Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 351 Jalabar Sol – The Summer Islands Uprising

Zhalle Island is the largest and least populated island in the Summer Islands. The island has two canyons, Red Flower Valley and Sweet Lotus Valley, which resemble scars on the earth. Tantou Town is located at the confluence of the canyons.

This place should have been a prosperous paradise for merchants and travelers, but it has been shrouded in the shadow of greed and oppression.

Jalaba Sol, the prince of Red Flower Valley, witnessed the fragmentation and decay of the Summer Isles from a young age.

In the halls of Pike City, Jalabar Thal, the exiled prince of Redflower Valley, stood before the leaders of the Iron Islands, recounting the reasons for his war and his eventual defeat and exile.

“In the Summer Isles,” Jalabar began, his gaze sweeping over Euron and every island lord present, “war was once an ancient and grand ritual.”

Jalaba described the old customs he had personally torn apart: before the battle, both sides would send out "peace singers" who, accompanied by parrots with feathers dyed rainbow colors, would chant ancestral covenants and ancient laws in their dialects before the battle lines. If one side insisted on fighting, they could blow a war horn inlaid with black pearls. Afterward, the warriors would don heavy armor adorned with seashells and corals, and the tips of their spears had to be painted turmeric to signify that this was a glorious "battle of the rainbow spears."

“According to tradition,” Jalaba sighed, a mixture of nostalgia and utter contempt, “such battles last for days, with heavy casualties and rivers of blood, yet rarely result in the extinction of an entire race. It’s more like a grand performance of life-sacrifice, all within ancient rules.” His tone shifted abruptly, his voice rising sharply as he roared, “But I tore it apart!”

"What I've started isn't just another war of spears following ancestral traditions." He surveyed the crowd, his eyes burning with the flames of conquest: "What I've started is a rebellion!"

Jalabar gripped his spear tightly and shouted, "Like King Robert today, and Aerys the Mad King who rose in rebellion against his tyranny! Does he seek to follow the ancient dueling rules of the Andals? No! He wants to overthrow the entire dynasty and establish a new order!"

"And I," Jalabar declared resolutely, "want to overthrow those corrupt rulers who imprison the archipelago with false traditions and stifle life! I don't need their approval, nor do I covet their glory. What I want is complete victory, a true rebirth for Red Flower Valley, for the entire Summer Islands!"

These words resonated deeply. From that moment on, Jalaba was no longer an exiled prince following ancient rules, but a revolutionary determined to rewrite history with iron and fire.

Jalabar Thal stood in the hall of Pike City, his gaze sweeping over every Ironborn present. "I love peace," he began slowly, each word crystal clear, "I pray for peace, I yearn for peace more than anyone else."

Jalaba paused, his smile bitter, as if mocking his naiveté.

"But in the Summer Islands today, peace is nothing more than a golden crown on the heads of cowards—magnificent, yet unable to conceal the rot and stench beneath!"

"I saw with my own eyes the fleet from Obenlu Island carrying our people like livestock to the slave market of Essos! I saw with my own eyes the nobles of Valano Island hoarding precious summer spices in their private warehouses to mold, while poor children, unable to afford even a few herbs, died of illness under coconut trees!"

Jalapa's thoughts seemed to drift back to that afternoon that changed his life, and his voice trembled: "I was twelve years old that year, and I went to Sweet Lotus Valley with my mother. As we passed a coconut grove, we heard crying—it wasn't just one child crying, but several. We followed the sound and found seven children huddled under the roots of trees, emaciated, their skin tanned black, their lips cracked and bleeding, lying on the ground, licking the rainwater that had accumulated in the cracks between the trees—"

Jalapa took a deep breath, recalling the scene: "It was hunger. My mother told me that the nobles' estates had taken over the best land on the island, and the farmers had to pay rent for 70% of their rice; the remaining 30% had to be exchanged for the spices they controlled." She pointed to the cloying aroma in the air, "Can you smell it? That's ambergris that the nobles' fleets traded from Essos for, but our children can't even get half a piece of rice cake to survive!"

