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CaveLeather
On board the Zhiyuan.
It wasn't just Ashara, Lisa, the Red Priestess Gwendolyn, the Shadowbinder Evelyn, the three sisters from Lonely Light, and Asha.
There was also the month-old Alexander, one-year-old Daeron, as well as the younger children: Maron, Asha, and Urrigon.
When Euron had announced he would bring them all aboard the Zhiyuan, Balon Greyjoy had strongly objected, his face instantly darkening like the sea before a storm.
At the time, Balon's voice had been as rough as grating stones as he shouted, "Euron! Are you mad? Women's skirts and children's crying on the deck—this is the greatest disrespect to the Drowned God! Misfortune will drag down the entire fleet like a kraken—this has been the rule of the Ironborn for thousands of years!"
Faced with his brother's rage, Euron didn't refute him directly. Instead, he led Balon and a group of skeptical captains to the Drowned God priest's cabin.
Under the swaying whale-oil lamp, the wrinkles on the old priest's tattooed face were as deep as ocean trenches.
After hearing Balon's complaints and worries, the old priest let out a low laugh. "Lord Balon, you speak truly," the priest said slowly, his withered fingers caressing his driftwood staff. "For mortal Ironborn, the softness of women and the frailty of children can indeed dilute the sharpness of sailing and invite unnecessary risks."
"But Lord Euron... he is the 'Son of the Drowned God'!"
The priest's voice suddenly rose, carrying unquestionable piety. "The blood of the god flows in his veins; the will of the god guides his course. His ship is a moving altar; where he is, the Drowned God's blessing follows. Here, mortal taboos dissolve—because the will of the god is the only rule!"
This declaration exploded like thunder in the narrow cabin.
Balon opened his mouth, wanting to argue further, but seeing the fanatical certainty in the priest's eyes and Euron's faint smile, his Adam's apple bobbed, and he ultimately swallowed all his objections. He could disagree with his brother, but he couldn't openly challenge a ruling made by a priest of the Drowned God in the god's name. He could only snort coldly, his face livid, and step aside.
Facing Balon's glare, which was practically spitting fire, Euron strolled to the huge porthole. Outside, the Zhiyuan's massive sails blocked out the sky, and further out, the masts of hundreds of warships stood like a forest.
Euron said calmly, "Balon, the lessons and rules set by our ancestors came from their struggle to survive amidst storms and pirate fangs. They crowded onto leaky longships where food molded and fresh water was more precious than gold, gambling with the Stranger with every breath. In that environment, women and children, being physically weaker, couldn't endure."
Euron's gaze swept over Balon and the captains around him who still looked doubtful, his voice clear. "But look at now." He raised an arm, pointing to the fortress-like juggernaut beneath their feet. "We aren't standing on canoes tossed by the wind, but a moving city that can crush wind and waves. Our holds are full of grain. As for storms and pirates?"
Euron laughed. "We are the greatest storm on this ocean. We are the eternal nightmare of all enemies. Rest assured, on my ship, I guarantee their safety."
In that moment, Euron exuded a confidence based on absolute power that looked down upon all obstacles—a confidence bordering on godhood.
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Upon the boundless waves, the fleet plowed forward like a moving citadel.
Beneath the shadows of gray sails, even larger shadows swam quietly—the sea king beasts belonging to House Greyjoy, following their destined masters on the expedition.
Balon's partner, "Scale-Blade," was a Steel-Scaled Sawshark. The jagged bone spikes on its back were like unsheathed blades. When it broke the surface, they shimmered with terrifying metallic luster in the sunlight. Its swimming posture was full of aggression; every flick of its tail carried enough force to smash a small boat.
Victarion's "Moo-Moo" was a sea cow as massive as a mountain, its rough skin like a reef weathered for a thousand years. Its movements seemed slow but contained devastating power. The waves generated when it surfaced were enough to rock nearby ships violently.
These two Greyjoy brothers often stripped their knotted, muscular upper bodies bare and leaped into the sea, landing precisely on the broad backs of their respective beasts.
Balon lay behind the dorsal fin of "Scale-Blade" as it shuttled rapidly through the water, his figure merging with the giant shark. Where they passed, waves were sliced cleanly apart, as if the sea itself was making way for him.
Victarion sat steadily atop "Moo-Moo's" island-like head, rising and falling with the deep breathing of the giant beast. He would let out a low roar, and "Moo-Moo" would respond with a muffled low call, its massive head plunging suddenly into the water, instantly whipping up monstrous waves beside the fleet.
Two figures, one fast and one slow, rode two distinct forms of oceanic might, wantonly displaying the courageous spirit of mastering the wild waves that was deeply rooted in the Greyjoy bloodline.
Euron stood at the prow, chuckling lightly. He did not stop his brothers' borderline showboating behavior. On the contrary, this was exactly the sight he wanted to see.
The sharp, wave-cleaving posture of the Steel-Scaled Sawshark "Scale-Blade" and the majestic, sea-shaking power of the sea cow "Moo-Moo" transcended mere play or competition at this moment. They were silent declarations, moving totems of war. Before all the Ironborn warriors, they vividly interpreted the unfathomable foundation and power of House Greyjoy.
Bursts of uncontrollable gasps and admiration came from the ships of the fleet. The air was filled with a fanaticism transformed from awe. Every gaze cast toward the giant beasts became more intense; every face looking toward the Greyjoy banner was written with a firmer belief in victory.
Fear can compel obedience, but only absolute confidence mixed with awe can ignite the soul and forge an invincible army. Letting them witness with their own eyes what kind of power accompanied them before the battle began—there was no feast better suited to boost morale and unite hearts than this.
After ten days and nights of sailing with the wind and waves, the massive fleet of the Iron Islands slowly entered the waters of the Arbor.
The iconic golden cliffs shone in the sunlight. The grapevines once stripped bare by Ironborn had been replanted, and layers of terraced vineyards were clearly visible above the cliffs. The sea breeze even seemed to carry a faint scent of grapes.
Long before the Iron Islands fleet had completed its assembly at Pyke, Euron's ravens had carried letters stamped with the Kraken sigil across the straits, arriving at House Tyrell of Highgarden and House Redwyne of the Arbor.
In the letters, Euron announced the impending voyage of the Iron Islands fleet and explicitly requested a brief stopover at the Arbor for rest and resupply. As a legitimate lord and ally, he asked for the right to anchor for one night and necessary material support in these peaceful waters under King Robert's rule.
The Arbor responded with friendship quickly.
In his reply, Lord Redwyne not only gladly agreed to this request but also promised to prepare ample fresh water and various supplies in advance to fulfill the duties of a host.
Euron stood tall at the prow. At his command, the fleet began to anchor in the designated anchorage in an orderly manner.
Sails were lowered one by one, letting out tired but satisfied sighs. For the Ironborn warriors who had sailed in the salty wind for ten days, the solid earth beneath their feet exuded a nearly luxurious temptation.
They were allowed to go ashore and camp in the designated area, enjoying a night of sleep without rocking with the waves. The air was filled with relaxation and anticipation, and smiles finally appeared on tired faces.
The first major waystation of the expedition had been reached.
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