Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 357 Above the Sea

On the broad deck of the "Zhiyuan," six hundred Iron Clan soldiers stood tall, forming the strongest backbone of this giant ship.

They were warriors, and also sailors, helmsmen, shipwrights, lookouts, cooks—no problem for the Ironmen, who were intimately familiar with everything on board.

The reason they were able to board the "Zhiyuan" was not only because they were battle-hardened elites who had been tempered by countless trials, but also because they were Euron Greyjoy's trusted followers who had shared life and death and glory with him.

Among them, some had stood shoulder to shoulder with Euron on the seven-team arena of the Harrenhal Tournament, and under the gaze of countless noble knights, they shattered the knights' elegant dreams with the Ironborn's battleaxe and wildness, winning the laurel wreath.

Some followed him across the Narrow Sea, wandering for three years in the exotic ports and shadows along the coast of Essos. They witnessed the golden palace of the governor of Pentos and clashed with the "water dancers" of Braavos in narrow alleys, their shared wandering forging a bond that transcended blood ties.

Some have followed in the footsteps of Robert's Rebellion since its inception. In that war that overthrew the dynasty, they learned not only how to plunder, but also how to cooperate with allies in a grand war to conquer cities and territories.

The bulging muscles on their arms and the old scars on their bodies silently told the story of every battle they had fought. Their fighting skills and loyalty had been tested in blood and fire, making them Euron's most reliable weapons.

Inside the captain's cabin, the flickering whale oil lamp cast a warm glow on the dark green velvet tapestry.

Ashara Dayne leaned against the soft couch, gently humming a lullaby for Dorne, her arms cradling the one-month-old Alexander, who blinked his violet eyes and giggled. Lisa smiled as she knelt on the wool rug, carefully holding one-year-old Daren's little hand, watching the boy toddle toward the oak top that rolled in front of him.

The three sisters stood guard in the corner of the cabin like shadows, their crimson silk skirts rustling.

In the shadows, the red-robed priestess Gwendolyn sat as still as a statue, her red robe embroidered with gold thread trailing to the ground; beside her, the shadowbinder Evelyn was wrapped in a blue cloak, her emerald green eyes gazing at the distant sea.

The three-meter-tall "Guardian of Peace" stood outside the oak door, its entire body covered in seamless black iron armor, the plates rubbing together with a deep, panting sound like a giant beast. Controlled by Lisa, its sole command here was to protect the women and children in this house.

The lower decks of the Zhiyuan were like another world, a dark world.

There were no portholes, only a few oil lamps hanging from the beams casting a dim, flickering yellow light that stretched the shadows of the people into distorted shapes. A strange, sweet-and-astringent smell permeated the air, mixed with sulfur, minerals, and some kind of restlessness that did not belong to this world.

Five alchemists, clad in heavy leather aprons, sat around a stone table fixed to the ship's deck. Behind them, along the ship's curved walls, thousands of stone containers were densely packed together. They were securely fixed to specially made racks, each sealed tightly. In the dim light, a ghostly green phosphorescence slowly flowed within the containers, like the eyes of countless sleeping demons.

Maester Qyburn sat alone on a low stool in the corner, a scroll of parchment spread out on his lap. The only regular sound was the scratching of a quill pen across the paper. He would occasionally look up to observe the alchemists' work, and sometimes look down to take notes. His calm gaze was devoid of any emotion. These dangerous items, enough to send an entire behemoth soaring into the clouds, were a subject worthy of study on how to use them in future wars.

Through special modifications, the stability of these wildfires has been greatly improved, but their dormant, destructive power is more terrifying than ever before. Stone containers provide the most reliable protection, firmly imprisoning the wildfires deep within the voyage's hold, rising and falling with the waves, awaiting their moment of awakening.

The lowest cabin was completely dark, without a single ray of light.

More than three hundred strange figures, their entire bodies shrouded in specially made black leather armor, each movement carrying a kind of inhuman stiffness, their joints making a faint sound like a withered branch breaking when they turned.

These are the "works" of Maester Qyburn—beings pulled back from the brink of death through forbidden necromancy, a fusion of ancient black magic and blood magic.

They were neither the living nor purely the dead. Their eye sockets were two pools of solidified darkness, unfocused, devoid of thought, containing only the single command branded into their decaying nerves: to trample.

More than three hundred bodies, as if controlled by invisible threads, tirelessly stepped on the auxiliary pedals that propelled the giant ship day and night. The roar of machinery and the ear-piercing sound of chains grinding filled this metal tomb, but they were oblivious, silently and endlessly repeating the same action.

