Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 384 Harvest and Death

The equatorial sun scorched the port that had just changed hands, and the salty sea breeze carried lingering gunpowder smoke and a faint trace of blood.

The unification of the Summer Islands is a foregone conclusion, and the way the Iron Fleet is handled also bears a distinct mark of the Greyjoy family.

Their purpose in coming here was not for traditional plunder—Euron had a grander vision; simple burning, killing, and looting were no longer of interest to him.

But the iron-willed people have always believed in the principle that "for every drop of blood and iron paid, there must be a reward."

Returning empty-handed? That would be the greatest insult to a soldier.

The Iron People responded most directly and brutally to the seven or eight islands that dared to raise their swords and resist stubbornly. There was no persuasion to surrender, no negotiation. With a single command, the cold blades replaced all words. The blood of the rebels soaked their own beaches, the castles were breached, and the final cries and curses faded into silence amidst the flames and smoke.

This is a necessary deterrent, using fear to tell all the surviving islanders what price they will pay for resisting the "King's" order.

The wealth accumulated over generations on these islands was inventoried from the ruins. Gold and jewels, precious timber and spices were neatly stacked. Half went to the Iron Fleet, while the other half, as agreed, was given to their partner in the area, Jalaba.

Those islands that wisely chose to submit witnessed the benevolent side of the Iron People. They were able to save their lives and homes, but they had to offer a "gift" to express their gratitude for this "benevolence."

The islands' most distinctive products—plump coffee beans, fragrant exotic spices, and colorful parrot feathers—

It was delivered to the Iron People in an endless stream. This was called "thank you for the Iron People's forgiveness and mercy," an unspoken tribute that maintained a semblance of peace and the dignity of the subjugated.

The Ironborn's "harvest" is even greater from the three most resource-rich islands and several important trading towns.

The Ironmen carried crates of spoils, their steps heavy as they walked along the dock, preparing to transport them back to the giant, sea-fortress-like ship.

Seagulls circled and cried out among the masts, looking down at this land that had both endured a bloody baptism and rapidly established a new order.

Lord Rodrik Harlow, head of House Harlow, strode steadily to Euron, the parchment in his hand fluttering slightly in the salty sea breeze. He was tall and imposing, his face bearing the hardened look typical of the Ironborn, forged by the sea and the ravages of war. He approached Euron, offering no further formalities, but simply unrolled the scroll, his deep voice like the crashing waves against a ship's hull, clearly reading the numbers: "Commander, the Battle of the Summer Islands has ended. Our army suffered three hundred and eighty-six casualties."

He paused, his gaze sweeping across the scroll, each name on it representing a roaring warrior charging into battle.

"Of them," Harlow's voice rose slightly, as if to emphasize the weight of this fact, "there are two hundred and ninety-four..."

People fell in the bloody battle to capture the last fortress.

The last Lotus Harbor, with its five thousand castle guards and one thousand Unsullied, is the most stubborn symbol of resistance in the Summer Isles.

With the help of mercenaries, the Ironborn opened the city gates and launched a surprise attack under cover of night. Braving swords and spears, and stepping over the corpses of their comrades, they finally managed to plant Greyjoy's Kraken banner atop the city. This number speaks volumes about the ferocity and cost of that battle.

Then Harlow began to report another achievement: "The spoils of this battle, including gold and silver utensils, pearls and agates, various gems, as well as spices, cloth and other supplies cleared from warehouses and cellars, have been preliminarily calculated—" He raised his eyes to look at Euron and announced a figure that would make any lord's heart flutter: "Converted to gold dragons, the total is approximately three hundred thousand."

Euron took the parchment scroll, glanced at it, and handed it to Rodrik, saying calmly, "All spoils of war will be distributed after the voyage is complete. Record all battle achievements. For all those who died in battle, have our priests hold a funeral for the Drowned God and invite them to the Drowned God's Flowing Water Palace for a banquet."

Rodrik Harlow nodded and left the tent.

It means new warships, better equipment, and months of celebration and jubilation that will resound throughout Pike Town.

The dust of the battle had not yet completely settled, but the smoke of war had already been replaced by a new, restless atmosphere.

