Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 362 Red Viper - Let's go to the controversial land!

The scorching sun beat down on the port of Yangji City, and the air distorted slightly in the heatwave.

The ruling family of Dorne came out in full force, creating a magnificent and distinctive scene on the docks.

Prince Doran Martell sat serenely in a bronze-adorned wheelchair, draped in the yellow silk robes that symbolized Dorne. His brother, Prince Oberyn, stood beside him, his muscular frame, clad in tight black leather, as sharp as a venomous snake poised to strike, his eyes scanning the massive ship docked at the shore.

Princess Elizabeth stood on the other side of Doran, her beautiful face filled with gentle anticipation; the young Princess Ariane, however, could not hide her curiosity, her gaze shifting between the two renowned giant ships. Victoria held Princess Rhaenys's hand in one hand and little Caesar's in the other.

Behind them stood two burly, bearded guards, Ario Jota and Bastian Fernandez, like iron towers, holding long swords, their bronze arms bulging with muscles, silently displaying the prince's majesty.

Oberyn's mistress, Ellaria Shad, gently cradled Oberyn's young daughter, Ilya Shad, in her arms. Beside her stood Oberyn's two older illegitimate daughters—Obaia Shad and Nymeria Shad—who had inherited some of their father's sharpness, their eyes filled with curiosity and scrutiny towards the Ironborn.

As Euron Greyjoy and Baron Greyjoy, representing the Iron Islands, trudged heavily off the gangplank of the Reach, all eyes in the harbor were on them.

Euron stepped forward first, his steps steady, the sea breeze ruffling his dark curly hair. He stopped in front of Prince Doran's wheelchair, giving a slight nod. "Prince Doran," his voice deep and clear, cutting through the harbor's clamor, "thank you and Dorne for your hospitality. It's kind of you to come and greet me personally under this blazing sun."

Prince Doran raised his hand in a Dornish gesture of welcome, a polite, slight smile on his face: "Duke Euron, you must be tired from your voyage. Sunspear welcomes our allies."

Their eyes met in mid-air. Baron stood stiffly half a step behind Euron, giving a slight nod to Oberyn and the others as a greeting. His bronze face remained expressionless, clearly showing his impatience with these formalities.

Euron's gaze swept across Dorn's welcoming party like a hawk's, lingering briefly on Ilya, Arianne, and Oberyn before suddenly fixing on the back of the crowd. He saw Rhaenys and little Caesar being held tightly in her hand.

The two children were clearly agitated, their faces flushed red, but Victoria gently but firmly pulled them back, preventing them from rushing forward. Their lips moved as if they wanted to shout something, but Victoria stopped them in time with her eyes and subtle movements, leaving them only to stare longingly in Euron's direction with their big, round eyes.

Just then, Asara, carrying Alexander, who was just a month old, slowly stepped down the gangway. Her long, dark hair shone brilliantly in the Dornish sun, and her posture as she cradled the infant was elegant and composed.

As soon as she stepped onto the dock, Princess Elia and Princess Ariane rushed to greet her like two light birds. They expertly took Ashara's arms, one on each side, and instantly pulled her away from Euron, forming a close-knit female circle.

Ilya gently teased Alexander, while Arianne began whispering sisterly musings to Ashara, shutting out the men's serious pleasantries.

"A banquet has been prepared," Prince Daolang said at the opportune moment, his voice calm yet carrying an unquestionable authority, drawing everyone's attention back. "You have all had a long and arduous voyage. Please follow me into the city, so that Yangji City may extend its hospitality."

The air was filled with the rich aroma of roasted lamb and summer reds as the Dornish welcomed the expeditionary force from the Iron Islands with their grandest feast.

The banquet was halfway through.

Oberyn gestured, calling Euron aside and pulling him into a quiet side room.

The noise inside the banquet hall was kept out by the heavy curtains, leaving only the scent of incense and old books in this secluded side room.

Oberon Martell slammed the carved wooden door shut behind him and slammed the gold cup in his hand heavily onto the ebony table beside him, nearly spilling the amber wine.

"The Summer Islands?" Oberyn turned around, his sharp gaze piercing Euron like a javelin. "Now, there's no one else here. Tell me, what are you really thinking?"

Euron leaned leisurely against the cushioned windowsill, his fingertips lightly tracing the rim of his cup. He blinked and chuckled, "People need to get some exercise. Being cooped up in those stone fortresses of Harrenhal and Pike every day will make your bones rot. This is a good opportunity to stretch your muscles, isn't it?"

"Clang!" Oberon slammed his hand on the table, making the wine glass jump.

