Deep within the Stepstones, in the fortress lair of the Pirate King "Bloodhand" Marlin, the ruler of these waters sat cleaning his fingernails with a ruby-encrusted dagger, listening to his subordinate's report regarding Skull Island's plea for help. His rugged face showed no emotion, but inside, he was already calculating the odds.
In truth, long before Euron Greyjoy's Iron Fleet appeared in these waters, Marlin had grown disgusted with that fool, "Skull King" Mor Bones. That arrogant idiot had dared to openly rob merchant ships that had already paid the toll to him, "Bloodhand" Marlin.
That broke the rules that had stood for decades. It shook the very foundation upon which they all survived.
Marlin had already sentenced Mor Bones to death in his heart.
His original plan was cold and practical: let Euron Greyjoy's Ironborn attack Skull Island. If Mor Bones was butchered, it would save Marlin the trouble of cleaning up a rule-breaking moron. He had even considered a more thorough approach—if Euron offered the right price, Marlin wouldn't mind personally chopping off Mor Bones' noisy head, wrapping it up in a nice package, and sending it as a "greeting gift" to the second son of the Iron Islands.
As long as the deal was done beautifully—terms negotiated beforehand, ensuring "Bloodhand" Marlin saved face and appeared as the undisputed master of these waters rather than someone forced to submit—then the trade was highly profitable. Using the life of a disobedient subordinate to buy peace or even cooperation with a new power, thereby solidifying his own rule? It was a bargain.
After all, Mor Bones crossed the line first. Killing him was justified; no one could blame Marlin for it.
However, "Bloodhand" Marlin's meticulous calculations had not yet been put into action when cold reality smashed into his face with brutal force.
Euron Greyjoy and his fleet did not follow the script Marlin had imagined. They didn't pause, nor did they send any message for negotiation. Instead, they lunged with thunderous momentum straight into the heart of the Stepstones at Black Rock Island. With terrifying efficiency, they wiped it off the map—leaving not a single soul alive.
Worse, Euron had used the severed heads to build a horrific monument, giving it a grotesque and poetic name—"The Crown of Sea Skulls."
This initial display of power was vicious enough, but what stuck in Marlin's throat was the naked humiliation that followed. Euron had sent a cold ultimatum: Hand over "Skull King" Mor Bones, bound and alive, within three days. Or else the fate of Black Rock Island will be the fate of Marlin's own lair tomorrow.
All subtle calculations were stripped away, exposed in the harsh light of day. The situation left him no room to maneuver.
The blood spilled on Black Rock Island could not flow in vain. If "Bloodhand" Marlin showed no reaction to this, how could he govern these lawless seas in the future? His face, his authority—Euron had publicly trampled them into the dirt. He had to put away his previous balancing act and was forced to adopt the hardest stance: publicly declare support for Skull Island and vow to make Euron Greyjoy pay for his arrogance in blood.
Tragically, even with the war clouds gathering this thick, the faint light of reason hadn't completely extinguished. Deep down, Marlin knew there was still a slim chance for a peaceful resolution.
He just needed a mutual intermediary to arrange a secret meeting before the war drums began to beat.
Two tables, a few cups of wine, a deal.
He could stage a moment of "sudden realization," slamming the table in anger, denouncing Mor Bones as the idiot who broke the rules and raided protected ships, thus causing this massive misunderstanding! Then, he could "righteousiy execute his own kin" according to the ancient pirate codes, chop off Mor Bones' head, and hand it to Euron in a box to show justice. Euron, in turn, would perhaps pay a certain amount of Gold Dragons as "compensation" for the losses at Black Rock Island. Both sides would save face, and the matter would be settled.
"Bloodhand" Marlin had even already selected the intermediary. This could have avoided a mutually destructive war that would turn the sea red.
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However, the imagined standoff and the anticipated head-to-head fleet battle did not arrive as scheduled.
The sea remained unsettlingly quiet, as if the Iron Islands' fleet had never existed, or as if they had melted into the deep, brewing a more terrible storm.
"Bloodhand" Marlin passed a day and a night in anxious waiting. It wasn't until the morning of the second day that a scout stumbled into his great hall, scrambling and crawling. The color had drained entirely from the man's face, and the news he brought was like a pair of cold iron tongs, choking the breath out of everyone present.
The message was brief, yet it weighed a thousand tons.
The allied forces of Euron Greyjoy and Prince Oberyn of Dorne did not march straight for Skull Island. Instead, with ghostly speed and unimaginable cruelty, they had bloodwashed both Blood Sail Point and Serpent's Tooth Island in a single night—just one night.
The dry words of the report pieced together a picture that made the soul tremble: Fortresses breached, everyone slaughtered.
Most terrifying were the two horrific creations known as the "Crown of Sea Skulls"—the heads of all the victims had been severed and piled into massive, hideous towers at the highest points of both islands. Hollow eye sockets stared collectively out at the sea, silently proclaiming the absolute power and merciless cruelty of the conquerors.
"Bloodhand" Marlin sat withered on his pirate throne, his fingertips unconsciously tapping the rough armrest. The ultimatum stained with the blood of Black Rock Island seemed to burn before his eyes. He had been skilled at calculation, at weighing pros and cons, even willing to trade other men's heads for his own peace. But now, with two "Crowns of Sea Skulls," Euron Greyjoy had completely crushed any room for maneuvering.
He slowly raised his head, the last trace of hesitation in his eyes replaced by cold resolve. He had no choice left. This wasn't for that idiot Mor Bones, nor was it even for revenge.
He was the Pirate King!
The name "Bloodhand" Marlin wasn't bought with compromise and betrayal. It was built on absolute strength, brutal fairness, and protection of his subordinates—whether those subordinates were likable or not. If he watched Euron slaughter members of the alliance one after another today without lifting a finger, no pirate would be willing to call him King tomorrow. Fear could rule for a moment, but betrayal would spread like a plague.
He stood up abruptly, his heavy boot heels slamming into the stone floor with a loud thud, startling the seabirds resting by the window. He swept his gaze over all the uneasy captains in the hall, his voice like cold iron from the deep sea—resonant, powerful, and brooking no argument:
"Sound the assembly drums!"
"Send the order to all alliance members—raise the black flags, hoist the sails, and bring all your blades and fury!"
"Target: Skull Island!"
"We're going to show that Ironborn lunatic and his Dornish bastards exactly who calls the shots in these waters!"