The gates of King's Landing groaned with rust in the twilight, massive hinges screeching like the bones of a dying beast.
The Gold Cloaks still lined the gateway, faces loose with the joy of welcoming allies—until they saw the cold killing intent in the eyes of the first wave of Western soldiers.
The sound of blades being drawn formed a deadly net. The formation of welcome instantly turned into a slaughterhouse.
Gregor Clegane's greatsword cleaved the air with a terrifying howl, chopping directly into the breastplate of the City Watch Commander, Janos Slynt. The force was so great that not only did the metal twist and shatter, but viscera and bone shards sprayed out, staining the ancient dragon reliefs on the walls red. (Note: While Janos Slynt is Commander later, in canon canon timelines he is a lower officer or rising, but for this fanfic narrative he is placed here. The Mountain is used for visceral impact.)
Just as chaos reached its peak, Tywin Lannister appeared on his tall warhorse in the gateway, the setting sun reflecting off his crimson armor like fire.
"In the name of Robert!" His roar wasn't loud, but like wildfire thrown into oil, it instantly ignited the beacon for total pillage.
This command was like unlocking all shackles. Lannister soldiers surged into the streets of King's Landing like a tide. Flea Bottom suffered first. Cries, maniacal laughter, and the clash of steel wove together; narrow streets turned into seas of blood in moments.
Night fell like ink. The lights of the coalition camp formed a faint band in the distance.
Euron Greyjoy, like a ghost, slipped silently from the patrol's view, infiltrating a desolate hill outside the camp.
Standing at the cliff's edge, he called out silently in his heart. Moments later, the clouds broke open, and a massive shadow dived down.
The creature's spread wings blocked the moon. It had a hideous dragon head, iron-like claws, and was covered in feathers as colorful as gems but hard as steel—this was the rare mount he had obtained from the "One Piece System": the Millennial Dragon.
"Good boy." Euron stroked the cold feathers on the dragon's neck, his eyes shining with fanaticism and ambition. "Time to see this feast."
He leaped onto the dragon's back. The Millennial Dragon let out a screech that tore the night sky, its wings beating powerful currents, carrying him swiftly toward King's Landing.
Before long, the capital, engulfed in chaos and flames, came into view. Tywin's soldiers swarmed the streets like ants. Firelight and bloodlight interwove, and shrill cries pierced the clouds.
Euron guided the Millennial Dragon to circle above the thick smoke, looking down like an indifferent god at the hell on earth below.
The Millennial Dragon circled a hundred meters above King's Landing, wings churning the smoke and night wind. In the next second, Euron Greyjoy leaped from the edge of the dragon's back, his black robe snapping in the wind like a black beacon falling into hell.
The ground magnified rapidly in his eyes; the texture of the cobblestone streets became clear. Just as he was about to be smashed to pieces, his legs kicked violently against the empty air—
"Geppo!" (Moonwalk)
With a muffled boom of compressed air, the immense downward force was cleverly converted into a horizontal buffer. His descent halted abruptly, and finally, like a feather, he floated lightly to a stop less than three meters above the ground, his soles almost brushing the blood-spattered cobblestones.
Using this momentum, he flipped and landed steadily in front of the gloomy doors of the Alchemists' Guild. The entire process was soundless, as if he were part of this chaotic shadow all along.
Beneath the twisted bronze dome of the Alchemists' Guild lay King Aerys's most twisted dream and deepest fear.
The world knew the Mad King favored pyromancers far above maesters, simply because they controlled not healing herbs, but emerald, dancing destruction—wildfire.
This place was less an academy and more a massive arsenal. Cellars and warehouses were stacked with thousands of clay pots, each sealing that ominous green flame. These alchemical products were extremely unstable; a single spark or a violent collision was enough to send all of King's Landing and its hundreds of thousands of lives into the clouds in pieces.
Therefore, even with killing shouts shaking the sky outside and chaos reigning within, the gates of the Alchemists' Guild were still guarded by the most loyal Gold Cloaks. They gripped their spears, watching any approaching shadow vigilantly, knowing they guarded the key that could decide the kingdom's fate—or destroy everything.
The Gold Cloaks guarding the Guild might intimidate common rioters, but in Euron Greyjoy's eyes, they were no different from lambs waiting for slaughter.
