Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 381 The Fall of Lotus Harbor

After suppressing its rage for thirteen days and nights, it finally broke through its final restraints!

In the port area, the Iron People's Army formation, which had been as silent as gray reefs, instantly transformed into a boiling tsunami.

"For Greyjoy—!"

The pent-up fighting spirit and bloodlust, like a tiger released from its cage, unleashed a deafening roar.

The Iron Warriors' eyes burned with a pure thirst for battle and plunder, like a destructive torrent bursting its banks, surging along the open city gates and streets toward the heart of Lotus Harbor!

It wasn't until the heavy footsteps and frantic roars drew near that many of the Lotus Harbor garrison soldiers, who had been dozing against the walls or still gazing around in bewilderment, awoke as if from a deep sleep.

"Enemy—enemy attack!!"

"They've entered the city—!"

The hurried cries of alarm were instantly drowned out. The resistance was scattered and desperate.

The guards, just awakened from their sleep, were cut down by a battle axe before they could even find their spears. The officer, who was trying to organize a defensive line at the street corner, was pinned to the wall by several thrown spears before his voice could be heard far.

Wherever the iron-gray wave passed, blood splattered and screams echoed. The meticulously arranged urban warfare obstacles proved utterly ineffective against overwhelming force and sudden attacks. The defenders' lines crumbled instantly, like grease sliced ​​by a red-hot blade, leaving behind a scene of carnage and rapidly spreading death.

The siege, the moment the city gates were opened, had already devolved into a massacre within the city.

As Lotus Harbor descended into chaos, the garrison commander Bernhard Sharp made a seemingly wise decision.

He pointed his sword at Euron, who was strolling in the distance, and roared at his two most trusted heavy armor captains beside him, "To catch the thief, catch the king first! Take down their leader, and we can turn the tide of the battle!"

The two captains received their orders and each led nine elite heavily armored warriors, like two sharp knives, through the chaotic battlefield, heading straight for Euron's location.

Surprisingly, the Ironborn warriors along the way seemed to ignore their target, even slightly parting the way as they charged, allowing the two squad leaders to advance straight to Euron. This unusual "smoothness" gave the soldiers carrying out the decapitation mission a fleeting illusion, making them think that this enemy commander was unpopular and had been abandoned by his subordinates. Their faces couldn't help but reveal a ferocious and smug look of impending success.

They will soon discover how wrong they were.

Just as the heavily armored warrior at the forefront raised his warhammer and was only ten steps away from Euron, Euron, who had been standing still, finally moved.

There was no shouting, no warning.

-

He had somehow already grasped two strangely shaped longswords in his hands. The moment the blades were drawn from their sheaths, scorching flames suddenly ignited, coiling around them and transforming the two swords into two flaming blades that spewed destructive light!

The moisture in the air seemed to evaporate instantly, and a wave of heat hit us.

Before the first heavily armored warrior's warhammer could fall, a crimson blade flashed across his neck like a ghost. The thick steel armor was easily sliced ​​open like butter by the flaming blade, and as his head rolled off, the cut was charred black, the blood sealed in by the intense heat before it could even spurt out.

Euron's figure transformed into a burning afterimage as he burst into the squad.

The twin flaming blades swung into two deadly fan shapes, melting and deforming steel armor wherever they passed, and severing and melting weapons.

The soldiers' screams were brief and piercing, often choked in their throats by the intense heat. The flames not only cut, but also scorched and carbonized everything they touched.

The attack by twenty fully armed, elite heavy armored warriors did not even force Euron to retreat a single step; the entire process took only a few breaths.

When Euron stopped moving and reappeared, the flames on his twin flaming swords slowly died down. He was surrounded by twenty charred corpses in various poses, their heavy armor twisted and deformed as if it had been thrown into a furnace and forged, with wisps of smoke rising from the gaps.

A strong, pungent smell of burning meat mixed with a strange, nauseating odor filled the air.

The sudden silence of this death zone contrasted horrifyingly with the surrounding shouts of battle. Bernhard Sharp, still charging forward in the distance, froze completely, his smugness replaced by boundless fear and despair.

Inside the main hall, the stained-glass windows, once symbols of power and luxury, flickered in the distant firelight, mirroring the fortress's precarious fate. Shouts of battle, the clash of weapons, and the agonizing cries of the dying surged in from all directions, growing ever closer.

The defending general, Bernhard Sharp, stumbled into the hall, his helmet nowhere to be seen. His gray hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat and blood, and his armor was covered in knife marks and splattered blood. He practically collapsed before the throne, his voice hoarse and distorted with urgency and despair: "My lord! The city gates—the city gates have fallen! It was the Long Spear Company, the Raven Company, and the Cat Company! Those three mercenary groups that deserve to go to the deepest hell, they betrayed us and opened the gates from the inside!"

Upon hearing this, young Skadi Lyman smashed the silver cup in his hand to the ground. The exquisite vessel instantly warped, and the wine splattered like blood onto the expensive Mill carpet. His handsome face was contorted with extreme rage as he cursed, "Damn it! I knew it! I knew these money-grubbing, sewer-stinking bastards were unreliable! They have absolutely no honor!"

On the throne, Donovan Lyman, the monarch of Valano Island, maintained the last vestige of his rigid composure. His fingers gripped the armrests tightly, his voice deliberately steady, as if defeat wouldn't come as long as he refused to admit it: "Bornhard Sharp," he didn't even use the title of general, his tone carrying an unrealistic command, "Stop your panic. Gather everyone you can still command and drive those Ironborn who have infiltrated the castle!"

"Right here, stop them!"

Bernhard Sharp looked up, his face a mixture of disbelief and a sorrow bordering on pity. He stepped forward, almost pleading, his voice low but each word dripping with anguish: "My lord! Wake up! The castle—it can't be held! The Ironborn have surged in like a tidal wave, our men are either dead or scattered! Now only the Unsullied, led by the Black Worm, are still fighting to the death in the first few streets, buying us a final bit of time!"

He stared intently into Donovan's eyes and uttered the cruelest, and only, choice: "Now—let's get out of the secret passage! Any later, and it'll be too late!"

Inside the hall, only the distant clanging of the Unsullied's shields as they silently faced death, and the crackling of flames, echoed his desperate cries.