Euron's brief patrol of Harlaw Island earned him 360 points. Modest, but expected. The Harlaws watched closely—not as foes, but with careful vigilance. Gates stayed shut, eyes followed—every step slowed the rise of his points.
With the long voyage ahead, strength was vital. At his thought, the Pirate King System shimmered—300 points vanished into the void.
Draw.
[Result Confirmed]
[Weapon Acquired: Ace ⚔️]
• Type: Saber
• Effect: +45% Melee Damage, +25% Haki Efficiency
• Description: A thick, gold-hilted saber forged for relentless slashes and unparalleled durability. Once wielded by Gol D. Roger, the Pirate King.
____
The cold bit his fingers as the blade materialized. Heavy, curved, and impossibly sharp, it hummed with raw power, carrying the weight of legend.
For Euron—whose strikes prized cunning over brute force—this blade arrived at the perfect moment.
He fastened the Ace to his side, feeling its potential coil and pulse—a weapon of renown, now his to command.
...
Euron's gaze drifted to the grey horizon beyond Bloody Keep, fingers tapping absently on the rough stone table.
"How long, according to the Citadel?" he asked.
Dagmer didn't look up, wiping his axe on his sleeve. "Three months. Ravens from the North confirm it. Cold winds gather beyond the Neck."
"Three months..." Euron rose, shadow crawling across the wall.
"For the next two months, I will cross every island of the Ironborn. Father entrusted me with this duty—I must see granaries, roofs, and swords for myself. Whether they truly need no aid."
His tone was calm, his excuse respectable. But deep within, this journey meant far more than duty or care for the common folk.
Every island was a board. Every appearance, every promise, every mixture of generosity and pressure served as fuel—more points waiting to be collected.
Beyond the Narrow Sea lay storms, shipwrecks, and enemies who would care nothing for birthright. Only power forged with his own hands would matter.
Over the next two months, the black-sailed Silence carried him from one wave-lashed isle to another.
Despite being only seven name-days, no lord dared treat Euron as an ordinary child.
He commanded the Refined Salt—more precious than gold. Its source a mystery, its shine unmistakable, bent only to his will. A flick of his hand could raise a house for a generation or see it sink to ruin.
Trade routes—silver, food, lumber, plunder—ran through him. He decided which ships sailed, which captains could ply "the Old Way." The Ironborn's strength at sea now rested on a web of strategy only he could see.
Even the priests of the Drowned God bent to his will, murmuring of miracles and calling him the Son of the Drowned God. Faith and power circled him like tide and storm—unyielding, relentless, dangerous.
When the black sails of the Silence appeared off an island, horns sounded from the watchtowers—not in alarm, but in ritual respect.
Chaos followed, tightly controlled: servants scurried, lords displayed furs and chainmail, cellars yielded ale and cured meats. Even dock crews scrubbed to stand straight.
No lord treated the visit lightly.
This warship carried more than a boy—it carried tribute, judgment, and a promise.
Wine flowed freely, yet never eased the tension.
Every toast was a probe, every report measured.
Warehouses were shown.
Warriors paraded—not out of pride, but to plead silently for favor.
Not their fear of his youth, but the power it carried.
Trade routes.
Refined Salt.
Priests' blessing.
The rise and fall of houses resting on his hand.
Each visit a miniature kingsmoot. Every soul present knew it.
Euron spoke of winter preparations, bowed to duty, but his eyes measured hearts, counted loyalties, weighed secrets, and priced fear.
And in this moment, nothing mattered more than gathering the points that would forge him stronger than any storm.
___
📚 Author's Note:
Hey, legends! First off, a massive THANK YOU to everyone following this wild ride. Seriously, you all are the real MVPs. Extra shoutout to those who keep sending "power stones"—I swear I don't even eat a single dollar from it, but it does feel like I just leveled up IRL.
If you enjoyed the chaos, the blood, and the Ironborn shenanigans, I'd love it if you could drop a review or a rating. Think of it like giving me EXP—you know, so I know if I should keep wrecking islands, sailing seas, or just chill like a Greyjoy in a bath.
Stay salty, stay strong, and remember: even a seven-name-day kid can shake the Iron Islands. ⚓
___
Big thanks to B_Imdrowning for the 3 shiny Power Stones!
🐧