Euron Greyjoy didn't need them in the fight at this moment. To him, these tireless, assimilated, and even non-exhausting "laborers" were far more efficient than any sailor. They were the perfect coolies, tireless and devoted, propelling the giant ship toward unknown battlefields, becoming part of the ship's dark heart themselves.

In front of the towering stern tower of the Zhiyuan, there is a conspicuous empty platform—a structure that Euron ordered the craftsmen to preserve during the ship's construction with an unquestionable tone.

The old shipwrights were puzzled by the blueprints. Leaving such a wide deck area on a long ship where every inch of space was precious was simply a desecration of maritime tradition.

The answer didn't come until the fleet sailed into the depths of the sea, on a fiery sunset.

A huge shadow swept across the mast, and with a whooshing sound, a giant, multicolored bird folded its wings and landed steadily on the specially reserved platform.

It is no ordinary bird; its scales and feathers shimmer with the iridescent glow of bronze and jade in the sunset, and its curved beak appears to be carved from obsidian.

Halsien, the Thousand-Year Dragon.

It folded its ancient wings, its slender neck gracefully turned towards the ship's deck, and its gilded vertical pupils reflected the burning afterglow on the sea.

The Ironborn on deck stopped what they were doing without warning, axes dangling in mid-air, ropes slipping from their hands. Low gasps and gasps filled the crowd as everyone stared at the mythical creature bathed in golden light, as if an ancient legend were coming to life before their very eyes.

Faced with the surprised and suspicious looks of the crowd, Euron simply smiled and calmly stated its name: "Its name is Halsien." He offered no further explanation.

At first, the crew felt awe and even fear towards the giant beast that dwelled at the stern of the ship, and always went around it.

Time has quietly changed everything.

The Ironborn gradually discovered that Halsien was completely different from the legendary fire-breathing dragon.

It was remarkably docile; its multicolored scales shimmered in the sunlight, yet it exuded no sign of ferocity. It possessed a long, wet, and nimble tongue. When someone mustered the courage to tentatively scratch its scale-covered chin, it would comfortably squint its ancient, gilded vertical pupils and gently lick the other person's arm with its warm tongue, like a tamed giant hunting dog.

Of all these people, Asha Greyjoy's curiosity was the most intense.

This Iron Islands princess, who was always exceptionally bold, showed an extraordinary interest in Halsien. She first observed it for a long time, then cautiously approached it, fed it, and groomed its feathers. One night, she even moved her own bedding to the stern platform and slept for two nights beside the dragon's folded wings, establishing a strange trust through her breath and body heat.

On the third day, a scene that took all the crew's breath away appeared.

Before everyone's eyes, Asha nimbly climbed onto Halsien's lowered neck. She leaned down and whispered a few words in its ear. Then, the ancient behemoth spread its enormous wings, which resembled clouds, and with a gentle push off the deck with its powerful hind legs, it lifted the girl on its back into the air.

It circled the massive fleet smoothly, its enormous shadows sweeping across each grey sail. Asha's long, reddish-brown hair flew wildly in the high winds as she looked down at the toy-like fleet below, her face radiating a glow of conquest and joy, and she laughed heartily.

As Halsien carried her slowly back to the platform of the "Zhiyuan", the deck was initially deathly silent, then erupted into a wave of gasps and cheers.

Ironwind Island is deserted.

Dagmoor's son, his rock wife from the mountains, and his salt concubine from the seashore had all gone with the migrating crowds to Harrenhal to be with Euron's most trusted captain. The rest of the Ironwind Islanders were already aboard the expeditionary fleet.

That island, once shrouded in jagged rocks and mist, is now practically an isolated island.

Ironwind Isle holds many secrets Euron doesn't want outsiders to know: workshops buried deep underground, caves covered in eerie runes, and towers haunted by whispers. But Euron isn't too worried about them.

Euron stood at the stern of the Zhiyuan, watching Ironwind Island disappear below the horizon, a slight smile playing on his lips. He wasn't careless; rather, he possessed absolute confidence.

Beneath that cursed sea, two shadows, far larger than the longship, slowly circled the coastline of Ironwind Island. They were two deep-sea behemoths known as the "Kings of the Near Sea," their scales harder than steel, their tentacles capable of crushing the largest warships.

They are now the guardians of Ironwind Island, and also the jailers who watch over the island's secrets.

Without Euron's permission, any ship attempting to land would be dragged into the abyss before even reaching the reef. If anyone dared to spy on what he had hidden on the island, the frigid waters surrounding Ironwind Island would be their final resting place, and their flesh and blood would become a feast for the two "Guardians."