Inside the inner chamber, candlelight cast the shadows of two men long against the wall.
Before Pirate King "Bloodhand" Marlin was dragged to the execution ground, Euron Greyjoy had a brief, unknown conversation with him.
Euron's voice was low and calm, as if stating a mundane transaction. "Marlin, before you die, publicly identify Gustav Drummond of the Triarchy Alliance as the one who ordered you to raid and kill the Ironborn. If you do this," he paused, looking sharply at the man, "I swear in the name of the Drowned God that I will protect your mistress in Silent Bay and the son you have with her. I will give them enough Gold Dragons to live on and send them away from this chaotic place to start a new life in Braavos, King's Landing, or Tyrosh."
Hearing this, the pirate king, about to face death, showed a flicker of astonishment on his twisted face. Then, he grinned, revealing a smile mixed with blood and mockery. He spat a mouthful of bloody saliva. "Send them to Lys. That woman... was a whore from a brothel there anyway. Going back suits her perfectly."
Euron met his gaze without evasion or further promises, simply asking faintly, "Do you trust me?"
Marlin fell silent for a moment, a rasping sound coming from his throat. Finally, the fierce light in his eyes faded, turning into a resigned ruthlessness and calculation. "It's just a few words. Besides, I've long hated those velvet-wearing bastards who think they're noble. And," he gasped for breath, speaking with difficulty, "I believe... someone like you wouldn't stoop to troubling a woman and a child who pose no threat. That would be too cheap."
Euron's lips finally curved slowly upward, forming a cold smile that was enough to reassure Marlin.
"Deal."
---
The last ray of twilight sank completely below the horizon. The ships surrounding Grey Gallows Island departed like a receding tide, obeying the silent command of their new master.
The island, noisy all day, fell silent rapidly; only the sound of waves hitting the shore became clearer.
Inside the fortress hall, only Euron Greyjoy's innermost circle remained.
Prince Oberyn leaned lazily in a chair covered with thick furs, playing with a dagger in his hand. A habitual, slightly mocking smile hung on his lips. "If you want to fight, just fight. You always like to find yourself a high-sounding excuse first. One set after another, don't you find it troublesome?"
Lord Paxter Redwyne, on the other hand, appeared worried. His fleshy face was furrowed, and the exquisite silver cup in his hand seemed to weigh a thousand pounds. "Lord Euron, are we... truly going to wage full-scale war against the Triarchy Alliance? They are not comparable to that rabble of pirates. Behind them are the wealth and fleets of the three Free Cities of Tyrosh, Lys, and Myr. This is no child's play."
"Heh heh!" Uncle Balfour let out a raspy laugh, slapping the table hard enough to rattle the cups. "What is there to fear? My nephew commands eight deep-sea monsters! That is the power of the Sea God! I'd like to see which nation's fleet can withstand a single blow from them? On this great sea, no one can compete with our Iron Islands Alliance now!"
The newly named Floyd Greyjoy was flushed with excitement. He stood up abruptly, thumping his chest with his right hand, making a dull thud. His voice was hoarse with fanaticism. "Lord Euron! Whoever you say to strike, my blade points there! No questions asked!"
Amidst the debate, Balon Greyjoy kept his arms crossed, his eyes flashing with undisguised bloodlust. Unlike the others' worries or calculations, he never questioned whether they should war against the Triarchy Alliance—in his world, since they were here, they should crush everything.
At this moment, Balon was annoyed by something else. His low voice sounded like a whetstone, thick with incomprehension and violence. "Why are we keeping those Pirate Alliance scum alive?" He waved his hand sharply, as if shooing away annoying flies. "Just chop them all! Leave none alive! Their heads would surely double the height of our 'Crown of Sea Skulls'! That is the language that shuts people up best!"
Balon's words held no strategy, no balance, only the most primal, thorough desire for destruction. In his view, Euron allowing the New Pirate Alliance to exist, and even negotiating with them, was an unnecessary, almost weak mercy.
However, Euron's "Crown of Sea Skulls" suited his taste perfectly. He was even wondering if he should build one back on the Iron Islands.
Faced with the divergent attitudes of his subordinates, Euron simply sipped his wine slowly, a deep smile of total control appearing on his face. "As long as the Stepstones lack a true King, this sea will constantly breed pirates and smugglers. Therefore, we need a Pirate Alliance under our control."
"As for the Triarchy Alliance, I do indeed want to give them a good beating," Euron put down his cup, his voice steady but carrying decisive resolve. "Beat them until it hurts, beat them until they remember who calls the shots on this sea, beat them until they behave and follow my rules from now on."
Euron looked around at everyone, his gaze finally becoming sharp and lucid. "But I never intended to drive them out of the Stepstones completely. At least, not now."
