Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 447 Asia - Travels

The Lord of Shadows flicked his sleeves, pointing to the heavy tomes, his voice carrying an undeniable authority: "The original copies of the books in the Shadow Corner must remain here forever. You may only make a copy of the contents and take them away."

This was exactly what Euron had expected. He had brought all sorts of talented people with him to Assassin.

Accompanying them were not only valiant warriors, but also five pyromancers proficient in runes and fire magic, Qyburn, who was obsessed with the mysteries of life and structure, Royce, a maester recruited from the Salamander Islands who was obsessed with dragons, and Dr. Marwin, who had just joined their ranks and was the most knowledgeable.

Once the order is given, the entire team gets to work efficiently.

In no time at all, they arrived at the Corner of Shadows under Marvin's guidance.

They carefully carried ten sealed barrels of clean water, five boxes of fruit to keep them fresh, and three boxes of spirits.

These "protection fees," commonplace elsewhere but valuable here, were neatly placed in a designated area in the shadows.

In a side room where permission was granted, the transcription work also began quickly.

Marvin was responsible for deciphering the obscure parts, the pyromancers used specially made magic-resistant ink to precisely trace the text and images, Royce paid special attention to the sections on dragon physiology, and Qyburn was responsible for checking and organizing the page order. A race against time for knowledge transfer was quietly underway in silence and focused concentration.

The Iron People knew they were just passing through this strange city, and since they were here, they were determined to see it all to make their trip worthwhile.

With the mindset of explorers, they cautiously yet excitedly traversed the vast and empty black labyrinth of Asshai in groups of four.

The innkeeper was indeed a shrewd man. He knew all too well that the Sunstrider was a sacred relic to all Westeros navigators. It was precisely because of this legendary gimmick that he was able to continuously attract travelers from his homeland to stay there, and that's why he painstakingly maintained this relic deep within his own backyard.

As the Ironborn walked through the inn's deep corridors and stepped into the backyard surrounded by towering black walls, the legendary "Sun Chaser" came into view.

It was not submerged in mud or water, but was tightly bound by countless thick, black vines that resembled the veins of a living creature.

Lifted up, suspended several feet above the ground, this legendary ship's keel and hull seemed to have merged with the living, black city, becoming a tragic and peculiar organ in the city's body.

The marks of time are etched on the wooden hull, weathered and worn, yet miraculously it has not decayed, as if frozen in time by some force. Most astonishingly, defying all logic, on the bare mast, bloom clusters of faintly glowing blue flowers, like undying flames of the soul, silently shimmering in the eternal twilight, guarding this ship that no longer sails.

The Ironmen, these men who had lived by the sea for generations, fell silent, gazing up at the final resting place of this legendary ship. A whisper seemed to drift on the wind, not the wails of ghosts, but more like the sigh of the unfulfilled dream of the legendary female captain, Ari Westhill, echoing gently among the vines and glowing flowers.

Among the many strange and wondrous sights of Asshal, the Ash River, with its desolate form, has become a place that the Ironborn must "visit".

They walked in groups along the riverbank built of black stones toward the more unsettling area.

Even before they got close, a smell mixed with burnt and cold dust hit them. When they finally saw the river in its entirety, even the bravest Iron People warriors felt a chill run down their spines.

The river water was neither the usual clear nor murky, but a thoroughly oppressive grayish-white, as if countless cigarette ashes had been forcibly dissolved and coalesced into a viscous fluid, slowly crawling forward. On the surface, instead of leaves or debris, there were scattered, unburnt black embers, flickering like immortal fireflies on the grayish-white river.

Even more chilling are the creatures in the river.

Those blind, strange fish would occasionally leap suddenly from the viscous river water, their bodies twisted grotesquely. Some had multiple pairs of fins, while others had their spines bent into bizarre arcs. Their skin was as pale as a corpse that had been soaking for years, without a single scale, smooth to the point of being nauseating. And when they opened their enormous mouths, what was revealed were not teeth, but layers upon layers of sharp, file-like keratinous teeth, as if they were born only to tear and grind.

An overly curious Ironman attempted to probe a strange fish near the riverbank with his spear. The spear tip pierced the greyish-white water, producing only a dull thud, like the sound of a spear being plunged into a damp, heavy pile of ash. As he swiftly withdrew the spear, all the onlookers gasped. The spear tip, forged from fine steel, was covered with a thick, chilling greyish-white substance, its texture and smell remarkably like freshly cooled ashes, clinging firmly to the metal surface, impossible to remove completely no matter how much it was scraped away.

