Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 401 Howling Mountain Island - Wildfire Burns the City!

Before the Iron Islands fleet and Edwin Ramirez's newly surrendered pirate fleet had fully approached the coastline of Howling Hill, a strange sound pierced through the roar of the waves and reached the ears of every Ironborn.

It was neither the sound of waves crashing on the shore nor the cry of seabirds, but a low, continuous sob. It seemed not to travel through the air, but rather rose directly from the depths of the sea, climbing up the keel of the ship, carrying an ancient sorrow, like the endless howl of a giant beast imprisoned in the abyss.

Everyone's gaze was involuntarily drawn to the majestic, solitary peak in the center of the island—"Throat Peak." It was like a sharp sword piercing the sky from the earth, its steepness almost vertical. Only on the northeast side could one vaguely see a narrow fold called "Snake Path," winding and coiling around the mountain. It was said to be so narrow that only half a foot could fit through it.

Halfway up the mountain, a massive natural cave, known as the "Rock Throat Cave," suddenly appears. The entrance is about thirty feet high and twenty feet wide, its strange outline resembling the open throat of an invisible behemoth, facing the vast sea and exuding an ominous aura. The sea breeze rushes in, passing through its intricate, labyrinthine network of branching passages—some leading to underground rivers, others directly to the long-dormant volcanic crater at the summit—producing this eerie, unsettling wail that pervades the entire island.

Locals reverently call it "the throat of the earth," a sound said to not only devour sound but also the lives of any intruders. This sound is seen as a warning emanating from the island itself to all uninvited guests.

The dark green waves, with their muffled roars, crashed repeatedly against the jagged reefs, splashing up pale foam. A colossal, jet-black mountain suddenly rose from the murky sea, its summit covered with large patches of mottled white, resembling snow from afar, but upon closer inspection revealing it to be a thick frost formed from millennia of sea salt.

This is the awe-inspiring natural barrier of Howling Mountain Island.

The pirates built their fortress, Throat Fortress, at the top of a huge natural rift. On both sides of this chasm called "Throat Rift" are almost vertical dark rock walls, on which narrow man-made steps can be faintly seen, like fragile threads clinging to the throat of a giant.

The only path to the summit is a treacherous trail known as the "Snake Path." It winds along the edge of the rift valley, and at its narrowest point, only two people can pass side by side. On one side is a cold rock wall, and on the other side is a bottomless abyss shrouded in mist.

In the middle of the rift valley, the terrain abruptly drops, forming a deep, still pool. Even more chilling is the fact that this pool teems with tens of thousands of creatures known as "throat leeches." Rows of tall wooden fences stand along the pool's edge, their surfaces coated with a sticky honey. One can imagine that once the defenses are breached and the fences collapse, the hungry leeches, drawn by the sweetness, will surge forth like a black tide, devouring any intruders.

This deadly body of water is thus named Throat Leech Pond.

Those throat leeches are a terrifying creature unique to Howling Mountain Island. They resemble translucent black ribbons and almost blend into the shadows when swimming in the water. Once they touch the skin of a living creature, they burrow into the flesh like living drills.

They not only greedily suck blood, but more terrifyingly, they can secrete a special neurotoxin from their mouthparts.

The poisoned person will not die immediately, but will fall into uncontrollable violent convulsions, as if every muscle is dancing on its own, until it dies from exhaustion.

Local fishermen have a saying: "It's better to be devoured by sharks than to get leeches on your body."

"Tens of thousands of such death ribbons are slowly wriggling in the deep pool, waiting for their chance to feast."

At the summit of the Serpent's Path, the outline of Throat Fortress was faintly visible through the thin clouds.

The pirates were already on high alert, having piled up sturdy logs and jagged boulders in strategic locations. Barrels of viscous fuel were neatly arranged, the black liquid sloshing slightly in the rough wooden barrels, emitting a pungent odor.

Leaning against the cold city walls, their faces held an almost cruel leisure as they mockingly gazed at the fleet below, which appeared as insignificant as ants. Before this fortress protected by the power of heaven and earth, any attack seemed futile and laughable.

