

This order, like ice cubes thrown into boiling oil, instantly ignited an even more intense training fervor across the islands.

Every Iron Citizen who had the opportunity to participate in the selection was giving it their all, eager to become one of the two thousand and embark on that expedition that was destined to be sung about.