Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 377 The Siege - The Thirteenth Day

Ten days.

For ten whole days and nights, the sacred area of ​​Gaoshu Town, shrouded in the Tree of Words and filled with temples, was completely cleared out by the Iron People warriors with ruthless efficiency.

All residents and priests, regardless of their status, were unjustly expelled from the town to the surrounding area, leaving behind only a desolate temple filled with incense and an ancient atmosphere.

Over the course of ten days, Euron Greyjoy, alone, like a silent pilgrim and a discerning diner, "visited" the twenty-odd temples one by one.

There were no ceremonies, no bystanders, and no one knows exactly what he did in those deep, secluded temples.

When the morning light of the eleventh day pierced through the branches of the Word Tree once more, Lisa returned to Talltree Town as promised and saw Euron standing quietly under the largest Word Tree.

In just ten days.

Lisa stopped involuntarily, gripped by an indescribable, almost heart-pounding feeling. Euron before her seemed outwardly unchanged, but something internal, essential, was different.

Euron simply stood there, and the air around him seemed to thicken and become heavy, the light appearing to distort slightly around him. He didn't deliberately release any pressure, yet an invisible aura that sent shivers down one's spine naturally emanated from him. It was no longer the aura of a mortal powerhouse, but rather more like—the feeling of insignificance and awe one feels when facing a profound and unfathomable ancient temple, or gazing at a sky filled with thunder and storms.

Lisa keenly sensed that he had become stronger. This strength was not a simple accumulation of power, but a leap in level, a sublimation of essence.

Powerful enough to rival a god!

The thought intruded uncontrollably into her mind, sending a chill down her spine. The man before her seemed to have quietly stolen a portion of the divine authority, stepping into a realm beyond the comprehension of mortals.

Euron gently took her hand, smiled faintly, and said, "Let's go, it's time to finish the final battle in the Summer Islands!"

The thirteenth day of the siege.

Inside Lotus Harbor, the last public well had dried up, and the stone pool that once stored fresh water was now just cracked, white mud, baked white by the scorching sun. The fresh water supply was completely cut off.

The air was thick with a thirsty atmosphere, a mixture of despair and death. People's lips were cracked from severe dehydration, like parched land, and their throats felt like they were filled with scalding sand, making even swallowing a cruel and unbearable ordeal.

Food remained, but that precious reserve was strictly controlled by Donovan Lyman with an iron fist, reserved only for the mercenaries and guards who were still capable of fighting with weapons. Every bite of food was swallowed amidst the hungry and resentful gazes of the civilians.

-

Despair spread and festered among the common people like a plague, eventually brewing into another small-scale disturbance. They were no longer fighting for food, but merely trying to get closer to the long-dried-up well, or attempting to storm the lord's mansion for what might be the last remaining treasure.

Donovan Lyman stood atop the city wall, looking down at the surging crowd below, who seemed like walking corpses. His eyes held no pity, only a desperate madness and a cold-blooded desire to maintain order.

He didn't say anything more, nor did he try to comfort him.

The order was issued again.

Amidst the numb and mechanical movements of the defenders, the third group of civilians—this time mostly women, children, the elderly, and the infirm who could barely stand—were roughly dragged to the edge of the city wall, like discarded useless burdens. Amidst heart-wrenching cries and faint curses, they were pushed off one by one.

In order to eliminate the hidden dangers within the city and to force the troops outside the city to attack.

Beneath the city walls, corpses piled up, and the stench was overwhelming.

Jalabar Zor stood before Euron, his chest heaving with anger and remorse, his face ashen, his knuckles white from clenching his fists.

The mountains of civilian corpses piled up beneath the city walls haunted his vision like a nightmare.

"Lord Euron! We can't wait any longer!" Jalabar's voice was hoarse with emotion, carrying a barely perceptible plea. "To watch them starve to death, to be thrown down like garbage! There are women, there are old people, there are children—we have superior numbers and better weapons; we can definitely take the walls! We must do something!"