"Three fully armed slave traders were dragging a ragged woman. Her linen skirt was torn, revealing purplish-blue whip marks on her back, and the baby in her arms was crying so hard it was almost unbearable."

Jalabar seemed to see that horrifying scene again, his voice filled with rage: "That slut owes money," the trafficker spat at us, "sold her to Valano Island as a prostitute, just enough to pay for our drinks!" The woman's husband rushed forward like a madman, only to be stabbed directly into the stomach by the trafficker's dagger. Blood splattered on my white linen shirt, like a cruel red lotus.

His voice lowered, carrying a weariness and helplessness born from witnessing too many tragedies: "Later, the neighboring village of Laurel Bay was ravaged by pirates. I went with the soldiers to rescue them—when we arrived, all we saw were the charred remains of wooden houses, felled coconut trees, and—and more than two thousand female corpses on the beach. Their wrists were raw and bloody from being rubbed between iron chains; they had clearly just been abducted onto the ship, and for some reason dragged back to shore, left there like garbage to die—"

Jalabar raised his head, his gaze sharp and resolute once more, sweeping over Euron and all the Ironborn leaders: "I tore down tradition and started the rebellion not because I am warlike, but because I have seen what so-called peace is—how it devours people, leaving not even the bones behind!"

"King Robert rose in rebellion against the Mad King to end tyranny. I stand here today, pleading to fight alongside the warriors of the Iron Islands, also to end a different kind of tyranny taking place on the Summer Isles! I will not wage a war of spears," but rather a rebellion for the children who starved to death, the women who were sold into slavery, and all the people who groan under a false peace!"

Jalaba had launched a formal uprising, which began one afternoon in Tantou.

On that day, fifty slave traders were brutally driving a ship full of women onto their boat, the sound of cold iron chains on their wrists piercing the daily hustle and bustle of the dock.

Led by Jalaba, the fishermen did not remain silent. The gleaming of their harpoons and the heavy ropes became their initial weapons, and the crowd surged forward like a tide, blocking the traders' path. Jalaba pushed through the crowd, stepped to the front, and held high his father's worn-out sword.

"Release them!" Jalaba's voice boomed over the waves, echoing across the dock. "Otherwise, I'll tear down all your slave shacks today!"

The gang leader spat, his face filled with undisguised contempt: "Where did this little bastard come from? Even your father didn't dare to point fingers at us back in the day, who do you think you are?"

Before he could finish speaking...

A flash of sword light.

Jalabar's sword, without hesitation, precisely pierced the leader's throat. Hot blood splattered onto the rough dock—

On the rough bluestone slab, it spread rapidly, like a flower that suddenly blooms, dazzling and cruel.

After a brief silence, the fishermen erupted in deafening cheers. This cheer was like a fire, instantly igniting their long-suppressed anger.

More people poured out of the narrow alleys and low shacks. They were not only fishermen, but also farmers carrying hoes, blacksmiths holding hammers, and even some minor nobles wearing tattered linen shirts with equally resentful eyes.

"We want to eat!"

"We want our children to survive this winter!"

We want our own ships and our own ports!

'

The chaotic shouts eventually merged into a single voice.

Jalabar leaped onto a pile of stones, looking down at the faces below, contorted by long-term hunger but now ignited with hope. Most of them didn't even have proper names.

At that moment, a sudden realization struck Jalaba like lightning. He clearly realized that he was no longer standing here to reclaim a family's crown, no longer for an empty right of inheritance.

He is fighting for these people.

Jalapa took a deep breath and, facing the crowd and the surging sea, shouted the words that would change the fate of the Summer Islands: "We will unite the Summer Islands!" His voice, carried by the sea breeze, echoed far and wide, "Not for conquest! But so that every island can protect its own children! So that every inch of land can grow food to feed its people, instead of feeding those greedy parasites!"

Before the blood of Tantou Town had dried, Jalaba Sor's uprising spread like wildfire.

