Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 443 Sea Serpent - Chasing the Sun

Assassin's vastness almost exceeded the Westeros's comprehension.

Its area far exceeds that of King's Landing, the most magnificent capital of Westeros, by at least five times. The black buildings stretch endlessly into the depths of the mist, like solidified black waves.

In stark contrast to its astonishing size is its sparse population.

The city's population is equivalent to that of a small market town of only moderate size. At midday, when it should be bustling with activity, the streets, wide enough to allow an elephant to pass, remain sparsely populated.

The few pedestrians, without exception, covered their faces with masks or heavy veils, like wandering ghosts.

Their demeanor carried an innate air of slyness, their eyes sharp as eagles, scanning their surroundings warily through the holes in their masks. Almost everyone kept their hands tightly tucked into their sleeves, as if ready to draw a weapon or cast some unknown spell at any moment, filled with vigilance towards everything around them.

Occasionally, a few sedan chairs would glide silently through the streets. These were enclosed carriages made of ebony and black iron, with heavy black curtains completely obscuring the interior. They were carried by burly slaves with empty eyes, quickly passing through courtyards and archways.

The entire city fell into a suffocating silence. There were no vendors hawking their wares, no children playing, and even the wind seemed unusually oppressive. All activities proceeded in an unspoken stillness, as if any extra sound would awaken something slumbering deep within the city.

The lizard's mask turned slightly toward Euron, its emerald eyes gleaming in the shadows: "Since you come from Westeros, you must have heard of the two legends who once trod this land—Coris Valeryrion the Sea Serpent and Ari Westhill the Sunseeker."

Euron tapped his fingertips lightly on the hilt of his sword and chuckled, "Their names are still sung in the distant songs. It is said that the 'Sun Chaser' of Ari Westhill finally rests here."

"It is indeed here." The lizard's sleeve flicked slightly, pointing towards a direction shrouded in black mist deep within the city. "Though Assha is far at the edge of the world, Westeros merchant ships always come seeking her. Almost all of them want to see with their own eyes the destination she reached." Her gaze swept over the Iron Islands people. "And you?"

Euron chuckled softly. "Since we're here, we should naturally take a look. After all—" He surveyed the enigmatic city, "a place that can stop a legend in his tracks is worthy of admiration by every successor."

In all the nautical legends that have been passed down in Westeros, there are two names that shine like eternal stars, guiding all sailors who yearn for distant lands.

One of them was Corliss Valerian, the patriarch of House Valerian and Earl of Tidehead. With unwavering courage, he steered the Sea Serpent through countless stormy seas, becoming the first Westeros to ever reach Asshal. His feat pushed the boundaries of the known world eastward to the legendary Shadowlands.

The other is even more mysterious and legendary. During the reign of King Jaehaerys Targaryen I, Elisa Farman, daughter of Earl Mark Farman, a member of House Farman, abandoned her family name and privileged life, adopting the alias Ari Westhill. She built the legendary ship "Sunstrider," destined to be remembered in history, and sailed eastward without hesitation, following the trail of the "Sea Serpent." Ultimately, she too arrived at this city at the end of the world, leaving her life and dreams there forever.

Their story was turned into songs and sung in every port from Green Pavilion Island to the Iron Islands.

Every Westeros who has ever heard the crashing of the waves has, at some point, heard their fathers recount the legend of how these two pioneers used dragon bones to cleave the unknown waves and plant the flags of the Seven Kingdoms on the shores of legend.

On the cold, black stone docks of Assah, these legends are no longer distant tales, but have become the real land beneath our feet, and the salty, pungent smell of history and adventure that permeates the air.

Not far along, at the end of a narrow alley, a faded Lisbon banner fluttered eerily in the still air. Beneath it stood a three-story black stone building, with a blurred image of intertwined figures carved on the lintel—this was an inn bearing the Lisbon banner.

The shopkeeper came out at the sound; he was a tall, gaunt old man, his sparse white hair barely covering his scalp, like withered grass blown by the sea breeze. He wore an oversized, stained Liss robe, which made him appear even more emaciated. When he saw the thousands of fully armed, fierce-looking Iron Citizens surging towards the alley entrance, extreme terror flashed in his deep-set eyes.

He practically scrambled down the steps, his gaunt body bent into a respectful arc, his voice dry and obsequious: "Welcome—welcome, esteemed sirs! Your presence at my humble abode truly—truly elevates its grandeur!"

His gaze swept quickly across Euron's calm yet chilling face, and the dark, silent, and dangerous mass of fleet warriors behind him, and his throat involuntarily bobbed.

Euron had a faint smile on his lips. He nodded slightly in response to the shopkeeper's humble greeting and said nothing more.

Kui Lizard's gaze swept over the cluster of three identical black stone buildings that served as inns, his emerald eyes gleaming slightly behind his mask.

"The remains of the Sunchaser," she said calmly, "are in the backyard at the very back of this hotel." She pointed, "These three inns are connected to each other, each with three floors and a hundred rooms. The backyards are spacious enough to set up camp."

If you rent the entire place, there will be more than enough room for your staff.

Without any hesitation, Euron nodded and decided, "Rent them all. These three will do."

The gaunt shop owner seemed choked, his eyes wide, his sparse hair almost standing on end: "M-Sir—rent the whole place? This—this is probably not possible! Our shop—about a third of the rooms are still occupied by guests—"

"Make them move out," Euron said matter-of-factly. "I will give them appropriate compensation."

The shopkeeper's face drained of color, and his voice trembled as he said, "This—this is probably—not appropriate, sir! Those guests, they—" His words trailed off as Euron simply waved his hand dismissively.

"It's alright. Go and call them all out. I'll personally negotiate with them." Euron's gaze swept past the shopkeeper, his tone resolute.

Two figures appeared silently behind the shopkeeper in the dimly lit porch, like ghosts.

On the left, a mage in a deep purple robe floated in his hand, a slowly rotating crystal ball, his eyes gleaming with arcane light; on the right, a figure almost blended into the shadows, his form blurred, only the outlines of two short swords held in reverse, shimmering with a ghostly blue poisonous light.

To survive in Yasha, one naturally needs a few protectors; these are the bodyguards hired by the shop owner.