The severed head of Pirate King "Bloodhand" Marlin, frozen in its last expression of madness, was casually tossed by Euron. It traced a precise and cruel parabola before landing heavily at the very apex of the "Crown of Sea Skulls"—a monument built from countless dead—becoming the newest and most "honored" sacrifice of this terrifying structure.
Euron walked slowly down the execution platform, his expression blank. The famous sword "Oto" slid silently back into its sheath, as if he had just completed a trivial chore.
His steps were steady, the soles of his boots striking the wooden steps with a monotonous, clear sound that seemed exceptionally harsh in the deathly silence. instead of walking toward the cheering or flattering crowds, he stopped directly facing the audience.
Euron's gaze passed over the representatives who were silent as cicadas in winter, landing coldly and substantially on the delegation from the Triarchy Alliance. He stared at them quietly. The commotion and tension sparked by Marlin's accusation had not yet subsided, and under his gaze, the air seemed to freeze completely.
After a long while, Euron finally spoke. His voice was flat, devoid of emotion, yet it sent a piercing chill through everyone who heard it.
"I said the war was over." Euron paused slightly, his eyes narrowing as if examining a disappointing fact. "But it seems... I might be wrong."
The sentence was light as a feather but weighed a thousand tons, like the prelude to a final judgment. He ignored the look in Commander Gustav Drummond's eyes—pale, filled with urgency and panic, almost blurting out a defense—as if the Commander and everything he represented were no longer worth a glance.
Euron simply turned around, leaving that dead silence of fear and unresolved crisis to all the shaken souls behind him.
His gaze swept over the restless crowd again, landing precisely on the group of New Pirate Alliance members clustering around Edwin Ramirez. He stopped, his voice carrying clearly with a scrutinizing tone:
"You are the one who calls himself the Pirate King of the New Pirate Alliance—Pirate Captain Edwin Ramirez?"
Edwin Ramirez stepped forward, took off his peacock-feathered hat, and pressed it to his chest. He performed a bow that was slightly exaggerated but respectful enough, answering frankly, "Yes, my Lord. Thanks to the love of my brothers. But I dare not claim the title of Pirate King. From now on, there is only an Alliance Leader, no King. The Stepstones has only one King, and that is you, my Lord!"
A playful smile surfaced on Euron's face, but his eyes remained cold. "As a member of the old Pirate Alliance, you dare to appear here, standing before me... aren't you afraid I'll kill you right now to eliminate future trouble?"
Edwin straightened up, wearing a shrewd, merchant-like smile, his tone neither humble nor arrogant. "You are now the undisputed 'Crown of the Sea' in the Stepstones. You personally announced the war is over, so all grievances with the old Pirate Alliance should naturally end with it. Moreover," he emphasized cleverly, "we did not participate in that war against you—oh, more accurately, the moment the war started and we saw the situation clearly, we actively withdrew from the battlefield. We chose to go with the new tide, not against it."
Euron listened quietly, his fingers unconsciously tapping the hilt of "Oto." A moment later, he nodded slowly, as if accepting this rhetoric.
"Pirates, smugglers, desperadoes from all over the world... this scum is an inseparable part of the Stepstones, past and present," he announced, his words carrying the weight of destiny. "From today on, all these 'active maritime elements' will be under your jurisdiction. I allow your New Pirate Alliance to exist."
His tone suddenly turned cold, carrying steel-like will and undisguised threat.
"But... you must learn to understand the rules and respect order. Know clearly what you can take and what you absolutely cannot touch! Otherwise..."
He didn't finish, only turning slightly and raising his hand to point casually at the two hideous "Crowns of Sea Skulls" in the distance, especially the two freshest, blood-dripping heads at the very top.
---
"They are the best example for all of you."
Edwin Ramirez glanced in the direction Euron pointed. The merchant-like smile on his face didn't change a bit. He bowed deeply again, his tone incredibly submissive yet carrying a hint of undetectable cunning.
"Of course, my Lord. From now on, your word is the only rule on this sea."
Euron turned to the whole venue, that inscrutable faint smile returning to his face, as if the tense interlude just now had never happened. He raised his voice, his tone even carrying a hint of warmth. "You have all come from afar; it must have been a hard journey. Wine and meat are prepared in the hall. Please, do me the honor of joining me for lunch."
After speaking, he truly didn't spare another glance at the representatives of the Triarchy Alliance who were sitting on pins and needles—completely ignoring Commander Gustav's look mixed with urgency, defense, and expectation—as if they were irrelevant decorations. He turned around and, surrounded by Ironborn guards, walked first toward the fortress hall where noise and the aroma of food were drifting out.
With Euron's departure, his attitude was clear.
All the merchants, pirate leaders, and representatives of other factions present were shrewd people; they understood immediately. Almost unanimously, the crowd began to move subtly, consciously keeping a significant distance from the Triarchy delegation, as if they carried a deadly plague.
No one wanted to be misunderstood by the "Crown of the Sea" due to unnecessary proximity at this sensitive moment and suffer a calamity.
In an instant, an awkward clearing formed around the Triarchy personnel. Their faces turned extremely ugly, flushing red and white, filled with anger and frustration, yet they dared not flare up on the spot.
"He... what does he mean?!" A representative from Myr lowered his voice, speaking almost through gritted teeth, trembling with rage. "Does he really believe the random biting of that mad dog Marlin before he died?!"
Another representative from Lys chimed in worriedly, cold sweat on his forehead. "His last words... 'The war is over, but it seems... I might be wrong.' This is clearly..." He didn't finish, but the greatest fear had seized them all.
Did Euron Greyjoy really intend to pin this fabricated crime on their heads? Did his "might be wrong" mean he needed an excuse to bring the fire of war to the wealthy Free Cities of Tyrosh, Lys, and Myr themselves?
The thought of that possibility, and the destructive power Euron had displayed, drowned all their anger in endless chills.
The oppressive atmosphere of being isolated from the crowd was suffocating. Commander Gustav Drummond took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the humiliation and panic in his heart. In the steadiest voice possible, he whispered to his pale-faced colleagues, "Don't panic. The more critical the moment, the calmer we must be. Let's enter the hall and attend the banquet first."
His cloudy gaze swept over the crowd avoiding them like the plague, his voice dropping lower, carrying an unquestionable resolve. "We wait until after the banquet to find a chance to speak with him alone. We must explain this clearly!"
The Tyroshi representative beside him didn't relax at all. He sighed heavily, his voice full of uncertainty and deep worry. "I hope... he is still willing to give us a chance to talk."
They exchanged glances, seeing the same pessimism in each other's eyes. No one held real hope for this anticipated "peace talk." Euron Greyjoy's attitude just now was all too obvious—it wasn't friendliness, not even suspicion, but more like the playful cruelty of a cat with a mouse, a cold scrutiny searching for the next target. What awaited them was likely not a conversation to clear up misunderstandings, but a deeper, unfathomable political vortex, or even... the fuse of war.