Euron slowly turned around, the sea breeze ruffling his dark curly hair. His deep eyes were calm and still, as if he were listening to something trivial that had nothing to do with him.

"A siege?" Euron asked calmly, his tone completely unwavering. "I knew we could win. From the moment the fleet arrived, the fate of Lotus Harbor was sealed."

Euron's gaze, like a cold blade, swept across Jalapa's face, flushed with emotion. He said coldly, "But there are many ways to win. A rash attack might bring victory, but at what cost?" His voice remained steady, yet carried immense weight as he stated, "Will it be that my loyal Ironborn warriors use their blood to water those walls?! Let their corpses pave the way for our advance?!"

Just as Jalabar was about to argue again, Euron raised his hand and decisively interrupted him with an unquestionable gesture.

"I know you feel those civilians who were thrown down died unjustly." Euron's eyes were sharp, piercing Jalapa's heart. "I saw it too. No one wants this to happen. But we cannot let the enemy's brutality shake our established tactics, the ones most advantageous to us, and let my people shed their blood in vain."

His tone softened slightly as he turned his gaze back to the desolate city, as if he could see through the stone walls and witness the fermenting fission within.

"Wait." He uttered this word as if issuing an inviolable divine decree, "Believe me, the opportunity—is coming soon."

The absolute confidence contained in those calm words, like a cold boulder, temporarily suppressed the raging fire in Jalaba's chest, but also made him feel a kind of almost ruthless rationality.

Inside the Sovereign Hall of Lotus Harbor.

The candlelight flickered, illuminating several faces with varying expressions. The air was heavy and oppressive, like the calm before a storm, making it hard to breathe.

The Long Spear Company, the Raven Company, and the Cat Company—three mercenary leaders renowned for their bravery and greed across the Narrow Sea—stood side by side in the center of the hall. Their armor still bore the dust of their patrols on the city walls, but their former arrogance had vanished, replaced by anxiety about reality.

Standing beside them was Bernhard Sharp, the city's garrison commander, a veteran known for his steadiness. At this moment, his brow was furrowed, and deep wrinkles were filled with worry.

Standing silently to one side like a stone statue was the leader of the thousand Immaculate Ones, the commander known as the "Black Worm." His face, worn smooth by time and harsh training, revealed no thoughts, only a stagnant stillness.

Donovan Lyman's son, the young Skadi Lyman, stood to the side and behind his father's throne, his face still bearing an almost naive confidence, still firmly believing in the future his father spoke of, and everything he said.

They gathered here with a clear purpose: to demand a definitive answer from Donovan Lyman, the monarch of Valano Island—how long could their food and fresh water last? How should they fight this hopeless siege? What lay ahead?

-

Donovan Lyman, seated on his throne, faced the questioning of Morocco's core generals, yet his face showed no urgency. He spoke in a calm, even tone, his voice echoing through the hall, but the words themselves were chillingly empty: "Supplies are on their way, my generals. Our allies will not abandon us. Reinforcements are gathering, and victory will be ours! We only need to hold on; holding on is victory—"

He had repeated these words on different occasions since the first day of the siege, and even now, on the thirteenth day, they were still nothing new, without any concrete plans or details that touched on the cruel reality.

They sound more like a form of self-hypnosis, or a fairy tale used to deceive ignorant children.

Bernhard Sharp's worry deepened. He opened his mouth, but ultimately let out a silent sigh. Having served as the garrison commander of Lotus Harbor for twenty years, he knew all too well the state of the city.

Skadi Lyman, inspired by her father's words, straightened her back even more and was greatly encouraged.

The Unsullied, leader of the Black Worm, remained expressionless. In fact, he didn't care about the reinforcements Donovan Lyman had mentioned; all he needed was food and water to keep the Unsullied alive. He was not afraid of death and awaited the final battle.

The three mercenary leaders exchanged a quick, yet incredibly informative glance. The spear leader's lips curled slightly downwards, the raven leader's eyes flashed with a hint of mockery, and the cat leader shook his head almost imperceptibly.

They didn't press further or refute, but simply remained tacitly, unsettlingly, silent.