Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 94 The Reward of Mercy

Count Adrian trembled violently, his teeth grinding together, and a metallic taste of blood filled his mouth.

—He actually bit a tooth so hard it broke. The extreme humiliation and anger almost suffocated him, but he pursed his lips tightly, not wanting to say a word, and could only stare at Koren with eyes burning with hatred.

Just then, Euron Greyjoy chuckled softly, a light and cheerful laugh that seemed completely out of place in the otherwise brutal atmosphere.

"However, Father," he said casually, "even if we uproot the vines, the soil remains. After we leave, next spring, perhaps new shoots will sprout again. After all, the land is the most patient thing." He stroked his chin, as if seriously considering a technical problem, "I've heard that the best way to completely solve this problem is to spread salt all over their land. That way, nothing will grow here anymore, and the Redwin family will truly be confined to the sea, haha!"

"You demon! You beast! You shall die a horrible death!" Count Adrian struggled violently as if stung by a poisoned needle, uttering a heart-wrenching curse. The Ironborn warriors binding him could barely hold him down.

Spreading salt to destroy the land is the most vicious and thorough tactic to wipe out any future generations! It means permanent desolation!

Euron simply waved his hand, his smile unchanged, as if he had just told a harmless joke: "Just kidding, don't get agitated, Earl. Look how frightened you are." His tone was relaxed, "I won't rub salt into your land, although that would be simpler, more thorough, and a permanent solution."

He abruptly changed the subject, his tone becoming subtle: "Because, although you plundered the grain from our merchant ships, but—"

They didn't kill our crew. You upheld the bottom line of the war, so the Iron Islands reciprocated with a measure of "mercy."

Count Adrian, as if grasping at a last straw, roared excitedly, "That wasn't plunder! That was a nation—"

"Shh—" Euron suddenly put a finger to his lips, making a shushing gesture, with a mocking, chilling smile on his face. "Don't mention the King again, my dear Earl."

He slowly took a small roll of parchment from his pocket and waved it in front of Adrian.

"Just yesterday," Euron's voice suddenly took on an exaggerated tone, mimicking a court messenger. He pulled out a small roll of what appeared to be formal parchment from somewhere and casually toyed with it between his fingers. "King's Landing issued a decree to every corner of the Seven Kingdoms; everyone in every corner should have heard it."

He cleared his throat, as if genuinely reading aloud the resolution of the Grand Council: "The document states in black and white: 'Upon investigation, Ser Harlan Grandson of the Kingsguard and Earl Adrian Redwin of Greenwood Island have colluded with each other, harboring treacherous intentions. Furthermore, Ser Harlan Grandson of the Kingsguard has unauthorizedly transported extremely dangerous wildfire to Starfishtown, with unknown plans.'"

He paused, glanced up at Adrian's instantly pale face, and continued reading in a somber yet sarcastic tone:

"However, due to a serious operational error during the journey, a violent explosion occurred, ultimately resulting in his tragic death. It was a truly heartbreaking tragedy."

As he finished reading, he shook his head dramatically and smacked his lips: "Pfft, pfft, pfft, what a sudden tragedy!"

Who could have imagined this?

Count Adrian's eyes widened suddenly, his pupils contracting in utter shock and rage. He struggled, a sound escaping his throat: "It's—it's! It's clearly—"

"Yes, yes, my dear Earl, I heard you," Euron interrupted him quickly, his smile growing deeper and more knowing, like a patient tutor guiding a child, or a venomous snake that had seen through its prey's every thought. "You didn't collude with him. Those green nightmares in jars were a gift 'generously' 'gift' to you by that good king sitting on the Iron Throne. And you, out of your laughable 'chivalry' and inexplicable 'sense of honor,' 'righteously' refused him. Not only that, you also ordered his esteemed white-robed knight to immediately take that hot potato—a 'gift' that could blow up half of Starfish Town—and get out of your territory. Am I right?"

