Floyd stood steadily on the mirror-smooth back of the Shadow Sailfish. The sea breeze in his ears was no longer a whistle, but a tearing shriek.
The speed displayed by this sea king beast completely upended ordinary understanding of navigation. The waters between the archipelago, which usually took days to cross, were shortened dozens of times over by Shadow's near-space-jumping velocity.
The azure sea surface turned into a rapidly receding blurred ribbon of color beneath his feet, islands becoming mere ink dots thrown behind him in the blink of an eye.
High above, the Millennium Dragon Halcyon spread its massive, cloud-like wings, gliding steadily.
The three sisters from Lonely Light sat securely in the dragon saddle. Eyes closed in concentration, faint spiritual fluctuations surrounded them. Countless pitch-black crows, like animated shadows, radiated out in all directions from the Millennium Dragon's back. Their eyes connected to the sisters' perception, forming a moving surveillance network covering the sky.
These eyes in the sky coordinated closely with Lisa's "little birds" intelligence network, which had long infiltrated every corner of the archipelago, rooted in markets and alleys. Heaven and earth interwoven, forming an all-pervasive giant net.
Relying on the names, characteristics, and past relationships provided by Jalabhar Xho, this giant net began to operate efficiently. Information passed rapidly between the flapping of crow wings and the whispers of secret agents—comparing, confirming.
In just one day.
While the main Iron Islands fleet was still adjusting its deployment and the blockade line was just beginning to show its might, Floyd, holding a parchment personally confirmed by Lisa with precise locations and names, appeared outside the dilapidated dock of the first target—Eli Sanders, the shipwright of the Isle of Birds.
Following that were the Red Flower Vale, Omboru... Those former subordinates scattered in every corner of the Summer Isles, who had hidden in markets or forests, were "fished out" from the sea of people one by one with precision by this power driven by extreme speed and pervasive intelligence.
The efficiency was heart-palpitatingly fast.
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A slender warship slowly sailed into a hidden cove on Jhala, its prow gently grazing the fine golden sand.
Prince Jalabhar Xho took a deep breath. The air was filled with the familiar scent unique to the Red Flower Vale—a mix of spicy floral fragrance and damp earth. The smell almost brought tears to his eyes.
He stepped onto the shore with Rodrik Harlaw of Harlaw. The scene before them exceeded their expectations.
Floyd Greyjoy stood leisurely on the beach. Behind him stood three figures quietly—Eli Sanders, Freya Gak, and Toby Knight. They had arrived earlier than the prince, waiting for his arrival.
"Prince," Floyd nodded to Jalabhar, a relaxed smile of a completed mission on his face. "I've brought your brothers to you."
Prince Jalabhar stepped forward quickly, his gaze sweeping over the three weathered but loyal faces one by one. The scar on shipwright Eli's left brow was still fierce; the thorn tattoo on Freya's cheek was clearly visible in the sunlight; Toby's slight hunchback and notched earlobe had not changed.
Time had left its marks on them, but it had not worn away their sincere loyalty to serve until death.
"Your Highness!" "You've finally returned!" The three knelt on one knee excitedly, their voices trembling with emotion.
Rodrik Harlaw stood slightly behind, watching this scene and nodding slightly.
With these old subordinates who knew the local situation and were absolutely loyal leading the way, their operations deep into the Red Flower Vale and Sweet Lotus Vale would undoubtedly be much smoother. Conquest required not only sharp blades but also guides to point the way.
News spread like wildfire seeds caught in the spring breeze. Through the deliberate dissemination by Lisa's precise intelligence network and the excited, secret spreading by Jalabhar's old subordinates, it quickly ignited the entire Red Flower Vale.
"He is back!"
"Prince Jalabhar! The true heir of the Red Flower Vale has returned!"
Whispers passed in fields, in artisan workshops, in tavern corners, carrying unbelievable surprise and long-suppressed expectation.
Most of the valley's residents, whether farmers, craftsmen, or small merchants, still clearly remembered this prince—remembering him speaking out for the oppressed commoners in his youth, remembering his reputation for fairness and leniency compared to other nobles.
Long-suppressed grievances and nostalgia for the past were ignited at this moment.
When Jalabhar Xho, escorted by Rodrik Harlaw and his Ironborn warriors, officially appeared on the road leading deep into the valley, what they saw was not resistance and fear, but more and more people walking out of their homes and fields, silently but firmly joining their ranks.
They stood on both sides of the road, watching the prince with complex gazes, as well as those well-equipped Ironborn warriors from a foreign land emitting a cold aura behind him. Then, they stepped forward, silently following behind the team.
There were no noisy cheers, only an increasingly massive, silently marching stream of people. This in itself was the most powerful support.
This peculiar team—the returning prince and elite foreign conquerors in front, and constantly joining unarmed or farm-tool-wielding locals in the back—like a torrent of mixed steel and flesh, advanced step by step along the winding valley road toward the only castle deep in the Red Flower Vale.
There lay their final target, a traitor who must be reckoned with—Desmond York. It was he who betrayed trust in the uprising back then, sold out the prince's family, and usurped the prince's position. Today was the time for blood to be paid with blood.
Amidst a harsh grinding of metal, the heavy castle gate was pushed open a crack by insiders, then thoroughly smashed open by violent force!
The Ironborn warriors, poised for action, roared into the castle courtyard like a bursting gray iron stream, carrying the scent of sea salt and blood.
Rodrik Harlaw took the lead, his battle-axe swinging in sharp arcs.
Courtyard, corridors, steps... the fight for every inch of space instantly turned white-hot.
