Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 402 The Iron Citizens Set Off – Never Leaving Empty-Handed

Before the embers of the wildfire that burned the city had even cooled, the reckoning of the Iron Islands had already begun.

The pirates who had managed to emerge from the deep, dark river were dragged ashore by the Iron People guarding the river mouth as soon as they surfaced. With a flash of blades, their heads rolled into the murky water.

The survivors, who had scrambled down the steep ridge to escape, were not even able to catch their breath before being hacked down by the long-axeed men waiting below.

Even those who surrendered early on, dropping their weapons and kneeling with their hands raised, did not receive the slightest pity.

The Iron People soldiers stepped forward silently, their hands moving swiftly and decisively, their knives falling like the harvesting of crops.

There was no trial, no torture, and not even any unnecessary reprimands.

Only the dull thud of a steel blade cleaving through flesh and bone, and the brief, urgent final sob that was immediately swallowed by the sea breeze.

Survivors from different paths all ended up at the same destination. Their heads were collected and used as cold stone to build the next "Crown of the Sea Corpses." This cruel execution brought the Battle of Howling Mountain Island to a bloody and complete end.

Black smoke billowed straight into the sky from the mountain, while thousands of people below watched the fire.

Euron stared at the still-smoking, charred ruins on the mountain, shook his head, and said with a hint of genuine regret, "What a pity. All the gold and silver treasures accumulated on this island over the years have probably been turned to ashes in this fire."

From within the crowd, a trembling voice came from the surrendering pirates: "My lord, perhaps... everything is still here."

All eyes turned to him, and they saw a skinny pirate kneel down with a thud.

He had spent some time on this island before, and coincidentally, he had a distant relative who was once a minor leader on the island, so he knew many secrets that were unknown to others.

"The island—the valuables on the island," he swallowed hard, mustering his courage to say, "were all moved to extremely secluded caves in the mountains a long time ago for fire and robbery prevention. Those places are practically impervious to ordinary fires!"

This news caused Euron to raise an eyebrow, and the regret on his face vanished, replaced by a smile of great interest.

"Very good." Euron looked at the pirate and said with a clear promise in his voice, "You lead the way to find it."

Found it! You deserve credit.

As dusk deepened, the charred ridges of Howling Island were illuminated.

Euron stood on the beach, his voice carrying clearly across the bay: "We'll camp here tonight, and continue tomorrow—towards Snake Lizard Horn!"

"Whoa—!"

The cheers of the Iron People were like thunder, instantly drowning out the roar of the waves and echoing repeatedly in the canyon.

The surrendered pirate immediately led dozens of elite Ironborn, torches in hand, into the dimly lit mountain path, heading towards the hidden caves within. Their figures quickly disappeared behind the jagged boulders, leaving only the flickering torchlight, like a fiery dragon, guiding their way in the night.

The scene in the bay was quite different. Most of the Ironborn did not go ashore, but lit bonfires on the decks of their longships; others sat directly on the wide beach. Barrels of mead were rolled ashore, and cured meat sizzled over the fire, its fat dripping into the flames and releasing bursts of aroma.

The heroic battle songs and the rough laughter and curses mingled together, drifting far away on the salty sea breeze.

In the dead of night, the silence of the camp was broken by a commotion that grew louder as it approached. A chain of torchlight, like a jubilant fire dragon, snaked down the mountain path, gradually revealing the figures of a dozen or so pirates leading the way and hundreds of Ironborn. They practically slid down the steep slope on their hands and feet, their deafening laughter and unrestrained cheers echoing through the bay, startling the seabirds resting on the masts.

"It's done! Damn it, it really is done!" A captain of the Iron Clan slapped the surrendered pirate hard on the back, almost shoving him into the sand, but the pirate just grinned foolishly.

The commotion was enough to wake the entire camp. The Ironborn, who had already gone to sleep, emerged from the cabins and peeked out of their makeshift tents. Even the sentries on night watch couldn't resist craning their necks to look. The crowd quickly gathered, forming a huge circle on the beach, their sleepiness vanishing completely thanks to their heightened curiosity.

Under the focused light of countless torches, more than twenty heavy boxes of varying sizes and dozens of bulging burlap sacks were thrown heavily onto the beach.

The lock on a box broke open upon impact, and blinding golden light poured out from the gap, instantly igniting everyone's breath.

Chief Elin Oakwood of Oakmont Island slapped the wine barrel beside him and let out a hearty laugh: "Hahaha! Good! This trip wasn't a waste after all, it was worth it!"

Medred Merlin, standing nearby, immediately raised his glass in agreement and shouted, "Well said! The Ironborn never leave empty-handed!"

His booming voice still echoed in the sea breeze when Dunstan Drough of Old Wake Island slammed his glass down on the barrel with a dull thud. His thick eyebrows furrowed, and he glared at Medred, his voice booming, "What do you mean 'not a wasted trip'? What do you mean 'not a wasted journey'?!" His gaze swept over Erin and Medred, undisguised contempt, and he sneered, "We braved the waves, conquered archipelagos, only for this little bit of glittering metal and stone?"

He opened his arms wide, as if to embrace the entire Iron Islands: "What we want is the shipping lane at the end of this sea frontier! We want the golden sea monster flag to be planted on every island! We want future generations to tremble not only at our treasure trove when they mention the Iron Islands, but also at our territory!"

Dunstan grabbed the wine flask, tilted his head back, and drank deeply, letting the wine run down his beard. He then slammed the empty flask heavily onto the sand: "Look further ahead, brothers—this little bit of gold and silver is nothing more than seashells picked up on the great journey!"

No sooner had Dunstan Zog's impassioned words fallen than a loud sneer came from the side.

"Get lost—!" King Baron roared without any politeness, his thick fingers almost poking Dunstan's nose, and he laughed and cursed, "What are you doing here, pretending to be some big shot with Euron's words!"

His words immediately drew a burst of laughter from the surrounding Ironmen, even the usually serious Rodrik Harlow couldn't help but shake his head and chuckle. The beach was filled with a joyful atmosphere.

Amidst the commotion, Euron strolled over to the pile of treasure, casually grabbed a handful of gold coins from the chest, and let them fall through his fingers. The crisp sound of the gold coins clinking together strangely drowned out everyone's laughter.

The campfire flickered in Euron's heterochromatic eyes, and when he turned to face the crowd, the entire beach fell silent instantly, as if an invisible hand had gripped everyone's throats.

"Dunstan is right." Euron's voice was soft, but every word struck everyone's hearts heavily: "This gold and silver—" He kicked the treasure chest at his feet, "was just seashells we picked up along the way."

Euron's gaze swept over each face illuminated by the firelight as he said, "The true treasure lies in the surrender of every port that follows, in the merchant fleets voluntarily paying their tolls, and in the eternal rule of these seas by our descendants!"

The sea breeze carried sparks across the night sky, and at that moment, even the most oblivious Iron People felt it—they were witnessing history.