Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 416 Little Morak Island - Vahal Island

A day later, a strange sight unfolded on the coast when the Iron Islands' formidable fleet appeared on the horizon above Little Morakot.

Although Euron's letter was coldly worded, it did not explicitly demand that they kneel on the shore and raise their swords in submission.

He only gave those two options.

But the precedent of the Basilisk Islands—the rumor that those who resisted were crushed to dust while those who surrendered in time survived—had already reached the surviving inhabitants of the islands on the sea breeze. Fear is the best messenger; it arrives faster than any fleet and takes root in everyone's heart.

The people on the island also learned of Euron's method of getting the pirates of the Basilisk Islands to submit, and they followed suit, which was naturally the safest course of action.

So when the familiar yet unfamiliar sails gradually became clear, without any organization or orders, all the remaining pirates, the small merchants with nowhere to escape, and the civilians who only wanted to survive all made the same move that they believed was the only way to save their lives.

They voluntarily left their makeshift shelters and gathered on the beach where the fleet was most likely to land. As the flagship's bow parted the waves near the shore, the dark mass of people, like wheat fields bent by the wind, knelt in unison on the rough sand, bowing their heads deeply and raising their scimitars and short axes high above their heads, symbolizing their complete surrender.

With silent kneeling, they loudly proclaimed their choice: surrender.

Euron accepted their surrender and immediately announced that Donald Dragoon, the second son of Dunstan Dragoon, the head of Old Wake Island and the head of the Dragoon family, would serve as the governor of Little Morak Island, effective immediately.

The decision to have the second sons of each island rule the conquered islands was a strategy set out long before the expedition. As for who would rule first and who would rule later, and the size and importance of the islands, it was allocated according to their achievements in previous wars.

Euron never interfered with the record of achievements; it was all managed by the patriarch of the Harlow family, with Donald Drogon ranking first among them. No one could object to entrusting this important trading center to him.

Upon hearing this news, Donald Zodoo felt as if a hot coal and a cold iron had been thrown into his heart at the same time.

An overwhelming joy surged through him—as the second son, he too now possessed his own island! The weight of this reward far exceeded his expectations; it meant power, status, and a considerable income. A fleeting look of approval crossed his father Dunstan Zog's stern face.

For Donald Thoggu, he could also become the lord of an island, just like his father and brother, and the glory of the Thoggu family would continue and expand in his generation.

But this initial enthusiasm was quickly dampened by a sense of loss. His appointment as governor of Little Morakot meant he would no longer be able to participate in Lord Euron's epic, historic campaign across the Iron Islands. He would be confined to this spice-scented island, dealing with endless taxes, disputes, and construction problems, while his companions would sail with the kraken flag to more distant and exciting unknown worlds to create even more legends.

The Iron Islands brothers laughed heartily and patted Donald Drummer on the chest, congratulating him on his glory.

Donald Drow sighed. Although he had gained a stable foundation, he had also lost the opportunity to gain greater glory amidst turbulent waves. He didn't know whether this was a blessing or a curse.

In the boundless blue waves of the eastern part of the Summer Sea, Vajal Island floats quietly in the middle of the sea like a forgotten pearl.

This small but prosperous island prospered because of its control over the precious spice trade, and the city of Váhár built on the island was thus draped in a golden cloak.

Standing on the island and gazing into the distance, the blurry, bluish-gray outline of Great Morakot Island appears on the eastern horizon, like a sleeping sea monster; to the west, the faint silhouette of Little Morakot Island, which has just been conquered, looms large.

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Interestingly, as the ship sails east, the outline of Great Morakot Island just rises above the horizon, while looking back, Little Morakot Island to the west is already shrouded in mist. These two islands, like two silent giants guarding the island, one to the east and one to the west, firmly shelter Vajal Island in the middle, protecting it from the most violent storms and forming a natural harbor.

This small island, known to merchants as the "nest of spices," looks like a carefully polished piece of amber when viewed from above, quietly set between the boundless blue waves, warm and alluring.

Unlike many ports with fortified fortresses, Vajal Island has no towering castles; its core and soul are the simple docks that stretch along the coastline.

It's more like a large, open-air trading market, where the air is always filled with the smells of spices, salted fish, and different ethnicities.

On the dock, rough hemp ropes held many single-masted sailboats, which swayed gently up and down with the soft tide, as if they were dozing off. The sails were faded indigo, with the words "XX Chamber of Commerce" printed in white paint, now blurred, telling of their affiliation and past voyages.

