Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 378 Seeking Refuge—A Pledge of Allegiance

In a dark and damp cellar in Lotus Harbor, a few cheap oil lamps flickered with a dim yellow light, casting four distorted figures onto the mottled stone wall.

The air was filled with the smells of mildew, sweat, and a faint, almost imperceptible odor of blood.

Commander Gillo Reha of the Longspear Regiment, a middle-aged man with a sharp face and eyes filled with lingering fear, broke the silence first. His voice was extremely low: "If I had known we were facing Euron, the Lord of the Sea Beasts, even if you offered me countless golden dragons, I would never have set foot in these waters!" His Adam's apple bobbed, as if recalling some terrifying scene. "In the Stone Steps Archipelago, our Longspear Regiment, employed by the Three Daughters Alliance, witnessed those sea king-like behemoths firsthand on the high seas—things that are simply beyond human resistance! One of them is enough to capsize an entire fleet! And the city lord is still spouting empty words, saying reinforcements are coming soon, food, water, the Golden Legion of Slaver's Bay, and even more Unsullied—humph!"

He spat heavily, his eyes fierce, and said, "I don't believe a damn thing! It's Greyjoy's golden krait flag outside! Any number of them coming in front of that thing are just suicide missions; not even a single plank will drift into the harbor!"

He said solemnly, "Believe it or not, on the high seas, no matter which fleet it is, upon seeing the golden sea monster flag, they all have only one choice: turn around and run for their lives! Before they want to kill you!"

The leader of the Raven Legion, the Gislian Pranda Na. Gisen, had a gloomy expression on his broad face. He continued, his voice carrying the distinctive hissing tone of the Gislians: "In a siege, relying on the city walls, even with half the forces of the attacking side, it's not necessarily impossible to win. But the problem now—" He pointed to his chapped lips, "is this! The city is out of ammunition and food!"

The Cat Clan's "Bloodbeard" grinned, revealing teeth yellowed from tobacco smoke, his fiery red braids trembling with his heavy breathing. "It's alright that the food's gone," he smacked his lips, a chilling relish in his taste, "Yesterday I got a little wench, roasted her—haha, the meat was pretty tender."

The bald Salo standing next to "Bloodbeard," another leader of the Raven Crows, had a twisted scar on his face that looked even more ferocious under the light. He kept picking his nose and added the most fatal point in a muffled voice: "Fresh water—completely gone."

Without water, we'll all die of thirst here within days, turning into dried-up human shells.

Gillo Reha glanced at the other three, a resolute glint in his eyes: "If that day truly comes, and the city lord orders us to fight our way out, what do you think?"

"Fight your way out?!" Bloodbeard's voice rose abruptly, then fell sharply, as if he'd heard the funniest joke in the world. "That's suicide! Charging into the mouths of the Ironborn and those monsters?"

"I've made up my mind," said Gillo Reha, commander of the Long Spear Regiment, his voice cold and resolute. "Our only way out is to help the Iron Islands open their gates."

The cellar fell into a deathly silence, broken only by the crackling of the burning oil lamp.

Betrayal is a cardinal sin for mercenaries, but—when faced with life and death, it is the only option.

Prandar of the Raven Crow Legion nodded slowly, his eyes gleaming. "We are willing to pledge allegiance, that's for sure. But we also need to see what the Lord of the Sea Beasts thinks, whether it's worth it, and what price he'll ask for." He looked at Gillo, "Tonight, we must send someone out of the city to make contact with him and discuss things clearly."

"Leave it to me," said Gillo Reha, commander of the Long Spear Regiment, without hesitation. "I have a kid in my men who's more agile than a raccoon dog; he can sneak down the city wall without anyone noticing."

The four mercenary leaders are the shrewd Gillo, the sinister Pranda, the brutal "Bloodbeard," and the silent Salo—

They exchanged one last glance in the dim light, both seeing the same choice in each other's eyes, and nodded heavily.

A betrayal that would determine the fate of Lotus Harbor was quietly decided in this musty and despairing cellar.

Inside the Iron Islands' main camp, the whale oil torches crackled steadily as they burned, casting Euron and Jalabah Thal's shadows on the tent flap, swaying slightly with the firelight.

The heavy tent flap was suddenly flung open, and a heavily armored Ironborn warrior with a scarred face strode in. He knelt before Euron, his voice gruff: "Master, we've captured a suspicious fellow outside the camp. He claims to be a mercenary from the Long Spear Regiment in the city, and on the orders of their leader, he specifically requests to see you." He raised his head, his eyes flashing with a fierce light, as if he would immediately turn around and twist the messenger's head off to use as a football if Euron showed the slightest hint of denial.

Euron sat upright on a simple wooden chair and said calmly, "See him. Bring him in."

After the Ironborn warrior received his order and turned to leave the tent, Euron turned his head and gave Jalabar Sor, who was visibly agitated by the days of siege, a knowing smile. He whispered, "See? The opportunity I told you about—has arrived!"

Prince Jalaba's spirits lifted, and a glimmer of hope instantly appeared in his eyes.

The curtain was lifted again.

The man who entered was short, wearing ill-fitting, dusty leather armor. His face was ordinary, the kind you'd easily lose in a crowd. He was clearly intimidated by the tense atmosphere in the tent and Euron's invisible pressure; he appeared very nervous, his fingers unconsciously curling, and his voice trembling slightly.

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"Your Excellency, Lord of the Sea Beasts, I am Orpheus, a mercenary of the Long Spear Company. I have come to pay my respects to you on the orders of our Long Spear Company's Commander, Gilo Reha."

Euron wore an enigmatic smile, his tone calm and casual, as if in a conversation, yet he asked clearly, "Orpheus, this is a time of war, and swords have no eyes. What is the reason your commander sent you out of the city to see me, risking your life?"

Under the silent gaze of the Ironborn warriors' gleaming axes within the tent, Orpheus appeared exceptionally humble. He struggled to suppress the trembling in his body, his hand reaching into his robes slowly and deliberately, as if afraid of causing any misunderstanding. He carefully took out a roll of parchment and respectfully presented it with both hands.

"This is a letter written in our commander's own handwriting. Please take a look, sir."

Euron took the letter, his gaze sweeping over the brief statement on the paper. The letter was straightforward and practical: the three mercenary groups, the Long Spear Group, the Raven Group, and the Cat Group, had not known that their opponent was Euron, and now they were willing to help the Iron Islands open the city gates, only asking for corresponding rewards after the city fell.

Euron put down the letter, his face expressionless, his voice as calm as if stating a simple fact: "I only need to besiege the city for three more days, and Lotus Harbor will fall without a fight, a victory without a battle. Why should I accept your surrender at this time and pay you for it?" He then added, his tone shifting slightly, "However, I am not a bloodthirsty person."

Euron's gaze pressed down on Orpheus with an undeniable intensity, every word clear and unquestionable: "Go back and tell Gillo Reha, the reward is not a single gold dragon! But I can give you a way out."

"If you want to live, remember my request:"

"First, open the gates of Lotus Harbor tomorrow night."

"Secondly, Bloodbeard of the Cat Clan," a cannibal, should not live. Tell your leader and the leader of the Raven Clan, I want Bloodbeard's head. His head will be the pledge of all three of you mercenary groups to serve him.

Euron's calm tone was filled with a chilling, bloodthirsty aura: "Tell him that if either of these two conditions is not met—"

"On the day the city falls, all three mercenary groups, number 39..."

"They must all die! Leave no one alive!"

The last four words, like cold iron nails, pierced the depths of Orpheus's soul, instantly draining his face of color.