Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 404 Island of Tears - Gathering of Six Directions

The task of dismantling Viper Fortress was originally Euron's way of giving the newly surrendered pirates a pledge of allegiance.

But when Euron's declaration, "From this day forward, we Iron Islands need no walls, no castles, for on the high seas, I am invincible!!!", resounded like thunder, the entire Iron Islands fleet was in an uproar.

That ignited passion and fervor cannot be vented by simply standing by and watching.

Someone shouted first, "Tear down the walls! Tear down the castle!"

Like a floodgate being opened, countless Iron Citizens—from ordinary soldiers to elites from various islands, and even some minor leaders—charged towards the centuries-old Serpent Fortress with red eyes and howling.

They no longer viewed it as a drudgery assigned to surrendered soldiers, but as a fervent ritual to put their new beliefs into practice.

Hammers, chisels, axes, and even thick ropes were used to pull—the frenzied Ironmen, like a surging tide, instantly submerged the ancient stone walls.

The roar of collapsing stones, the excited shouts, and the sound of the pirate flag, a symbol of the old era, being torn apart intertwined to create a symphony of destruction.

Under such overwhelming fervor, this fortress, which had witnessed centuries of storms, was demolished in a short period of time, leaving only a pile of jagged rubble, like the remains of a giant beast.

Amidst the billowing smoke and dust, the Iron People stood on the ruins, gazing at the empty mountain ridge, their hearts filled with the pride of creating a brand new era.

The walls have been erased, and as Euron said, this sea itself was the Iron Islands' strongest fortress.

On the southern side of the island of Tears stands the ruins of High Gorthos, once a colony of the Gith Empire and the Valyrian Freehold.

In 25 BC, the Red Death first broke out among the slaves of Gorgos. It swept across the Isle of Tears and then spread to other parts of the Basilisk Islands, wiping out ninety percent of the islands' population.

People who contracted the Red Death suffered from constant bleeding from every pore of their bodies, their skin would wrinkle into pieces like soaked parchment, they would experience unbearable pain all over their bodies, and they would eventually die screaming in agony.

Deep within the Crying Castle, the light from whale oil lamps cast distorted shadows on the damp rock walls.

This fortress, nestled between "Weeping Peak" and "Tear Cave," has solidified the sorrow of the entire island into cold stone walls. At this moment, the last resistance force of the Serpent Lizard Islands has gathered here.

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Besides the host, the leader of the Bloodthirsty Guild, seated on the black stone chair, the five leaders of Axe Island, Toad Island, Claw Island, Skull Island, and Lizard Horn were all present. The pirate forces that once dominated the seven islands had gathered here after the successive falls of Fly Island and Howling Mountain Island.

Given any other choice, these five leaders would never have embarked on the deadly path of directly confronting the Iron Islands. They were essentially shrewd "businessmen," well aware of what it meant to be enemies of a maritime overlord like Euron Greyjoy—endless anxiety, with each voyage potentially becoming their final farewell, completely contrary to their original intention of pursuing profit.

Their initial plan was to temporarily avoid the conflict, intending to escape to places like Slaver's Bay, Rees, or Gis, and start anew using their accumulated wealth. But as soon as the ship entered the deep sea, the ancient colossal shadow emerged from the dark depths.

The sea monster's mountain-like spine silently cut off all paths of escape. The longer ships that were moving faster were reduced to fragments, while the lucky ones that were still behind retreated in terror to the island.

Only at that moment did they fully understand that Euron had already used these deep-sea behemoths to completely block all avenues of survival in the Serpent Lizard Islands. The choice he offered was cold and cruel: either kneel in submission or perish in the belly of the fish.

For those lowly minions struggling in the lower decks, or those forced to raise the skull and crossbow flag only when a knife was held to their throats, the changing times were irrelevant. All they sought was survival, food, drink, and women. Whichever wind blew, the sails would billow—wasn't it all about licking blood from the edge of a knife, no matter which leader they served? This Lord of the Sea Beasts was now generous and powerful, ruthless to his enemies but never mistreating his own. Joining Euron's side might actually be a better option.

But for the pirate kings who occupied the various islands, it was a completely different choice.

To expect them to kneel on the beach like the lowest recruits, holding their scimitars, which they consider their lives, above their heads? This is not just a matter of tearing off face.

This means that their hard-earned status will collapse, hundreds of speedboats will change hands, the gold and silver mountains hidden deep in the caves will be confiscated, and the forces that depend on them, their fearsome reputation—all of it may vanish with this kneeling.

Their clenched fists were so tight that their nails dug deep into their palms. It wasn't just resentment, but a deep-seated fear—the fear of losing everything they had, the fear that even if they surrendered, survival might not be their only hope.

In the dimly lit hall of the Weeping Castle, six figures sat around a black stone round table, their shadows stretched and distorted by whale oil lamps onto the damp rock walls.

The leader of Tears Island, the master of the Blood Weeping Society—"The Lord of Tears" Morris. He was thin and wiry, wrapped in a deep purple cloak, his knuckles pale and long, silently stroking a teardrop-shaped blood-red crystal on his finger.