Jalaba completely abandoned the symbols of his princely status, forgoing the ornate royal armor and donning only the coarse cloth battle robe stained with blood from the dockside clashes. He did not rely on expensive, profit-driven mercenaries, but instead devoted himself to training fishermen, farmers, and blacksmiths who took up harpoons and hoes. This was because they understood better than anyone else why they were fighting.

Jalabar consolidated all available resources in Redflower Valley. Inspired by him, the old craftsmen improved the warships using the island's sturdy ironwood, adding fierce rams to the flexible hulls and laying vine netting on the decks to protect against arrows. He had women and children cultivate the land, grow crops, and make arrows in the rear, and even organized a women's team known as the "Lion Corps" to be responsible for transporting supplies to the front lines.

The decisive battle broke out in the shimmering Turquoise Strait.

The noble alliance of Valano and Obenlu still believed that Jalabar was the same impoverished prince who only knew how to engage in petty skirmishes and harassment. They assembled hundreds of ornately decorated, tall, and imposing warships and came aggressively to "suppress the rebellion," intending to crush this "rabble" in one fell swoop.

They encountered a completely different army: Jalabar's ironwood fleet, like a school of sharks smelling blood, small yet incredibly swift. They avoided the enemy's main warships, targeting the cumbersome and slow supply ships, precisely tearing at the lifeline of the allied forces.

The insurgents roared their slogans like a tidal wave, no longer the ancient battle cry of a particular island, but a unified voice filled with hope and conviction: "For Summer!"

Valano's commander peered through his binoculars at the battlefield in disbelief. "Those farmers and fishermen on those small boats—"

Their fighting spirit was even more frenzied than the soldiers we hired!

The battle ended as the sun set, and the blood-red afterglow dyed the entire strait crimson.

The ramming of the rebels finally and fiercely tore open the magnificent hull of the Allied flagship, the Pearl.

Jalapa stood at the bow of the ship, watching countless enemy soldiers begin to lay down their arms and surrender. The sea breeze was filled with the smell of gunpowder and blood, and suddenly, the image of those starving children he had seen under the coconut trees when he was twelve years old flashed before his eyes.

Jalapa took a deep breath and gave his first order of victory to the messenger beside him, his voice clear and firm: "Pass down the order. All those who lay down their arms and surrender are allowed to return to their hometowns and cultivate their own land. However, all those who have directly harmed or oppressed civilians must stay and atone for their sins through their labor."

The brief victory was like a sudden summer rain, washing away the filth of the past, but failing to eradicate the deep-seated problems.

Jalaba Sole, the leader chosen by the people, began to reshape the Summer Islands with his ideal blueprint.

Jalapa issued a decree permanently abolishing the slave trade within the archipelago and redistributing the fertile coastal lands illegally seized by nobles to landless fishermen and farmers. He reduced heavy tariffs and encouraged the islanders to develop their own handicrafts and agriculture.

These reforms, shining with idealism, were like sharp blades, severing the lifelines of too many people, especially those who profited immensely from the slave trade—the cities of Lys, Telos, and Myr. The golden trade routes of these free-trading city-states were abruptly blocked by Jalabar. Furthermore, the native nobles of Valano and Obenlu, stripped of their privileges and lands, saw their former luxurious lifestyles and the very foundations of their rule shaken.

Gold and hatred became the most effective adhesive.

The golden dragons of the free trade city-states flowed like water into the pockets of the exiled nobles, equipping them with mercenary groups far superior to those of the former allied forces. Those old enemies who had been defeated by Jalabar, supported by external forces, returned with even deeper resentment.

This time, the war is no longer confined to the sea.

Intrigue, betrayal, assassination—all the despicable tactics were brought to the forefront.

Some of the less resolute members of the rebel army defected under the lure of large sums of money.

The islands that once fought side by side are now divided once again due to external pressure and internal instigation.

After a series of devastating defeats and chilling betrayals, Jalaba Sohr ultimately failed to uphold the ideals he had fought for.

In the thick fog of dawn, with only a few of his most loyal guards fighting to the death, he escaped his beloved, yet hopelessly lost, summer islands in a small, unmarked boat.

The prince of Red Flower Valley, once a leader of the uprising, ultimately became an exile who lost his homeland.