Euron had already resolved to bring the Stepstones under his control. What he needed next was a justification—a casus belli that would allow the Iron Islands to intervene openly and righteously.
Ten days later, an Iron Islands merchant ship flying the banner of the "Ice and Fire Trading Company" sailed into the treacherous waters of the Stepstones, following a pre-planned route.
Named the Sea Kraken, this vessel was laden with furs from the North and refined iron from the Iron Islands. Its manifest stated it was bound for Essos to trade, requiring passage through these dangerous waters.
But it never reached its destination.
Several days later, horrifying news reached Pyke via a surviving longboat: the Sea Kraken had been attacked by "unknown forces" near Bloodstone.
The twenty-odd sailors and dozen guards on board were all slaughtered. Even more heinous was the treatment of the dead: the bodies of these Ironborn were cruelly hung from the reefs surrounding Bloodstone, left to be battered by the waves and pecked at by seabirds.
Of course, Euron would never use his own loyal subjects for such a bitter ploy.
The corpses hanging from the rocks of Bloodstone, dressed as Ironborn crewmen, had been meticulously prepared by Balfour's son, Floyd Pyke. As a bastard who had lived among the Stepstones for years, finding such "scapegoats" was second nature to him.
In the shadowy corners of the Stepstones, there was no shortage of rootless drifters—fugitive criminals, bankrupt sailors, masterless slaves, and survivors of pirate infighting.
Floyd only had to scatter a few silver coins in a tavern to easily recruit dozens of such desperadoes. To them, a staged "pirate raid" was just another chance to make quick money. They had no idea their script ended in death.
"Thirty?" Floyd had scoffed when he received the order. "In these waters, I could find you three hundred, let alone thirty."
And so, the carefully designed "accident" played out as scheduled. When those nameless bodies were hung on the reefs, washed by the tide, no one knew their true identities, and no one cared—except for the man who needed the excuse.
The salty wind swept over Bloodstone, swaying the hanging corpses as if whispering the details of this cruel, perfect plan.
When the news reached Euron, he stood in the chart room of Pyke and ordered Maester Qyburn to send ravens to the seven islands. "Summon the captains," his voice was calm. "Ironborn blood will not be spilled in vain."
At noon the next day, the atmosphere in the Great Hall of Pyke was heavy. The lords of the seven islands of the Iron Islands had all arrived, their longships packed tightly in the harbor like a swarm of sea monsters waiting to strike.
These rough-faced lords had just learned the infuriating news: an Ironborn merchant ship had been hijacked in the Stepstones, the crew massacred. Now, gathered in the Seastone Hall, their faces wore the characteristic violence and rage of the Ironborn.
The "Ice and Fire Trading Company" Euron founded had cleverly become the bond linking the seven islands. Pyke held fifty percent of the shares, while the other six islands split the remaining fifty. Every ship in the company was crewed by sailors from each island in equal proportion. This ingenious system acted like an invisible cable, firmly tying the six islands to Euron's warship.
When news of the ship's fate arrived, every island lord realized this wasn't just about Pyke's interests—it directly affected their own island's revenue and people. Dunstan Drumm of Old Wyk gripped his battle-axe, Harren Hoare of Great Wyk wore a dark expression, and even the lord of the distant Blacktyde looked murderous.
Euron stood before the Seastone Chair, his gaze sweeping over every lord present. "My lords," his voice echoed through the hall. "Someone has stretched a bloody hand toward the children of the Iron Islands. They must pay the price in blood. Whoever they are, they must learn: those who offend the Iron Islands will be destroyed, no matter how far away they are!"
The sea breeze surged through the open doors, billowing the lords' cloaks and fanning the flames of war in their hearts.
---
As the news of war with the Stepstones spread across the Iron Islands, the entire archipelago began to boil.
The excited shouts of Ironborn and the clang of weapons echoed against the sea cliffs, like a pod of krakens scenting blood.
The thirst for revenge and the anticipation of plunder made their blood run hot. After all, the chaotic and wealthy waters of the Stepstones had always been the dream battlefield for every Ironborn seeking glory and gold.
Euron displayed astonishing organizational skills, assembling a formidable fleet in just three days. Twenty longships lined up neatly in Pyke's harbor, their black sails like the wings of death. Each ship carried one hundred elite warriors—a full two thousand of the fiercest Ironborn ready for war.
For the expedition to the Stepstones, Euron did not deploy the terrifying behemoth, The Fury of the Grey King. Instead, he selected a fleet entirely composed of specially modified longships.
The Stepstones were a maze of scattered islands and dense reefs; narrow channels made it impossible for massive warships to maneuver effectively.
Before Euron rebuilt Iron Holt and improved shipbuilding techniques, the capacity of Ironborn warships was quite limited. The largest ships, like the Great Kraken and the Iron Victory, could carry at most one hundred and fifty men; medium warships held fifty; and standard longships only twenty to thirty.
But now, after Euron's complete overhaul of Iron Holt and his revolutionary improvements to shipbuilding, the Iron Fleet was transformed.
The twenty longships lined up at Pyke were all meticulously modified. Their hulls were wider and deeper, their masts sturdier, their sail area larger.
These improvements allowed each longship to stably carry one hundred fully armed Ironborn warriors while maintaining the speed and agility characteristic of the vessel class.
The sea breeze blew over the freshly tarred hulls. These warships, representing the latest in Iron Islands naval technology, were ready to demonstrate their power in the complex waters of the Stepstones.
This expeditionary force was the most elite army the Iron Islands had seen in a century. The ranks included warriors fresh from the Tourney at Harrenhal, their armor still bearing the dents and bloodstains of the melee—surviving that brutal seven-sided battle was proof enough of their strength.
Heirs of the great houses from every island joined the expedition. Denys Drumm, eldest son of Lord Dunstan Drumm of Old Wyk, carried his family's ancestral Valyrian steel sword, "Red Rain," its blade rippling with dark red patterns in the sunlight. The Goodbrother family of Hammerhorn sent all three of their triplet sons—Greydon, Gormond, and Gran Goodbrother stood shoulder to shoulder, their identical burly frames and faces forming a unique sight in the fleet. Harras Harlaw, heir to Rodrik Harlaw of Ten Towers, boarded with the Harlaw family's Valyrian steel longsword, "Nightfall."
There was no shortage of seasoned veterans, either. Dagmer's scarred face was full of fighting spirit; Balfour stroked his white beard, his eyes shining with the sharpness of a long life at war. The fire of the kraken burned in every warrior's eyes. Their banners snapped in the wind from the masts, like sea monsters poised to strike, ready to bring a baptism of iron and fire to the Stepstones.
The wind filled the black sails powerfully. Euron stood side by side with his elder brother Balon at the prow of the flagship.
Balon was not originally part of this expedition—as the eldest son and heir of Pyke, he should have remained safely in the rear. However, his heart, hungry for battle, could not be tethered. Neither fierce arguments with his father, Lord Quellon, nor repeated disputes with his rock-wife, Alannys, could shake his resolve.
In the end, he even threatened to renounce his inheritance rights to secure his chance to fight.
Behind Euron, the red robes of the priestess Gwendolyn fluttered in the sea breeze, the fire of prophecy dancing in her eyes. The shadowbinder Evelyn stood quietly in the dark, seemingly merging with the ship's shadow.
On the morning of the fourth day, a thin mist draped over Pyke's harbor like a veil.
Amidst this haze, the fleet composed of the Iron Islands' finest warriors quietly set sail. The longships sliced through the gray sea like twenty poisoned swords, course set for the Stepstones.
The sound of prows breaking the waves was like the beating of war drums, heralding the coming blood and fire.