Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 415 Pterosaur Horns - The Shadow Long Pterosaur

The Iron Islands fleet set sail again, like a group of iron sharks that had caught the scent of blood, resolutely heading northeast.

Their next target was Little Mokra, an island that appeared tiny on the nautical charts but held the key to global trade.

This island's strategic location is truly a gift from heaven, guarding the western entrance to the "Gateway to the Jade Sea." Any ship wishing to enter the legendary Jade Sea, flowing with gold and spices, from the rich, warm summer sea must pass through here; there is no way to bypass it—it is a natural sea gate.

The vital maritime trade route connecting Westeros and the vast Essos—carrying smooth silks, alluring spices, and heavy precious metals—was like an invisible golden stream, forced to narrow here, flowing right under the nose of Little Mokla.

In the past, during times of peace, this place was a gathering place for the colorful sailing ships of the Summer Islands merchants and the spice-laden warships of the Qarth merchants, which were like mobile palaces. Various languages ​​and currencies converged here, and the air was filled with the scent of wealth.

But wealth never goes alone; it always attracts war and plunder.

Throughout history, the not-so-wide coastline of Little Mokra has witnessed the war elephant banners of the Gorgis Empire and reflected the dragon shadows of Valyrian Freehold. It was a coveted target for these vast empires, who were willing to fight tooth and nail for control. In the gaps between imperial powers, it was also the eternal hunting ground for pirates and privateers, who circled like vultures, waiting to tear flesh from the plump merchant fleets.

At this moment, Euron Greyjoy's fleet is embarking on the path to unification towards this watery land steeped in history, wealth, and bloodshed.

After dozens of days and nights of sailing, the fleet rolled through countless surging waves and came to see the desolate and rugged coastline of Goros.

Goros was built during the reign of the Gith Empire. It was once a city, but is now in ruins and serves as a temporary foothold for the Iron Islands fleet.

From Goros, across the Cinque Terre Strait, it only takes a day's sail to reach Little Morakot Island.

The Iron Islands fleet will rest here for three days while awaiting the Ice and Fire Merchant Guild's supply fleet.

The supply convoy is on its way, carrying vital fresh water, storable food, and fresh fruit from the nearest friendly port, which will fuel the fleet's continued eastward expedition.

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This brief stop was not without purpose; at the same moment the fleet was resting, a messenger was dispatched further east—towards the island that guarded the gateway to wealth.

A letter bearing the Greyjoy family's sea monster wax seal was delivered to Little Morakot Island in the fastest possible way.

The letter was concise and forceful, without the slightest beating around the bush, carrying the characteristic directness of the Iron Islands, a directness tinged with the saltiness of sea and the stench of steel. It offered no explanation of advantages or disadvantages, no promises of reward, but simply presented the island's rulers and inhabitants with the same two choices that had echoed in the Basilisk Islands:

To die or to surrender.

There is no third possibility.

Little Morakot Island's wealth stems from its land, which produces spices that drive the known world mad.

The pungent black pepper, the fragrant cinnamon, and the alluring cloves—these golden grains and brown wrappers, transported by the merchants of Qarth across the known world, reached every corner from King's Landing in Westeros to Pentos in Essos, bringing a continuous stream of enormous wealth to the Qarth Guild, thousands of miles away.

This island, flowing with gold and spices, has no ruler in the traditional sense.

It is indirectly but firmly controlled by the vast Qarth Merchant Guild through sophisticated capital and influence. The "Three Giants," representing different capitalist factions in Qarth, the mysterious and wealthy "Tourmaline Brotherhood," and the oldest "Spice Guild," have all established magnificent residences here, managing their respective powers and turning this place into a miniature kingdom ruled by ledgers, contracts, and spice scales.

When Euron Greyjoy's ultimatum, stained with rust and blood, crossed the seas to reach the leaders of these merchant guilds, it did not trigger an angry declaration of war, but rather a remarkably realistic and sober assessment. They weighed the cost of resistance, assessed the destructive power of the Iron Islands fleet, and the fearsome reputation of the "Lord of the Seas."

The choice made by the Qarth Merchants' Guild was not to confront, but to withdraw.

There were no tragic farewells, no pointless sacrifices. With precise efficiency, vital ledgers, key personnel, and the most precious spice stocks were swiftly packed and loaded onto the fastest ships. In the brief window before the Iron Islands fleet arrived, these shrewd owners of wealth chose to evacuate Little Morakot entirely.

They left behind a fully functional spice-producing region, sending a clear message: they were unwilling to confront the nightmares of the deep sea head-on; wealth could be sought elsewhere, but life and precious merchant ships could not be lost.

In Goros, while the Iron Islands fleet rested in the port, Euron mounted the back of the Millennium Dragon Halsien.

With a roar, the thousand-year-old dragon Halsien carried Euron into the sky, flying southeast towards the region shrouded in lush greenery and mist—the pterosaur horn of Sothros.

This peninsula, known as "Pterodactyl Cape," faces Little Morakot Island across the sea, and they are neighbors. However, when viewed from above, the two present completely different scenes.

If Little Morak Island is an island of wealth where merchants gather, then Pteranodon Horn is a primitive world forgotten by time, composed of deep jungles, towering trees, and miasma-filled swamps. Huge vines, like monstrous tentacles, entwine trees taller than castle towers, their dense canopies stretching into a boiling green ocean, occasionally revealing glimpses of black water that conceal countless ancient secrets and dangers.