"Let them try!" one pirate spat, patted the log beside him that required two people to hug, and laughed loudly, "Let's see if their heads are harder, or my log is harder!"

Arrogant laughter echoed between the cliffs. They firmly believed that this natural barrier, "one man can hold the pass against ten thousand," was enough to deter any invader and send them to their deaths.

Euron stood below the Throat Fortress, gazing at the black castle on the mountain, and said casually, "It reminds me of the Eyrie," his tone relaxed, as if admiring a landscape. "To take it down from the front, to gnaw on this bone, is indeed very difficult."

The island owners around him didn't have such leisure time.

King Baron's brow furrowed deeply, Lord Gubler anxiously rubbed the handle of his axe, and several renowned generals, known for their bravery, stared at the deadly "Snake Path" and the faintly visible Throat Leech Pool, their faces extremely grave. They exchanged opinions in hushed tones, then shook their heads; a direct assault on that path would be tantamount to suicide, and the fleet could not possibly approach the steep cliffs.

In the silence, only the howling sea breeze could be heard.

All the usual, barbaric tactics seemed to have lost their purpose in the face of this fortress built with the power of heaven and earth.

Euron's gaze swept across the distant, precipitous Throat Peak, as if piercing through the rock walls to see the proud fortress. He suddenly chuckled and posed a question: "Do you know how the Eyrie, supposedly invincible, was ultimately breached?" Before anyone could ponder, he answered himself: "The dragons!"

Euron laughed and said, "A strong castle and high walls can stop human armies, but they cannot stop the judgment from the heavens."

As if in response to his words, a long, drawn-out dragon roar echoed from the sky.

The colossal figure of Halsien, the thousand-year-old dragon, emerged from the clouds and slowly descended beside Euron, stirring up a cloud of dust. Dozens of ceramic jars were meticulously fixed to its massive body, and the viscous, eerie green liquid inside vaguely revealed wildfire capable of devouring everything.

"I don't have a dragon," Euron said, stroking the warm scales on Halsien's neck, "but I have it."

He leaped onto Halsien's back, tightening the reins between his fingers, patted the stone jars, and laughed, "Halsien can't breathe dragonfire, but I've brought a rage far more raging than dragonfire."

Under the shocked gaze of the crowd, the thousand-year-old dragon spread its wings that blotted out the sky.

Euron's final words fell from the sky, clear as if etched into stone: "Guard all exits, especially those leading to the underground river—"

"6

"I will make this fortress, which they thought would never fall, taste the gift from the sky."

The massive wings of the thousand-year-old dragon Halsien obscured the sky above Throat Fortress. Euron stood atop the dragon's back, like an ancient deity, coldly surveying the fortress below, which he thought was safe.

One, two, three—stone jars filled with eerie green wildfire were hurled with pinpoint accuracy. They struck rocks and buildings, exploding instantly—"BOOM!!!"

First came a deafening explosion, then the eerie green flames suddenly burst forth as if they possessed a life of their own, spreading wildly. This was no ordinary fire, but something far more terrifying; it was viscous like oil, igniting on anything it touched, and could even adhere to rocks and continue burning.

Wildfire engulfs the city!

The entire throat fortress instantly turned into a green sea of ​​fire.

Countless pirates were instantly ignited, becoming torches of mournful wailing. They ran and tumbled in vain, unable to escape the gnaw-like flames, and finally plummeted from the steep cliffs and paths like dumplings being dropped into a pot, drawing brief and desperate arcs in the night sky.

Screams, crashes, and bursts of flame intertwined to create a symphony of hell.

The terrifying fire burned from noon until late at night, its towering flames turning half the sky an eerie, ghostly green. From any corner of the Serpent Islands, one could clearly see the beacon fire, a symbol of destruction and conquest, emanating from Howling Mountain Island.

The flames gradually died down just before dawn.

The once formidable and impregnable fortress has vanished. The terrifying heat of the wildfire softened and deformed the rock-built castle, turning it into a molten candle, leaving only a charred ruin, emitting blue smoke and twisted in shape.