The long wait finally ended.
Davos and Salladhor Saan, part of a group of ten, were led by two stone-faced Ironborn guards into the core of Black Rock Island—the rumored Great Hall.
The scene inside was a stark contrast to the noise and sea breeze outside.
The air was heavy and oppressive, a mix of incense, old wood, and a faint, undetectable scent of metallic blood. Huge torches crackled on the stone walls, their dancing flames stretching and twisting shadows like countless ghosts dancing on the rock.
At the far end of the hall, behind a simple but wide Seastone table, sat a young man who seemed out of place in this brutal environment. His features were handsome, even slightly boyish, and a gentle, persistent smile hung on his lips. His overly bright eyes calmly watched everyone who entered, as if they could pierce through all disguises and secrets.
However, the most heart-palpitating sight wasn't the boy himself, but the two figures standing behind him like statues. To his left was a Red Priestess in crimson robes, fiery hair peeking out from under her hood. Her eyes seemed to burn with an unquenchable flame, radiating an aura of fanaticism mixed with mystery. To his right stood a Shadowbinder shrouded in darkness. Her face was hidden by a mask woven of fine metal strips, revealing only eyes so deep they seemed to swallow light. Just standing there, she made the surrounding temperature drop a few degrees.
That single smile and the two silent figures formed an impactful and incredibly eerie tableau, causing every summoned person stepping into this place to involuntarily hold their breath.
The line moved slowly forward. Finally, it was the turn of a middle-aged man in gray robes who looked slightly nervous. He took a deep breath, stepped forward, and spoke with the rigorous tone characteristic of the Citadel: "I am Maester Royce. I studied at the Citadel for twelve years, specializing in history and higher mysteries."
The boy behind the table—Euron Greyjoy—seemed to deepen his unchanging smile slightly. His clear gaze flowed over the Maester, as if seeing through the plain gray robe. He chuckled softly, his voice gentle yet piercing. "Expelled, weren't you?"
The Maester's face flushed red instantly. He lowered his head in embarrassment and admitted with difficulty, "Yes, my lord."
Euron showed no disdain or rebuke. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, as if hearing something interesting. "Because of what? Studying forbidden subjects? Or conducting some... dangerous and disallowed experiment?"
Unexpectedly, at the mention of his research, the Maester quickly regained his composure. He looked up, a near-paranoid light shining in his eyes, his tone firm. "Because I firmly believe in the existence of dragons—not just in the past, but in the future. I have dedicated my life to studying the physiological structure of these creatures, deducing how they survive in this world, and... I firmly believe that dragon eggs are not truly dead and can still be hatched. My experiments were based on this."
Silence filled the hall, broken only by the crackling torches. Euron listened quietly, his fingers tapping lightly on the table. A moment later, he let out a chuckle of ambiguous meaning.
"Dragon hatching and breeding... a grand and ancient subject. Indeed a taboo those old fossils at the Citadel would never touch." He paused, the interest in his eyes growing stronger. "However, I happen to be very interested in what you speak of."
He waved his hand, making a decision. "Very well. You have a colleague here, also a Maester expelled from the Citadel. You're hired. Go work with him for now. I will give you the opportunities and resources you need. Let me see... how far your conviction can take you."
---
Next was the round-faced Myr merchant who had spoken to Davos and Salladhor earlier. He squeezed forward with effort, beads of sweat covering his fleshy face and staining his expensive velvet collar dark. He bowed deeply, his voice trembling with nerves. "Res-Respected Lord, I am from Myr. I am a glass artisan, running a few small glass workshops."
Euron's fingers tapped rhythmically on the table, his tone flat. "Hmm. So, what can you do for me?"
Seeming encouraged, the merchant spoke faster. "I... I have mastered a unique technique for modifying glass, grinding extraordinary lenses! Spyglasses made with them can see more than double the distance of the best products available today!"
Euron leaned forward slightly, a hint of genuine interest entering his smile. "Oh? That is quite something. Why didn't you offer this to the Magisters of Myr for wealth and glory, but instead crossed the sea to offer it to me?"
The Myr merchant smiled bitterly, sweat flowing faster. "My Lord is wise... It is precisely because of this invention that I was hunted. It is too precious, and too dangerous... I had no other choice. I only seek your protection, my Lord. I am willing to offer this technique and everything I have to you without reservation."
"Bring it here. Let me see." Euron's voice remained calm.
As if granted a great pardon, the merchant hurried forward, carefully taking an exquisitely crafted brass spyglass from his wide sleeve. He held it high with both hands, his head buried deep, his posture humble to the extreme.
However, in the split second before the spyglass reached Euron's hand—that fat, clumsy body suddenly exploded with speed and agility completely unsuited to its size! With a flick of his wrist, he drew a narrow, cold-glinting short sword from the eyepiece of the spyglass, thrusting it straight at Euron's throat with a vicious, tricky angle!
The change was too sudden; the crowd in the hall didn't even have time to gasp.
The poison-quenched tip was mere millimeters from Euron's Adam's apple. But in that instant, Euron moved. His action was so fast it left only a blur—one hand clamped onto the merchant's sword-wielding wrist like iron pincers, the sound of cracking bone clearly audible; two fingers of his other hand struck like a viper, stabbing into the merchant's neck with lightning speed and ripping outward!
Blood sprayed. Accompanied by a tooth-aching tearing sound, a large chunk of flesh, along with crushed throat cartilage, was ripped out by force!
The ecstasy and resolve on the merchant's face froze instantly, turning into extreme horror and disbelief. He tried to inhale with a gurgle but could only make a strange sound like broken bellows before crashing heavily to the ground.
Euron calmly shook the blood off his hand, picked up a piece of white silk to wipe his fingers as if dusting off a speck of dirt, his tone fluctuating not in the slightest.