Prince Oberyn leaned in his chair, his slender fingers unconsciously rubbing the rim of his cup. He frowned slightly, staring at Euron, an undercurrent of thought in his mind: If the Triarchy isn't driven out completely, how can one be the true King of the Stepstones? If the crown promised to my nephew doesn't cover the whole realm, what meaning does it have?
---
As if able to pierce through hearts, Euron's gaze swept over Oberyn at that precise moment. With a faint smile of understanding on his lips, he spoke slowly, responding to Oberyn's unspoken doubts and explaining to everyone present:
"Lord Paxter is quite right." He first affirmed the Redwyne heir's concern, showing he did not underestimate his opponents. "Tyrosh, Lys, and Myr—these three Free Cities have deep roots, astounding wealth, and massive fleets. To uproot them and completely drive them out of these waters they've managed for decades is not the work of a day, nor even a year or two."
He paused, injecting a sense of historical weight into his voice, citing an irrefutable precedent:
"Think of Daemon Targaryen, the 'Champion of Shipbreaker Bay.' He held a dragon and possessed great talent, yet it took him three full years to be crowned King here. And the result?" Euron's gaze sharpened, as if examining the dust of the past. "He ultimately sank into the quagmire of endless war. Just six years later, he was completely driven out of the Stepstones. I have sea monsters, and he, too, had a dragon."
Euron's conclusion was clear and calm, carrying a pragmatism that discarded all vain fantasies:
"History tells us that seeking total conquest here in one stroke is nearly impossible. What we need is patience, strategy, and to proceed step by step, like seawater eroding a reef."
Hearing this, the worry on Lord Paxter Redwyne's face eased slightly, and he nodded slowly in thought. Euron's words were not born of cowardice but of deep consideration of history and reality, which gave him an inexplicable sense of reassurance.
Oberyn, however, couldn't help but roll his eyes, a movement elegant yet full of impatience. He drawled his retort, "In that case, why did you put on that posture outside just now, acting like you were about to start a war immediately to scare them?"
The indifference on Euron's face didn't change a bit, as if he had expected this question. He swirled the wine in his glass gently, his tone as calm as if stating an undeniable fact:
"If they are truly foolish enough to be willing to fight a decisive battle with me on this vast sea..." He paused slightly, raised his eyes, and a gaze of absolute confidence that looked down on the world suddenly erupted. "I don't care. Because, upon this great sea—"
His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a decisive force, clearly reaching everyone's ears:
"—I am invincible."
These three words seemed to contain magic, instantly igniting the blood of all the core Iron Islands members present. Fanatical battle intent burned in Balon's eyes; muscles twitched on Dagmer's hideous face; Floyd was so excited he almost pounded his chest to swear an oath again. Even the cautious Paxter and Balfour couldn't help but reveal a smile of shared pride.
Everyone exchanged glances, knowing smiles appearing on their faces—after this battle, they had a near-blind trust in Euron's power to control the ocean.
Lord Paxter Redwyne sat slightly behind Euron, watching the profile of the new "Crown of the Sea" chatting and laughing as if everything were in hand. The almost arrogant confidence radiating from Euron, and his casually spoken "Upon the sea, I am invincible," were no longer empty words, but a heavy, suffocating fact.
Paxter sighed secretly in his heart, a sigh heavy with the future of the Arbor. Where should the Arbor go from here? The path ahead might be foggy... His thoughts were chaotic, but one point became clearer than ever at this moment, like a reef illuminated by lightning: Absolutely never make an enemy of the Iron Islands. Absolutely never make an enemy of Euron Greyjoy.
In the great battle against the Iron Islands in the past, the Redwyne fleet suffered heavy losses, and the golden vine flag was dusted. This debt had always been like a thorn in Paxter's heart. Deep down, he had harbored some resentment, secretly calculating that one day he might get even and recover his family's face and losses.
But now, all unwillingness and calculation vanished completely before Euron's calm yet world-overturning power. His spark of revenge was thoroughly extinguished by the cold giant wave of reality before it could even ignite.
It seems... He realized bitterly, the past grudges must be buried completely. The only choice for the future is to be friends, absolutely not enemies! This realization carried some humiliation, but mostly the sobriety and pragmatism of facing absolute power.
While Paxter's thoughts turned a thousand times, Euron changed the subject. The sharpness in his eyes turned into a profound insight into worldly affairs, pulling everyone back from their hot-bloodedness to reality. "However," he said slowly, "this war likely won't be fought at all."
Euron seemed to have already seen the direction of the future, his tone carrying the certainty of a mastermind:
"If they are smart enough... what awaits us next will be a... long negotiation."