Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 372 The Prince - Divine Revenge

Freud stood firmly on the smooth, mirror-like back of the shadow sailfish. The sea breeze in his ears was no longer a whistling sound, but a tearing, piercing scream.

The speed displayed by this sea king completely overturned ordinary people's understanding of navigation. The archipelago that would normally take several days to cross was shortened by dozens of times by the Shadow's almost spatial leap speed.

The azure sea beneath his feet transformed into a blurry band of color rapidly receding, and the islands seemed like ink dots that would be left behind in the blink of an eye.

High in the sky, the thousand-year-old dragon Halsien spread its enormous wings, which resembled clouds, and glided smoothly.

The three sisters of Lonely Lamp Island sat serenely on the dragon saddle, their eyes closed in deep concentration, a faint spiritual fluctuation swirling around them. Countless jet-black crows, like living shadows, radiated outwards from the back of the thousand-year-old dragon, their eyes connected to the three sisters' senses, forming a moving, sky-covering surveillance network.

These spies in the sky work closely with Lisa's "Little Birds" intelligence network, which has long infiltrated every corner of the archipelago and taken root in the streets and alleys, forming a vast and all-pervasive network that intertwines heaven and earth.

Using the names, characteristics, and past relationships provided by Jalabar Sole, this vast network began to operate efficiently. Information was rapidly transmitted, compared, and confirmed through the flapping of crows' wings and the whispers of the undercover agents.

Just one day.

While the main fleet of the Iron Islands was still adjusting its deployment and the blockade line was just beginning to show its power, Floyd had already appeared outside the dilapidated shipyard of his first target—Kagoshima shipwright Eli Sanders—holding a parchment personally confirmed by Lisa and bearing the precise location and name written on it.

Next came Red Flower Valley and Aubenlu Island—the former officials scattered throughout the Summer Islands, who had already hidden in the city or the mountains, were precisely "salvaged" one by one from the sea of ​​people by this force driven by extreme speed and all-pervasive intelligence.

The efficiency is breathtakingly fast.

The long, narrow warship slowly sailed into a secluded bay on Zal Island, its bow gently brushing against the fine, golden sand.

Prince Jalaba Sor took a deep breath. The air was filled with the familiar scent of Red Flower Valley, a blend of spicy floral fragrance and damp earth, a scent that almost brought tears to his eyes.

He stepped ashore with Rodrik Harlow of Harlow Island, and the sight before them exceeded their expectations.

Floyd Greyjoy was already standing calmly on the beach. Behind him stood three figures: Elie Sanders, Freya Jacques, and Toby Knight. They had arrived before the prince and were waiting for him.

"Prince," Freud nodded to Jalabar, a hint of relief on his face as he smiled, "I've brought you your brothers."

Prince Jalabar strode forward, his gaze sweeping over the three weathered yet loyal faces. The boatman, Eli, still bore the gruesome scar on his left eyebrow; Freya's thorn tattoo on her cheek was clearly visible in the sunlight; Toby's slightly hunched back and chipped cheek—

Her earlobes have not changed.

Time has left its mark on them, but it has never diminished their unwavering loyalty.

"Your Highness!" "You're finally back!" The three knelt on one knee excitedly, their voices trembling with emotion.

Rodrik Harlow stood a little further back, watching this scene, and nodded slightly.

With these loyal and knowledgeable former subordinates guiding them, their advance into Red Flower Valley and Sweet Lotus Valley would undoubtedly be much smoother. Conquest requires not only sharp swords, but also guides who can point the way.

Like wildfire seeds stirred up by the spring breeze, the news quickly spread throughout Red Flower Valley thanks to Lisa's meticulous intelligence network and the excited yet secretive efforts of Jalabar's former subordinates.

"He's back!"

"Prince Jalabar! The true heir of Red Flower Valley has returned!"

Whispers circulated in the fields, in the workshops of artisans, and in the corners of taverns, carrying with them incredible surprise and long-suppressed anticipation.

