Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

The morning mist, like a gray veil, had not yet completely receded from the rugged coastline of Pike Island. The massive black sails of the "Drinking Spree" were already filled with the strong winds blowing from the north, propelling the slender hull resolutely towards the distant eastern horizon like the wings of a giant bird. Two escort ships followed closely behind, both being the most loyal and warlike Ironborn carefully selected by King Coron.

Balf Greyjoy was called into his brother's room for a long talk last night, and after that, he became a member of the crew on this voyage.

Euren had no objection to this; having another reliable blood relative was beneficial and harmless.

The voyage to the other shore begins here.

His first goal was clear and unambiguous—Bravos, the free trade city-state that stood atop countless canals and secrets.

His choice of that location was no accident. Over the years, through clandestine channels, shrewd investments, and even unavoidable "cooperation," he had planted the most informants and loyalties (or at least fears) within the intricate fabric of that water city. His roots were deepest there, like an invisible yet resilient spiderweb, quietly woven long ago in the shadows of Braavos.

There, a vast ocean of information, a crossroads where merchant ships from all nations converge, exchanging goods and rumors. Every day, countless stories and secrets drift into those labyrinthine docks and taverns on the salty sea breeze. For Euron, it was the beating heart of the world, and he was heading there to listen to its pulse, and ultimately… to grasp it in his hands.

But what attracted him to this city was far more than worldly power and intelligence. He had long yearned for the city's soul—the mysterious forces hidden behind the mist and legends.

He longed to witness firsthand how the priests whispered to the silent night sky beneath the enormous silver dome of the Temple of the Moonsingers; he longed to explore the ultimate mysteries of life, death, and sacrifice behind the unassuming gates of the House of Black and White; and he longed even more to glimpse a trace of the Faceless Ones, the messengers of the legendary Thousand-Faced God, and to understand their transcendent fear and power.

For him, Braavos was both a vast strategic chessboard and an ancient book written in mysterious symbols, waiting to be discovered.

The sea breeze was biting, brushing against his heterochromatic eyes. The "Havoc" would cut through the waves, embarking on this long journey that would take a full three weeks.

The three-week voyage was a period of solitude, isolated from the world, but it was by no means boring, at least not for Euron.

The "Havoc" became his mobile academy, and his two mentors—the experienced Balf and the highly skilled water dancer—lifted the curtain on the vast world across the Narrow Sea for him.

The deck, the captain's cabin, and even the swaying forecastle became classrooms. Lisa spread out maps and scrolls, her voice calm and clear, systematically dissecting for him the delicate political game on the west bank of Essos: the power balance between the governor of Braavos and the Sea King, the hereditary intrigues of the governors of Pentos, and how the suffocating slave ship of Valantis operated.

She explained the composition of the people in each region—from the astute business tycoons and proud swordsmen of Braavos, to the spoiled noblemen of Pentos, and the slave owners of Rees who indulged in sensual pleasures.

Raphael, the water dancer, was responsible for more "down-to-earth" instruction. He used elegant movements to demonstrate the intricacies of Braavos clothing—how to wear a simple robe to convey different identities, and how to judge a person's school of thought or even personality by the way they carry their sword.

He described the food there, from the salty oysters at seaside stalls to the roasted peacocks drizzled with honey and poppy milk at aristocratic banquets, emphasizing which table manners were taboo to be violated. When the storm subsided, he would spar with Euron on deck, not only teaching him swordsmanship but also analyzing the different fighting styles and philosophies of Essos—the ferocity of the Dothraki, the discipline of the mercenary bands, and the terrifying efficiency of the Faceless Ones.

But this was only the surface-level task. In the deeper night, only Lisa stayed by Euron's side, lighting a dim whale oil lamp, with the core directory of the intelligence network he had painstakingly built over the years spread out before them.