Euron's voice was like the finest sandpaper, rubbing against Adrian's already taut nerves. He leaned forward slightly, his heterochromatic eyes flashing with an all-seeing light, and asked a piercing question: "Now, tell me, Earl Adrian, do you have, even the slightest—regret?"

"Are you uncontrollably thinking in that angry mind: If I had taken those wildfires back then, if I had used them on the battlefield, on the Iron Islands fleet, those green flames would have devoured our Ironborn longships! Maybe the ending would have been different?"

He seemed to be able to read Adrian's thoughts directly. But just as Adrian was being tormented by this hypothesis to the point of near madness, Euron's tone suddenly shifted, becoming cold and realistic:

"But I want to tell you an interesting fact," he said slowly, "that when the messenger from King's Landing arrived at your castle with that 'generous gift' and had that unpleasant meeting, our people had already seeped into every corner of this island, right here in your Starfish Town, like mercury."

His voice was even lower, carrying a chilling certainty:

"If you had truly been blinded by greed and accepted those wildfires, storing them in some warehouse in the harbor—" Euron's lips curled into a cruel smile, "then the war might have indeed ended long ago—before you even had a chance to ignite anything. Just a small 'misoperation,' like a perfectly timed rocket? Then, the towering green flames wouldn't have devoured the waters of Whispering Bay, but your entire Starfish Town! Along with all the soldiers, civilians, your castle—everything. Then, all that would remain would be a huge, stinking crater, long gone."

Euron leaned in very close, his voice so low it sounded like a devil whispering in your ear, sharing a shocking secret: "So you see, my dear Earl, in the end, your seemingly foolish and stubborn 'refusal' inadvertently saved your Starfish Town, and the lives of thousands upon thousands of people in that town."

"That spectacular green fireworks display that was supposed to wipe your homeland off the map ended up just sending the unfortunate Sir Harlan Grandson and his loyal guards to their deaths in the middle of nowhere."

"Now," Euron straightened up, resuming his languid tone as if he had only been discussing the weather, "do you still think your persistence was worthless?"

Euron straightened up, shrugged, and made a concluding gesture: "Because you, along with justice and obsession, refused to use wildfire." His tone was ambiguous, a mix of praise and sarcasm. "So, when one of my men suggested that we follow the Iron Islands' most traditional method—to wipe out the starfish completely, burn them all—" He paused, his gaze like a cold probe piercing Adrian's already empty and desperate eyes. "...I refused too."

These words, spoken lightly, were like a final, invisible hammer blow, shattering all of Adrian Redwyn's remaining pride and principles that he had used to maintain his last shred of dignity.

Civilians would not be killed, nor would they die because of his poor command and the defeat in the war. The last bit of strength supporting Adrian Redwin's body seemed to be drained in an instant, and he collapsed completely like a puppet with its strings cut. If it weren't for the Ironborn warriors supporting him, he would have already collapsed to the ground.

"Thank you!" This was the only consolation in the face of utter despair.

"No need!" Euron looked down at his utterly defeated opponent, his face devoid of any victor's smugness, only an almost indifferent calm. He continued, his voice steady, yet carrying an undeniable authority, like the proclaiming of law: "In the square of Starfish Town, before all the survivors, I publicly promised: those who surrender will not be killed." His words echoed clearly in the air. "This promise did not stem from weak pity, nor from any personal respect for you."

Euron's tone grew more forceful, each word as hard as sea stone: "This promise is an oath made with the ancient bloodline of the Greyjoy King and the honor of House Greyjoy. It concerns the reputation of the King of the Iron Islands, and is more important than the life, death, joy, or anger of any individual before us."

Seeing that Adrian Redwyn had already submitted, King Coron leaned forward slightly, as if emphasizing a most basic yet inviolable principle: "Our war is over. Slaughtering prisoners who have laid down their arms and no longer pose a threat is the act of cowards and fools; it tarnishes victory and, more importantly, the honor of those who swore the oath. Likewise, I expect you to behave yourself and not cause trouble, not force us to do things we don't want to do. We will leave quietly after paying the iron money. How about it?"

Adrian Redwin nodded, his body already limp.