Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 407 is not yet finished.

With the war over but the smoke of battle not yet completely dissipated, Tears Island ushered in a new order.

The soldiers silently cleared the battlefield, severing the heads of the fallen pirates one by one, whether they had died in flames or by swords. These once ferocious or arrogant faces were now frozen in their final expressions of death, and were indiscriminately thrown into huge wicker baskets with a dull thud.

Eventually, all the heads were transported to the center of the island, where a new "building" began to be constructed beside the ancient ruins known as Gorgos. The Ironborn, like the most ruthless craftsmen, used the heads of their enemies as bricks to build a massive, circular base around the weathered tower of the ruins.

More heads were piled on top of each other, their empty eye sockets all staring at the sea, in an eternal vigil. The process itself was a silent, terrifying ritual.

When the last head was placed on top, a brand-new and chilling "Crown of the Sea Corpses" was completed. It rests on ancient ruins, yet exudes the solemn aura of iron and blood belonging to this era.

The sea breeze pierced through the hollows of countless skulls, producing a low, mournful sound, like a lament for the dead, or a distorted hymn offered to the new rulers.

This crown, forged from fear and death, casts a long shadow in the afterglow of the setting sun. It is not only the most thorough declaration of the remaining forces of the Lizard Islands, but also the bloodiest and most direct symbol of the Iron Islands' power taking root in this place.

It reminds everyone who sees it of the fate of rebels: to become a silent "pebble" on this crown.

In this battle, the Iron Islands looted almost all the wealth accumulated over many years by the six islands of the Serpent Islands. Boxes of gold dragons, pearls, gems and all sorts of precious goods were loaded onto the ships, making the longships' waterline even deeper.

This bountiful harvest was irrigated with immeasurable blood.

More than 13,000 pirates fell forever on the land they once ruled, their heads becoming the foundation stones of the newly built "Crown of the Sea." On the other side of victory were the lives of more than 2,000 Ironborn warriors who returned to the Flowing Water Palace of the Drowned God they worshipped before they could witness the victory celebration.

The faces of the Ironborn survivors showed no trace of gloom or sorrow after the battle. They huddled around the towering campfire, vigorously pounding their blood-stained breastplates and clattering wooden bowls brimming with mead. The air was thick with the aroma of roasting meat and the strong scent of rum; the only melody here was the bold war songs and the rough laughter.

When someone mentions their fallen comrades, their eyes will briefly glance at the distant sea before bursting into an even louder cry: "The dead are not dead!" An old soldier with a full beard raises his glass to the sky, shouting hoarsely.

"We will meet again!" More people raised their glasses in response, creating a deafening roar.

In their unwavering doctrine, death is not the end, but merely the journey to an everlasting feast in the flowing palace. Today's parting is destined to lead to a reunion in the realm of the gods. Therefore, mourning is replaced by revelry, tears mingle with strong liquor, and the best farewell to their brothers is to carry on with their victory and glory, living even more freely.

This is not cold-bloodedness, but rather a uniquely Iron Islands-style romance and valor that embraces life in the face of death.

The celebratory banquet was in full swing, with the aroma of mead and the fervor of victory filling the largest hall of the castle.

Just as the uproar was about to reach its peak, Euron Greyjoy's voice, though not loud, was like an ice cube sliding into a boiling oil pan, abruptly silencing all the noise.

"This battle is not over yet." Euron stood in the main seat, toying with a silver cup in his hand, his gaze sweeping across the faces in the hall flushed with alcohol and excitement: "Enough is enough." His tone was calm, yet undeniable. "Tomorrow, we will march on Toad Island."

King Baron, who was about to gulp down his third bowl of wine, paused, a hint of annoyance flashing across his burly face. Almost immediately, he slammed the bowl down on the table, splashing soup everywhere. He looked around at everyone, his voice booming, "Did you all hear that?! Are you deaf?! There's a tough battle to fight tomorrow, not some bunch of bastards to die drunk on Women's Island! Three bowls each, keep track!" He waved his thick arms. "After you've eaten your fill, go bandage your wounds and get some rest! Anyone who misses tomorrow's campaign, I'll personally throw him to the sharks!"

The two supreme commanders spoke in quick succession, especially Euron's cold reminder and King Balon's harsh execution of the order, which quickly cooled the heated atmosphere in the hall. Although there were still some resentful grumblings, the clamor visibly subsided. The warriors pushed and shoved each other, began to carefully tend to their wounds, and many more silently checked their weapons and armor.

Inside the hall, only the crackling of the fire burning in the fireplace and a heavy silence, like a lull in a great battle, a silence that held back tensions, remained.

Euron returned to the room in the Crying Castle that had temporarily served as his residence. The aura of battle still seemed to linger around him, but he simply put down his weapons in silence, sat down in a rough wooden chair, and closed his eyes to rest.

The door was gently pushed open, and the Warrior Queen Alicia walked in. She didn't make a sound, but simply stood quietly at the edge of the shadows, her gaze fixed on Euron's slightly tired profile.

Euron didn't open his eyes, but as if he had already sensed her presence, he asked, "Are you not used to this kind of war?"

Alicia took a few steps forward, letting the firelight from the fireplace illuminate her young yet resolute face.

"None of the pirates who died today—those who plundered, sold slaves, murdered, and burned—were innocent." Her voice was calm, carrying a rational judgment, then her tone turned slightly somber. "But this is truly the first time I have personally witnessed such a large-scale—such a brutal battle."

"How are you feeling?" Euron finally opened his eyes and asked calmly.

Upon hearing this, Alicia's lips slowly curved into a smile, a smile not born of cruelty, but of a pure fighting spirit ignited by her bloodline. She slightly raised her chin, firelight dancing in her eyes: "Excited." She readily admitted, her voice carrying an unmistakable arrogance: "Don't forget, I am the Warrior Queen, Nymeria's blood flows in my veins."

The candlelight cast flickering shadows on the wall.

Alicia leaned forward slightly, her fingertips brushing against the edge of Euron's bloodstained armor, her voice as low as sea mist: "Are you hurt?"

Euron shook his head slightly; the silence after the battle filled the room.

Alicia suddenly raised her hand and untied the pearl hairpin behind her neck, letting her silver hair cascade down.

Her belted leather armor fell to the ground with a thud, followed by her gunpowder-soaked inner garment, until the moonlight outlined her smooth spine and the silhouette of a warrior. Her movements carried the resolute decisiveness of a warrior removing his armor, yet also concealed a certain irresistible tenderness.

Euron's silence turned into a barely audible sigh as she drew near. Her warm palm pressed against his, and a sweet kiss sealed his lips.

"I said I wanted to get pregnant," she whispered between breaths, her boots accidentally kicking the sword strap on the ground with a soft metallic clang. "The Warrior Queen's promise—is never a joke."

"So, we need to do it a few more times—"

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