The true masters of this primeval area are the pterosaurs, which are almost extinct in the outside world.

They were not true Valyrian dragons and could not breathe fire, but they were the undisputed rulers of the skies of Sothros. Halsien's arrival instantly stirred up this sky.

From the canopy of the jungle below, different colossal figures were startled and took to the air one after another: a massive, striped pterosaur with mottled patterns on its wing membranes; a swamp pterosaur, known for its low-flying hunting in swampy areas and its dark coloration; a brown-bellied pterosaur with a distinctive brown belly and a piercing cry; and finally, the most enigmatic, the shadow pterosaur, almost blending into the shadows—

They circled and hissed around the Millennium Dragon, this sudden intruder, displaying both vigilance and primal hostility.

Euron stood atop the dragon's back, powerful air currents ruffling his long hair. His eyes shone brightly, filled with a desire for exploration and conquest, as he watched with great interest these ancient creatures he had only heard of in legends. He was not merely observing, but also assessing, evaluating, and scrutinizing—a group of aerial mounts that might one day be brought under his command.

The stench of human flesh and blood permeating the air stimulated the dragons circling in this primeval sky.

The most ferocious striped pterosaur let out a sharp hiss, its huge membranous wings suddenly folding together, like a giant javelin that had been given life, and it pounced straight at Euren, the tiny but most conspicuous figure on the dragon's back!

Faced with this attack that would terrify any warrior, Euron not only did not retreat, but instead grinned, revealing a smile that was a mixture of madness and pleasure. He actually leaped off the back of the thousand-year-old dragon Halsien, as if committing suicide, to meet the ferocious beast!

In the air, two figures rapidly approached each other.

The twin swords were drawn, their cold light flashing like two streaks of lightning across the night sky.

Just as it passed the striped pterosaur, the blade flashed with perfect precision, slicing through its wings that supported its flight.

Huge membrane wings!

"Sizzle—!"

The tough wing membrane tore open with a huge gash.

Scalding dragon blood splattered out, splashing a scorching rain of blood in the air, with a few drops even landing on Euron's face.

Before the downward momentum had subsided, a barely audible pop seemed to emanate from the air beneath Euron's feet, and his figure made a bizarre second leap in mid-air—Moonwalk!

Using his extraordinary physical skills, his trajectory suddenly changed, and he crashed to the ground like a meteorite.

The moment it landed, it slightly bent its knees to absorb the impact, and then without any hesitation, its figure sprang up like a ghost, just in time to meet the striped pterosaur that was falling out of control due to its torn wing membrane.

The blade flashed again, this time a vertical slash from above, full of absolute power!

With a single slash!

The head of the striped pterosaur separated from its body in an instant. The huge head tumbled and flew away with an incredulous expression, while the massive body slammed heavily onto the ground, causing a dull thud.

At this moment, more pterosaurs, enraged by the blood and death of their own kind, swarmed in from all directions, emerging from the jungle and the sky.

Surrounded by dragons, Euron showed no fear. Standing atop the dragon corpses, he surveyed the threatening roars of the flying dragons, his expression one of near-excitement. He flicked the dragon blood off his blade, his eyes burning with a palpable fighting spirit.

"Hahaha—" A deep laugh escaped Euron's throat: "It's been a long time since I've encountered an opponent who can ignite my fighting spirit—"

Euron gripped his twin swords tightly, lowered his body slightly like a cheetah poised to pounce, and grinned at the increasing number of dragon shadows around him, saying, "Come on, you're perfect for me to practice my sword skills!"

Three days later, at dusk, as the setting sun dyed the desolate coastline of Goros a blood-red hue, a chilling figure appeared on the horizon.

Euron Greyjoy was completely soaked in dried, blackened dragon blood. Congealed scabs covered his leather armor, hair, and even his cheeks, making him look less like a human and more like a being crawled out of the abyss of purgatory.

A statue sculpted from carnage. The intense stench of blood and a deeper, ancient predator-like aura emanate from it, like a god of death returning from hell, causing all who witness its return to hold their breath involuntarily.

Euron was not the only one who returned with him. In the low sky behind him, a huge shadow hovered like a ghost, its wing membranes almost blending into the twilight, only its cold, vertical pupils gleaming with an eerie light—it was a shadowy long-winged dragon that had submitted to him.

It no longer displayed an aggressive posture, but instead flew around Euron in a docile and vigilant manner, like a king guarding his throne.

Euron had casually tossed a large, roughly woven net of tough vines onto the beach. Rolling inside were dozens of dragon eggs, each the size of an adult human head—the eggs of a striped pterosaur. Their shells were covered in mottled patterns that blended seamlessly with their surroundings, shimmering in the setting sun with a metallic and jewel-like luster, promising to one day hatch an aerial legion.

The port fell into a deathly silence.

Even the most unruly Ironborn of the Iron Islands, who were used to following Euron in creating miracles, stared in disbelief at this scene.

Euron ventured alone into the most dangerous wilderness of Sothros, bathed in blood, subdued the sky overlord lurking in the shadows, and brought back so many dragon eggs—an act that shocked the Ironborn, who almost doubted whether they were witnessing a living god walking among mortals.