Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 400: The opportunity was given to you—but you were useless!

The war horn has sounded, and the iron torrent of the Iron Islands has officially begun.

When news spread that Fly Island had fallen and the Bone Brotherhood had been uprooted, the Iron Islands fleet did not even stop to rest.

Those longships flying the golden sea monster flag, like a swarm of sharks smelling fresh blood, had already turned their bows, cut through the waves, and sped toward their next target—Howling Mountain Island.

This is just the beginning.

From the moment the first rocket struck Bonewall, countless eyes were secretly watching the battle. Carrier pigeons took flight from the dense forest, and speedboats silently sailed out of hidden harbors. When the last flame of resistance on Fly Island was extinguished, detailed intelligence about its fall had spread like a silent plague across the entire Basilisk Islands with astonishing speed.

In every port and every tavern, the same message was being conveyed, accompanied by whispers of fear and disbelief: "The Iron Islands—they've made their move."

"The Brotherhood of Bones is gone."

"Their fleet is heading south—"

Panic, like a thick fog, instantly enveloped all the dens in this lawless land.

On the black reefs of Hurricane Island, Edwin Ramirez watched the afterimages of ships appearing one after another on the horizon, twirling his upturned beard, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

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Those pirate captains who once swore in the taverns that they would "gnaw on the bones of the Iron Islands" were now steering their fastest light boats, rushing here like rabbits being chased by hounds. The arrogance on their faces had long been washed away by cold sweat, leaving only the panic of surviving a disaster.

"Did you see it clearly?" Edwin whispered to his second-in-command, his fingertips tracing the flagpole of the golden sea monster flag. "That's why I chose to raise this flag first on Hurricane Island."

As the first ship docked, the pirate who had once vowed to cut off Euron's head slammed his knees onto the gravelly beach, trembling as he raised his scimitar: "We—are willing to submit!"

Like the first domino to fall, more and more pirates knelt on the beaches of Hurricane Island. They surrendered not only their weapons, but also their once invincible pride. Some described in despair the horrific sight of Fly Island's coastline stained red, while others incoherently repeated the phrase "Crown of the Sea Skeletons."

Edwin casually kicked a tooth embedded in the sand with the tip of his boot, pacing in the shadows where the kneeling figure lay, his voice laced with a cat-and-mouse smirk: "You should have realized this long ago—the Iron Islands' words are never a negotiation, but a final judgment."

Edwin Ramirez suddenly stopped, leaned down to look at a pale face, and grinned. "Now you think you should bow your head? Isn't it a little too late?" He straightened up, spread his hands, shook his head with feigned helplessness, and sighed, "The three-day deadline given by the Lord of the Sea Beasts is very clear. Everyone, you've exceeded your time limit."

The pirates' faces were drained of color; some opened their mouths but could not utter a sound, their eyes filled with despair.

Looking at the trembling prey, Edwin's tone suddenly brightened as he changed the subject: "However—I can put in a good word for you." He glanced around at the group, drawing out his words meaningfully: "After all, the Serpent Lizard Islands are so vast, and the waters are so complex, a delay of a day or two on the journey is understandable, isn't it?"

Like drowning men grasping at their last piece of driftwood, the pirates immediately nodded and echoed each other, their faces forcing obsequious smiles that were more like cries: "Absolutely! Absolutely! Your Excellency is wise!"

"The current was too strong, so we had to take a long detour—"

"This awful weather ruined our trip!"

Edwin watched with satisfaction as the pirates desperately tried to find excuses for themselves, as if he were watching a carefully choreographed farce.

Before the morning mist had been dispelled by the rising sun, the Iron Islands fleet appeared on the sea surface of Hurricane Island like a moving steel forest.

When the keel of the Zhiyuan touched the shallows of Hurricane Island, a sea of ​​people were already kneeling on the shore. Apart from Edwin Ramirez and his three hundred or so elite troops who were still able to stand, nearly two thousand newly surrendered pirates almost filled the entire beach. They kept their heads down, even their breathing was cautious.

Euron stepped off the warship onto the gangplank, his gaze sweeping over the "grand occasion" of surrender with indifferent indifference, his eyes devoid of any emotion.

He didn't care whether these pirates surrendered or not, nor did he consider them reliable fighting force. In Euron's eyes, these two-faced rabble were merely byproducts on the road to conquest. What truly tore through enemy lines and determined the course of war were always the silent, reef-like, and fiercely valiant warriors behind him. The swords in their hands were the pens that wrote victory.

Euron's gaze swept across the beach like a cold tide.

-

More than two thousand pirates knelt on the fine sand in strict accordance with his orders, their raised swords forming a silent steel forest in the morning light.

His gaze lingered briefly on the lowered head, as if assessing a shipment of goods just unloaded from a ship. After a moment, he nodded slightly, his voice so calm it betrayed no emotion: "Get up."

These words were like a pardon, and a suppressed gasp immediately rose from the crowd.

Euron pointed at Edwin Ramirez and said, "All of you, for the time being, will be placed under Edwin Ramirez's command."

Edwin Ramirez stepped forward and nodded.

The pirates hurriedly stood up, their faces plastered with obsequious smiles, exchanging relieved glances—their lives were finally spared. Several pirates in the front row were so excited they almost dropped their swords.

Euron's voice wasn't loud, but it felt like a blade scraping against the eardrums of every pirate: "I accept your allegiance—" He paused, his heterochromatic eyes devoid of any warmth, "but that doesn't mean I trust you."

Euron said in a deep voice, "I despise traitors behind the scenes more than enemies on the front lines."

His gaze swept over the crowd, and several timid pirates began to tremble.

"I have no mercy for traitors, and I know no forgiveness. That's too lenient."

His fingertips lightly traced the hilt of the knife at his waist as he coldly said, "I will shave him into a breathing skeleton, so that with his last breath he will regret being born into this world."

An eerie silence spread across the beach, with only the tireless waves crashing against the shore.

Suddenly, Euron's tone shifted abruptly, taking on an almost tolerant calm: "Now, if any of you are spies or agents, step forward. I swear in the name of Greyjoy, I will let you leave and will not stop you."

He surveyed the crowd, his voice clear and cold: "This is a one-time opportunity."

Seagulls circled and cried overhead, but no one dared to move. That promise, which seemed like a way out, was more like a deadly trap after the bloody threat.

Conqueror's Haki - Activated!

Under the shock of this fear originating from the depths of their souls, several pirates in the crowd turned deathly pale, their legs trembled uncontrollably, and their scimitars clattered to the ground, sounding particularly jarring on the silent beach.

Without Euron needing to speak, the ferocious Ironborn warriors beside him pounced like lightning, pinning down the limp men and dragging them to the front of the line.

Euron's gaze fell on them, and he said coldly, "I gave you a chance." There was no trace of anger in his voice, but it was more despairing than a roar. "It's your own fault for being useless. Skin them, cut their flesh, and pull out their tendons."

The command was concise yet brutal.

"Let everyone see F"

—

Euron declared, as if delivering a final judgment: "This is the fate of a traitor!"

The command was executed swiftly.

From the makeshift execution rack erected on the coast, inhuman, heart-wrenching screams soon rang out.

The sound lasted for a long time, heart-wrenching and deafening, drowning out the roar of the waves. It turned every surviving pirate on the beach pale, and they lowered their heads, not daring to look again.

That desperate howl, like the coldest wedge, firmly nailed fear into the depths of everyone's soul.