-

"Who's in the mood for jokes!" Oberyn's voice was filled with suppressed rage as he hissed, "The Stepstone Islands! What happened to the Stepstone Islands we promised each other? Your son, Caesar, is still waiting for the throne you promised him!"

Faced with Oberyn's furious expression, Euron's smile faded slightly, and he said calmly, "I'm not joking, Oberyn. It just so happens that Prince Jalabah Thal of Redflower Valley has ended up in King's Landing. And it just so happens that he has sent us a plea for help."

As it happened, I felt this was an opportunity I couldn't miss, so I agreed.

Euron countered, "An exiled prince, a legitimate reason, and a rich but poorly defended archipelago. Isn't that far better than 'fighting head-on' with three trading cities simultaneously in the chaotic quagmire of the Steppes?"

Oberyn's knuckles turned white as he clenched his fist, the wine in his glass splashing violently and staining the precious ebony table with a dark sheen. He roared, "What about the Steppe Islands! Is it because of your son with Ashara that the name of another son has been carried away by the sea breeze?"

"My promise will be kept absolutely. Caesar is my son, and always will be. The reason I haven't acted is simply because," Euron didn't back down an inch under the pressure, he stated clearly, "the time is not yet ripe!"

"Timing?" Oberyn scoffed, anger churning in his chest. "What bullshit timing! Are you going to wait until the people of the Three Kingdoms of Women die of old age, or until Caesar grows wings and conquers that sea?"

"The time to solve the problem once and for all."

Euron's voice remained calm. "Rhys, Tyrosy, Myr." With each name he uttered, his tone grew colder. "Merely repelling them once, installing a king in name only, and then what? Waiting for their endless counterattacks, leaving the Stone Steps Islands a bleeding wound forever, constantly draining our strength?"

Euron's gaze pierced Oberyn like an icicle as he said, "Only when they are utterly crippled, their fleet sinks to the bottom of the sea, their treasury is unable to support another war, and they are filled with fear from the depths of their hearts, so that they will never again dare or be able to interfere in that sea—" Euron's tone was flat, yet carried a chilling resolve, "only then will the one sitting on the throne be a true king. Otherwise, he is nothing more than a precarious puppet who needs our constant support."

Oberyn's chest heaved violently as he stared intently at Euron. After a long pause, he finally managed to squeeze out the crucial question through clenched teeth, his voice hoarse with suppressed emotion: "Then tell me, when?"

In the quiet side hall, the air seemed to freeze.

Faced with Oberyn's almost fiery questioning, Euron not only did not answer directly, but instead chuckled. He reached out and put his arm around Oberyn's tense shoulder, the gesture carrying an almost provocative intimacy.

“My brother,” Euron said slowly, “I remember you were a mercenary in the Controversial Lands for a few years when you were young, right? That was your hunting ground.”

Oberyn frowned, brushed Euron's hand away, and said stiffly, "So what? It's all in the past."

"The past?" Euron chuckled. "Experience is wealth. I think you could go back to your old ways and stay there for a few more years."

"Why?" Oberyn's patience was clearly wearing thin. He said impatiently, "I need a reason, Euron. Don't play games with me!"

The candlelight cast Euron's shadow on the wall, distorted and enormous. He spoke slowly, "Rhys, Tyros, and Myr, these three so-called kingdoms of women," he said, "the conflicts in the contested lands over trade routes, ports, and taxes have never ceased. Assassinations, plundering, instigating rebellions—all sorts of dirty tricks have been used." His voice was low, like a viper's hiss, as he said, "I want you to go back and, in the way you do best, completely disrupt that land. Let them distrust each other, let their hatred deepen, and force them to commit more troops, more golden dragons, and all those greedy and anxious eyes to this bottomless pit of the contested lands."

Oberyn's pupils contracted slightly; he seemed to have caught a glimpse of Euron's grand plan. "And then?" he pressed.

Euron's usual smile vanished instantly, replaced by an almost cruel calm. His words were clear and heavy: "Then, when they have bled themselves dry in their infighting, exhausted their wealth, and are utterly weary, that will be our time to march east and uproot these three kingdoms in one fell swoop."

"Conquer three kingdoms in one fell swoop?!" Oberyn gasped, even he, known for his audacity, was shocked by this astonishing ambition. He stared intently at Euron, trying to discern whether this was another malicious joke. "Little sea monster, you certainly have a big appetite—are you sure you can handle it? That's not just one Summer Islands!"

Euron met his gaze without flinching. The fervor in his eyes vanished instantly, quickly replaced by a deep sense of reason.

Euron readily admitted, "I can't eat right now."

"However, in the future—definitely!"