The victors begin to write a new order.

Jalabar Sor's messengers, sailing light boats like pebbles thrown into a still lake, swiftly spread a message to every corner of the Summer Islands: five days later, in the heart of these broken islands—the capital Lotus Harbor—he would don the crown and proclaim himself "King of the Summer Islands," ruling over the entire territory.

The news elicited different reactions wherever it reached.

Some cheered, some remained silent, and others, in some unknown corners, clenched their fists, their eyes gleaming with resentment.

On the flagship of the massive Iron Fleet, the Zhiyuan, anchored off the coast of Lotus Harbor, Euron Greyjoy issued his order. His calm voice echoed among the captains: "Pass down the order: the fleet shall rest here for seven days."

The order was concise and clear: seven days—meaning that the massive fleet of the Iron Islands would not set sail for the next leg of its journey until the morning of the third day after Jalabar Sol was crowned king and enjoyed his initial glory.

This was not simply a generous gift, but a present. In the time before they left, the Ironborn would not just lie in the sun polishing their weapons.

The heavy thud of combat boots echoed once again on the islands that had just pledged allegiance.

The warriors of the Iron Islands will conduct one last and most thorough "purge" in the name of "ensuring the stability of the ally's throne." Any potential "resistance" that could threaten Jalabar's rule, whether it be a family, a village, or a hiding noble, will be precisely and ruthlessly eradicated.

The Ironborn are telling the new king, and all the islanders, in their own way: Your crown is crowned by our swords, and your rule is protected by our fear. Before you sit on that lotus throne, we will clear all obstacles for you, so that your kingdom may begin from a point of absolute submission.

The war in the Summer Isles had just ended, and the air still carried the lingering smell of gunpowder and blood. Euron Greyjoy, the mastermind behind this conquest, did not linger in the euphoria of victory.

After completing the unification of the Summer Islands, Euron also received a notification from the One Piece System:

You have conquered the Summer Islands—the entire island!

You have earned 20000 system points.

Every time the Iron Islands fleet conquered a small island, it would send a notification of the points gained. Those small islands would usually only yield a few hundred or a few thousand points, but little by little, they added up. After the entire Summer Islands came under the control of the Iron Islands, Euron gained a total of 66,000 points.

Eulen has a huge amount of points that he is not in a hurry to use.

Inside the captain's cabin of the "Zhiyuan," Euron dismissed everyone around him. There were no oars or horns, he simply raised his hand calmly and gently pushed it into the air in front of him.

An invisible, intangible "door," its edges shimmering with a faint light, opened silently. On the other side of the door, there was no longer the wooden walls of the cabin, but rather the dry, warm wind of Dorne, carrying the unique scents of sea buckthorn and lemon trees.

Step out.

Space behind him twisted and healed.

The sounds of distant waves, the hammering of blacksmiths, and the drills of soldiers—all the sounds of the battlefield and the fleet—vanished instantly, replaced by absolute silence.

He was already standing beneath the long corridor of the Sun Tower in Sunspear City. The setting sun generously poured its last warmth and light onto the pale red sandstone walls, outlining warm golden lines along the edges of his dusty armor.

Euron didn't disturb anyone; he simply followed the familiar, soft laughter.

The first thing that catches the eye is Asara, sitting on a soft couch in the garden. Her long, dark hair is loose, and she is focused on her embroidery, her profile incredibly soft in the sunset. Beside her, Rhaenys is standing on tiptoe, trying to touch a butterfly resting on a rose bush with her muddy little hands.

Asara seemed to sense something and looked up. The moment she saw him, her violet eyes instantly filled with unspoken surprise and tenderness. Renis also turned her head, paused for a moment, and then, like a joyful little bird, opened her arms, giggled, and rushed over, throwing herself into his embrace.

Euron bent down, smiling, and gently lifted his daughter into his arms; her small, warm body nestled close to him. Not far away, his son Caesar, playing in the sandpit, also spotted his father and ran towards them, cheering.

Ilya heard the noise and came out of the room carrying Alexander. Alexander gently rocked in her arms, blinked, and reached out his hand to Euron.

Euron smiled with his eyes narrowed, enjoying this rare moment of leisure.