The parchment was covered with names, code names, positions, character weaknesses, leverage over others, and prices. He had to brand every collaborator across the Narrow Sea—the greedy Braavos customs clerk, the Pentos governor's mistress with a penchant for dragon blood, the Riss pirate captain whose family was firmly under his control—with every detail imprinted in his mind. Similarly, he had to know the abilities, loyalty, and contact methods of all his subordinates—the accountants lurking in the trading houses, the assassins infiltrating the mercenary groups, the informants working as servants in the Temple of the Moonsingers—as clearly as possible.

This was not merely memorization, but a rehearsal. He needed to mentally rehearse countless possibilities: how to use both kindness and force when meeting A, which hidden piece to activate when B betrayed him, and how to cross-verify the information provided by C with D's message. The sound of the waves was the only accompaniment. In the flickering candlelight, his heterochromatic eyes repeatedly swept over the names that would determine the success or failure of his expedition, transforming them from cold symbols into living pieces that extended his will.

On the tenth day of the voyage, a gale-force wind, accompanied by hail, began to pelt down.

The sea utterly ripped away its gentle facade. The leaden sky pressed down heavily, and the gale whipped up towering waves that crashed and then rose again like countless dark green mountains, attempting to tear the small toy, the "Drinking Ship," to shreds. The biting cold was no longer just a sea breeze; it had materialized, carrying walnut-sized hailstones that pounded furiously on the deck and sails with a chilling crackling sound. The world was engulfed in a chaotic roar, and the boundary between sea and sky had become blurred.

At this moment when the power of heaven and earth was at its most violent, Euron, standing at the bow of the tossed ship, felt a completely different kind of tremor, originating from the abyss.

Through the thick ship planks and the churning, icy seawater, an ancient, vast, and soul-chilling sense of existence, like an underwater volcano awakening, violently crashed into his perception.

The Gray Sea King's awakened bloodline roared! It wasn't a visual or auditory sensation, but a deeper, more visceral resonance. His consciousness seemed to be forcibly pulled downwards, piercing through the deep darkness, finally "seeing" clearly the terrifying silhouette perched on the endless seabed—

It was a sea monster of unimaginable size, its form identical to the golden krait embroidered on the Greyjoy family banner! Tentacles as thick as castle towers slowly churned the icy waters, each covered with terrifying suckers capable of crushing a dragon's bones. Its body resembled a moving mountain, and within its shadows, a gigantic, cold, inhuman light flickered in its pupils. It was the embodiment of the deep sea, the awe-inspiring totem of the Ironborn's ancient legends, and now it truly lay prostrate at his feet!

A desolate will originating from antiquity surged backward along the bloodline connection, cold and tyrannical, yet strangely without malice; it was more like a scrutiny, a confirmation of those of the same origin.

Euron felt no fear, but rather a surge of indescribable power. He needed no words; a pure thought traveled along the invisible bridge—help me.

The next moment, the previously raging and chaotic waves seemed to be tamed by an invisible giant hand. An exceptionally stable and precisely directional undercurrent quietly supported the keels of the "Drinking Spree" and the other two escort ships, offsetting the most fatal turbulence. Like an invisible protector, it forcefully carved out a relatively stable path in the destructive storm. The surrounding seawater continued to roar and rage, but their ships were quietly protected by the power of the totem beast.

This is not taming, but acceptance; not magic, but a covenant older than magic, deeply rooted in blood and legend, being reawakened. Euron Greyjoy stands between storm and shelter, with mortal warships beneath his feet, and deeper beneath, the mythical beasts that submit to his bloodline.

After the storm subsided, the golden sea monster extended its enormous tentacles toward Euron. Euron reached out and gently touched the tentacles with his own. Then, the golden sea monster slowly sank to the bottom of the sea, leaving only a distant, ancient cheer that lingered on the ocean.

The golden sea monster had always existed only in the legends of the Ironborn. They never imagined that one day they would actually see it with their own eyes. Kneeling on the deck, watching Euron and the golden sea monster communicate silently, they were moved to tears and could not calm down for a long time.

Charisma – The golden sea monster appeared at your summons, considered a miracle by the Ironborn. Two hundred and twenty people are willing to give their lives for you, their loyalty unwavering until death. Your Charisma increases by 1 point, Charisma: 15 points.