The corner of his mouth curled into a cruel arc as he whispered, "Soru Soru no Mi — Thundercloud Zeus!" (Using One Piece terminology, usually Zeus, but here adapted as Thor)
Instantly, a small, roiling thundercloud appeared out of thin air above his head. Electric snakes slithered within, emitting a low hum. The dual blades in his hands lit up with blinding blue-white electric light, crackling as if he held two lightning bolts.
In the next instant, he moved. His figure cut through the guards like a ghost, blades drawing lethal electric arcs. Every swing was accompanied by a short clap of thunder and the smell of charred flesh. The guards didn't even have time to scream fully before being pierced by the power of thunder, falling one by one with blackened wounds.
The whole process was clean and efficient, like a silent lightning storm sweeping through, leaving only a mess of charred corpses.
Just as Euron stepped into the gloomy gates of the Alchemists' Guild, a shadow moved inside.
A pyromancer in a soot-stained robe was frantically shouldering a bulging pack, attempting to open a side door from the inside to flee.
His face was a mix of obsession with alchemy and fear of death—he loved the emerald flames boiling in crucibles and was intoxicated by the magic of creating destruction, but that didn't mean he was willing to accompany the mad King Aerys in turning this obsession into his own grave.
Euron's chuckle was exceptionally clear in the dim corridor. "Grand Master Rossart, in such a hurry? Where are you planning to go?"
He recognized the famous pyromancer at a glance, thanks to the intelligence Lysa had provided earlier—he had memorized Rossart's features from the carefully prepared portraits.
Hearing his name suddenly, Rossart froze. Instead of stopping, he accelerated like a startled rabbit, trying to flee forward!
But in the next second—
"Soru!" (Shave)
Euron's figure blurred like a ghost for an instant, leaving only the slight sound of wind breaking. almost at the same moment, he appeared directly in front of Rossart as if teleporting, completely blocking the path.
Terror instantly crawled over Rossart's face. He instinctively reached into his robe—where there was nothing but a few dangerous jars of wildfire.
But his fingers barely touched the cold edge of a clay pot when Euron's hand chop, carrying a fierce wind, struck precisely on the back of his neck. The fear in Rossart's eyes hadn't even faded before he grunted and collapsed limply to the floor, unconscious.
Euron hoisted the unconscious Rossart like a sack of grain and nimbly slipped into a seemingly ordinary inn next to the Alchemists' Guild.
The innkeeper—a middle-aged woman with an ordinary face and agile movements—was wiping a cup. Seeing Euron burst in, she was briefly stunned. Her gaze swept over the man in his hand and the turbulent night outside, then quickly returned to her usual numbness. Without a word, she gave Euron an imperceptible nod, put down the cup, and led him quickly to the kitchen. She moved a heavy shelf, revealing a narrow staircase leading to the cellar.
The cellar was cold and dry, piled with barrels and sundries. She was a sleeper agent Euron had planted years ago, waiting quietly in the city's shadows for the moment of awakening.
Euron dumped Rossart onto a pile of hay in the corner and signaled the woman. She immediately took out sturdy hemp rope and expertly bound Rossart tight, finally stuffing a rag into his mouth.
Having done this, Euron didn't stay a moment longer. He turned and vanished into the chaotic night outside again. His target remained that Alchemists' Guild hiding emerald death.
Euron's figure moved silently through the corridors and laboratories of the Alchemists' Guild like a reaper harvesting precisely in the night. His goal was clear—only the pyromancer masters who held core positions and possessed the true secrets of alchemy in their minds. As for the insignificant apprentices, they were just weeds in the way.
Every time he returned to the inn cellar, there was another unconscious figure in grand alchemist robes in his hand. Behind him, in the Guild hall and corridors, ordinary apprentices and assistants who tried to stop him or were unlucky enough to bump into him lay silently in pools of blood.
The entire process was efficient and cold. When he returned for the fifth time, he threw the last target into the corner. Under the dim light, six core members of the Alchemists' Guild lay bound on the floor like livestock waiting for slaughter.
Euron glanced at this "harvest" with eyes void of emotion. He turned and walked up the stairs, leaving the inn and the captives behind.
The night in King's Landing was still long. On his list, there was another location to visit.