The inhabitants of the valley, whether farmers, artisans, or small merchants, mostly still clearly remember the prince, remembering how he spoke up for the oppressed commoners when he was young, and remembering his reputation for being more just and magnanimous than other nobles.

Long-suppressed resentment and nostalgia for the past were ignited at this moment.

When Jalabar Sor, escorted by Rodrik Harlo and his Ironborn warriors, officially appeared on the road leading into the depths of the valley, he saw not resistance and fear, but an increasing number of people who came out of their homes and fields, silently but resolutely joining their ranks.

They stood on either side of the road, watching the prince and the well-equipped, cold-blooded Ironborn warriors behind him with complex expressions. Then, they began to walk, silently following behind the procession.

There were no boisterous cheers, only an ever-growing, silent flow of people moving forward, which in itself was the most powerful form of support.

This peculiar group—with the returning prince and elite foreign conquerors at the front, and the local people, unarmed or armed only with farm tools, constantly joining from behind—is like a torrent of steel and flesh, advancing step by step along the winding valley road toward the only castle deep in Red Flower Valley.

There lay their ultimate target, a traitor who had to be punished—Diamond Yorke. It was he who had betrayed the prince's family during the rebellion and seized his position. Today was the day for blood to be paid.

With a screeching sound of metal scraping against metal, the heavy castle gate was pushed open a crack by the inside helpers, and then smashed open completely by violent force!

The Iron Warriors, who had been poised for battle, surged into the castle courtyard like a gray torrent of iron bursting its banks, carrying the scent of sea salt and blood.

Rodrik Harlow took the lead, his tomahawk swinging out in a sharp arc.

Courtyards, corridors, steps—the competition for every inch of space instantly becomes fierce.

Diamond Yorke's hundreds of loyal followers roared as they charged forward, attempting to stop the steel torrent with their own flesh and blood.

Battle axes and spears clashed fiercely, the dull thud of blades tearing through leather armor and flesh, the dying screams, and the sharp sounds of weapons clashing instantly filled the ancient castle.

This was a massacre with no suspense whatsoever.

The Iron Warriors' fighting skills and ferocity far surpassed those of these pampered guards. In the flash of axes, the resisters fell like harvested wheat stalks, their blood quickly staining the bluestone pavement, gathering into small streams that meandered along the cracks in the stones.

The clamor of battle came and went quickly. When the last stubborn resister was pinned to a stone pillar by Freud's precise spear, the courtyard fell into a deathly silence, with only heavy breathing and the patter of dripping blood remaining.

All obstacles have been cleared.

On the last few steps leading to the main castle hall, Diamond York stood alone.

Diamond's magnificent robes were stained with the blood of his men, his hair was disheveled, and he gripped an overly ornate longsword tightly in his hand. His eyes were bloodshot as Jalabar Thal slowly walked out from the path parted automatically by the Ironborn warriors, burning with despair, madness, and a deep-seated resentment.

"Jalaba!" he spat out the name through gritted teeth, his voice hoarse like that of a demon.

Jalabar Zor stepped forward, his gaze piercing through the pervasive stench of blood in the courtyard, fixing on the twisted figure on the steps. "It's me!" His voice was no longer gentle, but filled with a long-suppressed grief and resolve as he roared, "I told you, I would return!"

Diamond York let out a hysterical laugh, a laugh filled with despair and utter madness.

"So what?!" Diamond roared, as if flaunting all his crimes as badges of honor. "I betrayed you! I raped your sister! I slaughtered all the people who followed you! So what?! I've enjoyed all the riches and pleasures of these past years! Come on! Kill me! Avenge your poor sister and your dead people!"

Each shout was like a poisoned dagger, stabbing viciously into Jalaba's heart. His knuckles turned white from the force, but his eyes, beneath the extreme rage, revealed a terrifying coldness.

"I will! Diamond!" Jalabar's voice deepened, yet carried an iron will. He abruptly raised his arm, resolutely blocking Rodrik Harlow and the other Ironborn warriors who were about to strike down the traitor.