The leader of Axe Island, and captain of the Giant Axe Pirates, is "Mountain Crack" Agalon. A seven-foot-tall giant, his muscles are as bulging as the roots of an old tree, his face is covered with scars, and his cloudy left eye gleams with a fierce light. He was originally a henchman for slave traders, but was banished for his excessive cruelty. Now, that huge double-edged battle axe lies beside him.

Tolkien, leader of Toad Island and master of the Black Sails. His complexion was unhealthy and sallow, with deep bags under his eyes. He habitually tapped his fingernails on the table, making an annoying tinkling sound, as if he were calculating every gain and loss.

Vic, leader of Claw Island and captain of the Crocodile Tail Pirate Crew. He is wielder and agile, with a row of poisoned throwing knives at his waist. His eyes, like those of a crocodile lurking in a swamp, are cold and patient.

Bren, leader of Skull Island and captain of the Anvil Pirate Gang. He is a burly man with a bald head that gleams oily under the light. He is taciturn and his knuckles are covered with thick calluses.

The leader of the lizard horns, the president of the Serpent Fang Society—"Rock" Olado. He has a rugged face and skin as rough as sand, capable of scaling the most treacherous cliffs with his bare hands. At this moment, he crosses his arms, his brows furrowed, as composed as his name, yet also exuding an unshakable stubbornness.

These six individuals are the last remaining core of the forces on the Serpent Lizard Islands.

Maurice's fingers slammed into the stone table, his voice like a chilling wind forced from a crack in the rock: "Euron Greyjoy—he's leaving us no way out!" His gaze swept over everyone present. "You all saw the fate of Fly Island and Howling Mountain. That wasn't conquest, that was slaughter, that was annihilation! He doesn't want submission, he wants us all to grovel like dogs, licking his boots!"

Anvil Brun slammed his calloused fist on the table with a dull thud. "With his strength, I'd bow down and acknowledge him as my master, no doubt about it! But what about everything we have now? Ships, brothers, business, treasure—we're going to hand them all over! And then, like castrated livestock, send him to run caravans? To do some damn legitimate business?" He spat, "I've been a pirate my whole life, and now you want me to do arithmetic? Dream on!"

Agalon the Mountain-Splitter let out a low laugh, a sound like the grinding of pebbles: "That's normal. If I had a fleet like his, and the ability to command giant sea kings, I would do the same thing—"

"I'll crush all the troublemakers who dare to stand in my way, and be done with it." He swept his cloudy, single eye over the crowd, a cruel clarity in it, and said, "Heh heh, too bad we're the ones getting beaten up now. If anyone thought they could take on the entire Iron Islands single-handedly, they wouldn't be sitting here."

Tolkien slowly raised his glass, took a sip of the murky liquid, and said with a numb expression that seemed to have seen through his fate: "Since the day we raised the black sails, haven't we been constantly being chased and swept away by heroes from all walks of life?"

"Navy, mercenaries, even other pirates—today it's just a different, more ruthless character." He put down his glass, his eyes vacant. "Even if I die tomorrow, it's still the same. This is the fate of pirates; I should have accepted it long ago."

Crocodile-tailed Vic grinned, revealing a set of stained yellow teeth, and laughed, "That's what they say, but who wants to die when they can live?" His fingers unconsciously rubbed together. "I haven't finished drinking the wine in my cellar yet, and I haven't had enough fun with the women I brought from the islands. It's such a damn waste to feed them to the fish like this."

The ever-silent Alado suddenly raised his head, his thick, muscular arms bulging, his voice like a shattering reef: "Stop all this fucking nonsense! Whether we live or die, whether we kneel like dogs or stand tall as men, we'll find out in a fight! What good will all this arguing do to make Euron's fleet turn back?"

Tolkien, the Black Sail, slowly set down his wine glass, a ruthless glint in his eyes. "Olardo is right. We'll definitely have to fight. If we win, we can continue to rule these seas." He lightly traced the wood grain of the table with his fingertips, his voice lowering even further. "Even if we lose—we'll tear a few pieces of flesh from them, make them suffer to the bone. Only then will those high and mighty figures be willing to sit down and listen to our terms."

"Don't talk such discouraging words!" Anvil Brun roared, his massive frame leaning forward, almost blocking out a large portion of the light. "Our six forces combined are no fewer in number than theirs! So what if he can control sea kings? As long as we keep the battlefield firmly on land, those deep-sea monsters are nothing but useless decorations!" He surveyed the crowd, trying to ignite a glimmer of confidence. "A real battle might not necessarily be a one-sided massacre!"

A sliver of color finally returned to Maurice's pale face. He took a deep breath, his voice filled with a desperate resolve: "That's right! Tears Isle is our territory. Every stone and tree here is on our side. On land, the Sea Kings' advantage is useless, and we are evenly matched in terms of military strength."

He abruptly stood up, his deep purple cloak unfurling like bat wings: "There's no time to hesitate. Act immediately, relying on the Weeping Peak's Tear Cave to construct a defensive line."

"They will be at the city gates tomorrow!"