At that moment, all the Iron Citizens understood that this city, just as the Kui Lizard had said, could harbor deadly malice even in its "water" and "fish." They silently retreated, leaving behind the river that seemed to flow with death and end, gaining a deeper understanding of the dangers of Assassin.

The black market is also a must-visit destination.

Assassin's black market was not a bustling marketplace, but a silent area located beneath a massive archway.

Transactions are completed here with gestures, eye contact, and touch.

The Ironborn witnessed someone trade a bag of powder reeking of nightmares for a demonic heart still throbbing subconsciously; others displayed several glass bottles sealing wailing souls, only to have them silently taken by buyers lurking in the shadows, leaving behind a small pile of unpolished dragon crystals. The Ironborn traded several fine steel daggers they carried for some purple mushrooms that could temporarily dispel illusions; the entire process was conducted without a word.

In Asshal, a city that harbors all the strange and wondrous things in the world, the Ironborn truly witnessed what "bizarre and wonderful" meant. They were as if walking through a living, bizarre nightmare, brushing past all sorts of believers and spellcasters.

They encountered necromancers draped in cloaks sewn from human skin, the distorted features on the cloaks seeming to still scream silently. Beside the necromancer were meticulously stitched, unusually docile corpse puppets, their eyes vacant, yet their steps remarkably steady. Wherever this silent procession passed, even the tenacious, glowing moss on the walls would instantly lose its vitality, withering and turning black, as if life itself were fleeing in fear.

They had also seen the Cloud-Dwelling Masters. These masters did not need to walk; miniature whirlwinds always hovered beneath their feet, lifting their bodies a few inches off the ground, allowing them to float lightly. Their robes were spotless, as if the dust and filth of Asia could not touch them at all, forming a stark contrast to the city's murky undertones.

Behind a secluded courtyard archway, they glimpsed a group of worshippers clad in blood-red robes. They were engaged in a clandestine, fanatical ritual around a statue of a mother goat, cast in black iron, devouring an infant. The low chanting mingled with the faint sound of something sharp cutting flesh—the followers of the "Black Goat" were performing their bloody sacrifice.

They were once stopped on a street corner by a group of believers whose faces were as pale as paper and whose eyes were empty and devoid of any emotion, like living statues. They were followers of the "Pale Child," silently distributing scrolls to passersby depicting an eternal, still paradise. In those scrolls, everything was frozen, devoid of pain and life.

In some darker corners, at the end of dead-end alleys, on the foundations of abandoned towers, they would occasionally find a distinctive emblem: a roaring lion's head formed by flowing shadows. This was the mark of the "Night Lion," its presence self-evident, suggesting that this deity who governs shadows, secrets, and the hunt also wielded considerable influence and had numerous followers in this lawless land.

Each encounter reinforced the Ironborn's belief that Asshai was not only the end of geography, but also the limit that human faith and madness could reach.

The longer the Iron Citizens explored this city that defied common sense, the more they felt a deep-seated unease.

They gradually noticed two prevalent, yet chilling, phenomena:

No matter where they went in the city—to the markets, squares, or even near the black stone houses that seemed to be residential areas—they couldn't see a single child. There were only adults of all shapes and sizes, and bizarre, inhuman beings. The entire city seemed to have been stripped of the concept of "childhood"; there was no innocent laughter or crying, no sense of new life.

Asahi is like a strange collection of beings that is inherently insulated from reproduction and growth, possessing only the antiquity and end of countless years.

Another point is that there are no animals or creatures for riding here. Horses, donkeys, camels, or any mounts they can imagine are never seen on the wide streets wide enough for galloping. At first, they thought it was because livestock were not native to this place, but later they learned the truth from the guide, the Kui Lizard: in Assassinia, the act of riding itself is considered a great blasphemy and provocation. The specific reasons have been lost to history, but those who violate this taboo often face unspeakable and unpredictable dangers. This means that in this vast labyrinth, all beings, regardless of strength, must rely on their own two feet.

These bizarre and fantastical experiences, along with these two silent ironclad rules, are impacting and reshaping the understanding of the people day and night. Here, common sense is a deadly trap, while reverence is a prerequisite for survival.