On the docks of Vajal Island, sailors, shirtless, their bronze skin gleaming in the sunlight, were scooping up salty seawater with coconut shell ladles and splashing it onto the wooden decks to rinse it.

The salty sea breeze carried a faint yet distinct spicy aroma—the scorching scent of black pepper intertwined with the warm, sweet fragrance of cinnamon—quietly emerging from the warehouses piled high with goods in the back alleys of the dock, permeating every corner.

Several deep-draft wooden merchant ships were moored in the city's harbor, their holds fully loaded with spices.

The market area, located next to the port, is dotted with sturdy stone buildings and colorful tent stalls. All the buildings are simple and practical, with steeply sloping roofs designed to drain away summer downpours.

The wealthiest and most powerful merchants, well-informed, had already quietly departed with their most valuable possessions long before the Iron Islands fleet appeared on the horizon. Those left behind on Vajal Island were mostly small merchants and peddlers who had staked their entire fortunes there.

Faced with the Iron Islands warships surging into the harbor like black reefs, they were extremely respectful, raising high the scimitars that they had previously hung at their waists, which were more of a tool, and then kneeling in unison on the rough ground to show their submission.

Euron smiled and told them to rise. His gaze swept over their fearful and humble faces, and then he announced in a clear voice, "From this day forward, Vahar Island belongs to Little Morak Island and will be under its unified administration." He paused slightly and pointed to the young governor beside him: "And the administrator is the governor of Little Morak Island—Donald Drogon."

As soon as the words were spoken, the islanders turned around almost without hesitation and knelt down again in the direction of Donald Drogon, as if they were pledging allegiance to whoever sat in that position.

The eyes of these islanders were mostly simple and honest, bearing the marks of long years of hard work at sea, lacking the ferocity of outlaws like pirates. For them, life was practical; as long as the taxes imposed by the new rulers didn't leave them starving, it didn't matter which flag flew overhead or who their ruler was.

Young Donald Drum straightened his back.

This was the first time Donner had ever been so unreservedly worshipped. The sea of ​​bowed heads made his palms sweat slightly, and a strange, indescribable unease washed over him. But when Donner caught a glimpse of the approving look in Lord Euron's eyes, a surge of power seemed to instantly flow through his entire body.

Donner took a deep breath, suppressing the initial panic of assuming power, and quickly regained his composure. He stepped forward, his gaze sweeping over the kneeling islanders, his voice deliberately slow, carrying a maturity beyond his years, clearly resonating throughout the entire dock: "Listen up! From this day forward, this place will be protected by the golden sea monster flag of the Iron Islands and the red flag with white bone hands of my Zhuogu family!"

He paused briefly, allowing the declaration to resonate deeply, before emphasizing his words: "From this day forward, all of you are my subjects! I, Donald Drum, pledge to you with the honor of my family and the sword in my hand."

"As long as you work diligently for this land and fulfill your duties, I will guarantee your safety and well-being, protect you from any pirates or foreign enemies, and grant you fair and just trading rights in these waters!"

This promise, simple yet powerful, directly addresses the core concerns of these small traders who make a living through trade.

After a brief silence, a heartfelt, thunderous shout erupted from the crowd. The islanders knelt deeply once more, their cries, sung in thick local accents, echoing along the coast of Valhalla: "Long live!"

"Long live Lord Zhuogu!"

Euron stepped forward with a loud laugh, raised his hand and patted Donald Dragoon's chest forcefully, the force carrying the ruggedness and intimacy unique to the Ironborn, and said loudly, "Good! Well said! Governor Donald Dragoon—" He deliberately dragged out the new title, the teasing in his tone making the surrounding Ironborn captains smile knowingly: "Then, Little Morak Island, and this Vahar Island, are all in your hands."

He leaned closer, lowering his voice slightly, but it still reached Donner and the other core captains clearly: "You'd better help us Iron Islands keep a close watch on this spice haven!"

As soon as he finished speaking, the people around him immediately understood the intimate banter and heavy entrustment in his words, and burst into a knowing, uproarious laugh.

Donald Zogu wore a helpless, bitter smile. He understood the weight of this trust and opportunity, and he knew that behind that laughter lay a complete change in the trajectory of his life.

Donner subconsciously gripped the hilt of his sword. The transition from a warrior accustomed to fighting on the deck and surviving in the storm to an island lord who needed to balance various parties, handle mundane affairs, and protect the island's assets was immense, and he needed a great deal of time and experience to gradually adapt.