He turned to Rodrik, his gaze earnest and resolute, his voice heavy yet undeniable: "This is revenge, Lord Rodrik. But this revenge must be carried out by my own hands!" He surveyed the fierce warriors from the Iron Islands around him. "I will end his life with my own hands! This is a blood debt, and it must be repaid in blood!"

In the culture of the Iron Islands, the act of avenging one's kin carries an almost sacred connotation.

Rodrik Harlow frowned. As a general, his instinct was to eliminate the target in the most efficient way possible, avoiding any unnecessary complications. The prince's actions, in his view, indeed carried unnecessary risks and were a reckless display of personal emotion. He looked at the unwavering resolve in Jalabar's eyes and sensed a degree of understanding and even approval from the Ironborn warriors around him.

Rodrik remained silent for a moment, then finally took a heavy half-step back and waved his hand, ordering, "Step back! Let them settle their personal scores!"

The Iron People warriors dispersed slightly as instructed, but remained vigilant, forming a semi-circular encirclement, leaving the final stage on the steps to the two sides locked in hatred.

Jalabar Thal held a heavy oak shield, its spearhead gleaming coldly, steadily pointing at Diamond. Diamond York, on the other hand, gripped a magnificently decorated longsword tightly in both hands, its blade reflecting the red light of the blood-red sunset.

The two men moved forward, launching dozens of probing attacks.

Diamond roared and launched the first attack, his longsword slashing down with a whooshing sound! Jalabar braced himself, his wooden shield precisely meeting the attack—"Bang!"

A heavy, muffled thud exploded, sending wood chips flying.

The immense impact numbed Jalabar's arm, but he held firm against the fatal blow. In the instant he parried, he suddenly ducked, his spear lashing out like a scorpion's tail, sweeping across the ground and striking Diamond's unprotected shin!

"Crack!" The clear sound of bone breaking was enough to make your teeth ache.

"Ah—!" Diamond let out a piercing scream, his center of gravity instantly collapsing as he fell heavily to the ground.

Before he could catch his breath, Jalaba's spear tip, brimming with years of pent-up hatred, swiftly pierced down!

"Pfft!" The spear tip pierced through the thigh, and blood spurted out.

"Ugh!" Diamond winced in pain.

"Thud!" Another spear pierced deep into his abdomen.

Diamond's face was contorted with agony, yet a dying, primal madness flickered in his eyes. In the instant Jalaba tried to pull out his spear, he recklessly swung his longsword, a flash of cold light followed by a clang!

The spear in Jalabah’s hand snapped in two, the tip remaining inside Diamond’s body!

The weapon is destroyed!

Jalabar's movements didn't falter for a moment. He threw away the remaining spear shaft and charged forward like a cheetah pouncing on its prey! Diamond struggled to swing his sword again, but Jalabar used his wooden shield to parry once more, the immense force bringing the two almost face to face.

The next moment, Jalabah's left hand, like an iron clamp, gripped Diamond's sword-wielding wrist tightly. His right hand, with lightning speed, seized the blood-stained, jagged fragment of the spear—

With all his might, carrying the screams of all his clansmen and his sister's departed souls, he plunged in fiercely and resolutely—"Thud!"

The tip of the broken spear plunged into Diamond York's throat, piercing through flesh and crushing cartilage, and gushing out from the back of his neck with a spray of blood!

Diamond's body convulsed violently, his eyes, filled with resentment and fear, bulged out instantly, staring intently at the Avenger who was so close at hand. He let out a few incoherent, gasping sounds, and finally, all the light in his eyes vanished completely.

Jalabar Zor released his grip, letting the stiffening corpse slump limply in the pool of blood. He straightened up, panting heavily, and looked up at the sky cut off by the castle walls, letting out a long howl that was a mixture of relief and endless sorrow.

Silence reigned all around, broken only by the heavy breathing of the Iron Warriors, witnessing the end of this sacred vengeance.