"Drag him away. The corpse is still mostly intact; give it to Qyburn."
His gaze swept back to the line, calm as a still lake.
"Next."
---
Davos and Salladhor Saan exchanged a quick glance, each seeing the same shock in the other's eyes. Only now did they truly understand the origin of those stubborn, dark brown stains on the stone floor of the hall.
The body of the Myr merchant was dragged away quickly. Without needing to think, his head would soon become part of that terrifying "Crown of Sea Skulls." Suppressing the tremors in their hearts, the two men stepped forward together.
Davos maintained his usual composure, bowing slightly. "Respected Lord, we come from across the Narrow Sea. I am Davos, a merchant from King's Landing."
Salladhor Saan forced one of his customary, slightly flamboyant smiles and performed a flashy bow. "I am Salladhor Saan, from Lys, also a humble merchant."
Davos took the lead, his tone earnest, trying to evoke a shred of sympathy. "My Lord is wise. We deal in the grain trade. As you know, winter is coming. This cargo concerns the livelihood of countless people across the sea, and we have invested everything we have. If we cannot deliver it to Westeros on time, we will not only lose everything, but I fear..."
Euron didn't let them finish, interrupting calmly. "So, you are here to ask my permission for your merchant ships to leave and return to Westeros?"
"Exactly so, my Lord." Davos lowered his head, his heart racing with tense anticipation.
Euron didn't answer immediately. He turned his head slightly, casting his gaze toward the Shadowbinder standing silently like a shadow behind him—Evelyn. A ghostly light seemed to flow in the deep eyes beneath the metal mask. She didn't speak, but some form of silent communication was completed.
Euron turned back. The faint smile from before vanished, his eyes becoming sharp as knives, his voice deepening. "She says your identities are not entirely as you claim. At least, not completely."
He leaned forward, an invisible pressure spreading out, his cold gaze scanning between Davos and Salladhor. "Did you hear me? I give you one last chance. Are your true identities really... just merchants?"
His finger tapped lightly on the table, each tap striking like a hammer on their hearts.
"Remember, I don't care who you were before, but I detest deception."
Davos took a deep breath, knowing concealment was no longer an option. He had to be partially honest. "Yes, my Lord, we did not tell the whole truth. I indeed come from Flea Bottom in King's Landing, and I am a merchant, but... sometimes I do some smuggling work to make a living."
Seeing this, Salladhor Saan had no choice but to bite the bullet and add, his smile stiffening, "From Lys, a merchant... occasionally a mercenary, and even... dabbled in piracy for a time."
To their surprise, Euron didn't get angry. Instead, he nodded lightly, as if he had expected this. "What you did in the past doesn't dictate what you will be forever." His gaze swept over them, that inscrutable smile returning. "Did you see the 'Call for Talent' I issued? My 'Ice and Fire Trading Company' needs experienced captains like you who have sailed the world." His eyes landed specifically on Salladhor Saan. "Salladhor Saan? Does this name have any connection to that famous Pirate Lord?"
Salladhor's voice involuntarily carried a tremor. "He... he was my ancestor."
"No need to be nervous," Euron's tone seemed exceptionally tolerant. "I said, I don't hold the past against anyone. The War of the Ninepenny Kings is old history." He shifted the topic back to reality. "You don't need to risk shipping the grain on your boats back to Westeros. I will buy it all at thirty percent above market price. A great war is about to start in the Stepstones, and skirmishes are constant. Even if I allowed you to leave, I couldn't guarantee the safety of the sea lanes. Your two ships would never make it out safely."
He leaned forward slightly, his words carrying an irresistible allure. "Whether you were smugglers or merchants in the past, it was all small-time. Trust me, the stage and opportunities the 'Ice and Fire Trading Company' can offer you are far vaster than anything you can achieve on your own."
Davos and Salladhor Saan looked at each other, falling into a brief silence. Risks and opportunities were being weighed rapidly in their minds.
Finally, Davos spoke cautiously. "May I be bold enough to ask, my Lord... why do you want to recruit men like us?"
Euron laughed, as if finding the question amusing. "To dare sail the Stepstones with your entire fortune at a time like this—your courage and nerve already surpass most. Risking everything just for two ship-loads of grain shows your business hasn't been easy, and life has been tight." His gaze seemed to pierce their souls. "You are at a low point, yet you hunger for a different future. I happen to be able to give you this platform, and your abilities can bring me profit. Is this not a fair trade?"
He paused, his tone gentle but carrying the undeniable weight of an ultimatum. "Now is not the time for you to slowly weigh the pros and cons. Tell me, what is your decision?"
Davos and Salladhor Saan exchanged another look, seeing the resolution in each other's eyes. They lowered their heads simultaneously, answering clearly:
"Thank you for your appreciation, my Lord. We... are willing to serve."
A satisfied arc curled on Euron's lips. He waved his hand casually, as if he had just dealt with a trivial matter. "Dagmer," he called, a hint of undetectable pleasure in his voice. "Come help settle our new friends. Bring all the grain from their ships back here. Pay them every single Gold Dragon due to them."
The order was concise and efficient. Then, his gaze fell back on Davos and Salladhor Saan, his eyes shining with a light that seemed to know the future.
Standing before him now: one was the man who would become the famed Onion Knight, even rising to be the Hand of the King for Stannis Baratheon; the other was a cunning son of the sea destined to turn the tides of the Narrow Sea as a merchant, mercenary, adventurer, and pirate.
No one could predict exactly how their future trajectories would unfold, but right now, they both stood under Euron Greyjoy's banner.
To recruit two men of such extraordinary potential for his "Ice and Fire Trading Company" in one stroke—even with Euron's deep and unfathomable nature, a trace of genuine delight flashed in his heart.
The submission of talent always brought him more pleasure than mere conquest.