Hundreds of Desmond York's henchmen and die-hard loyalists roared to meet them, trying to block this steel torrent with flesh and blood. The fierce clash of axes and spears, the dull thuds of blades tearing through leather and flesh, dying wails, and the sharp ring of metal colliding instantly filled this ancient castle.
This was a slaughter without suspense.
The combat skills and ferocity of the Ironborn warriors were far beyond what these pampered guards could match. Amidst flashing axes, the resistors fell in layers like harvested wheat stalks. Blood quickly stained the flagstone ground red, gathering into small streams winding along the stone cracks.
The noise of battle came fast and went fast. When the last stubborn resistor was accurately nailed to a stone pillar by Floyd's spear, the courtyard suddenly fell into a dead silence, leaving only heavy breathing and the dripping sound of blood.
All obstacles had been cleared.
On the last few steps leading to the main keep's hall, Desmond York stood alone.
Desmond's magnificent robes were stained with his subordinates' blood, his hair messy, hands tightly gripping an overly decorated longsword. His eyes fixed dead on Jalabhar Xho, who was slowly walking toward him through the path automatically cleared by the Ironborn warriors. His eyes were bloodshot, burning with despair, madness, and bone-deep resentment.
"Jalabhar!" He squeezed the name through his teeth, his voice hoarse as a demon.
Jalabhar Xho took a step forward, his gaze torch-like, piercing through the bloody scent in the courtyard straight to the twisted figure on the steps. "It's me!" His voice was no longer gentle, but carried the heavy pain and resolve accumulated for too long as he shouted, "I said I would return!"
Desmond York let out a hysterical laugh, full of despair and utter madness.
"So what!!" Desmond roared, as if flaunting all his crimes as medals. "I betrayed you! I raped your sister! I killed all the clansmen who followed you! So what!! All these years, I enjoyed all the glory and pleasure! Come on! Kill me! Avenge your pathetic sister and those dead clansmen!"
Every shout was like a poisoned dagger, carving fiercely into Jalabhar's heart. His knuckles turned white from the force of his grip, but his eyes settled into a terrifying coldness amidst extreme anger.
"I will! Desmond!" Jalabhar's voice lowered, but carried a will of steel. He suddenly raised his arm, firmly blocking Rodrik Harlaw and other Ironborn warriors behind him who were about to step forward to finish the traitor.
He turned to Rodrik, his gaze earnest and firm, his voice heavy but unquestionable. "This is vengeance, Lord Rodrik. But this vengeance must be completed by me, personally!" He looked around at the fierce warriors from the Iron Islands. "I want to end his life with my own hands! This is a blood debt, and it must be paid in blood!"
In Iron Islands culture, the act of avenging kin carried a near-sacred meaning.
Rodrik Harlaw frowned. As a commander, he instinctively believed targets should be eliminated in the most efficient way to avoid complications. The prince's move seemed to carry unnecessary risk and personal recklessness. But looking at the unshakeable resolve in Jalabhar's eyes, and feeling the understanding, even approval, radiating from the surrounding Ironborn warriors...
Rodrik was silent for a moment. Finally, he took a heavy half-step back and waved his hand to order: "Back off! Let them settle their private grudge!"
The Ironborn warriors scattered slightly as ordered but remained vigilant, forming a semi-circular encirclement, leaving the final stage on the steps to the two hateful parties.
Jalabhar Xho held a heavy round oak shield, his spear tip gleaming cold, pointing steadily at Desmond. Desmond York gripped a gorgeously decorated longsword with both hands, the blade reflecting red light in the bloody sunset.
The two paced, exchanging dozens of probing attacks.
Desmond roared, launching the attack first, his longsword slashing down with the sound of breaking wind! Jalabhar sank his hips and stood firm, his wooden shield meeting it precisely—BANG!
A heavy muffled sound exploded, wood chips flying.
The immense impact numbed Jalabhar's arm, but he held firm against this lethal strike. In the same instant he blocked, he suddenly ducked. The spear in his hand swept out close to the ground like a scorpion's tail, whipping viciously onto Desmond's unprotected shin!
CRACK! The clear sound of bone breaking set teeth on edge.
"Ah—!" Desmond let out a wretched scream, his balance collapsing instantly as he fell heavily to the ground.
Giving him no chance to catch his breath, Jalabhar's spear tip followed like a shadow, thrusting down swiftly with years of accumulated hatred!
Squelch! The spear tip pierced through the thigh, blood spraying.
"Argh!" Desmond curled up in pain.
Squelch! Another thrust, stabbing viciously into the lower abdomen.
Desmond's face twisted in agony, but a flash of dying beast-like madness crossed his eyes. In the moment Jalabhar tried to pull out the spear, he swung his longsword desperately, cold light flashing—
CLANG!
The spear in Jalabhar's hand snapped at the sound, the head remaining inside Desmond's body!
Weapon destroyed!
Jalabhar's movement didn't pause in the slightest. He threw away the remaining shaft and slammed his body forward like a pouncing leopard! Desmond struggled to swing his sword again, but Jalabhar brazenly blocked it with his wooden shield once more. The immense force brought them nearly face-to-face.
In the next moment, Jalabhar's left hand clamped onto Desmond's sword-wielding wrist like an iron pincer. His right hand snatched up the blood-stained, jagged broken spear shaft with lightning speed—
Summoning all his strength, carrying the cries of all his clansmen and his sister's soul, he stabbed down viciously and decisively—SQUELCH!
The sharp end of the broken shaft plunged fiercely into Desmond York's throat, piercing flesh, crushing cartilage, and protruding from the back of his neck with a spray of blood!
Desmond's body convulsed violently. His eyes, filled with resentment and fear, bulged instantly, staring dead at the avenger close at hand. His throat made a few gurgling, tune-less gasping sounds. Finally, all light dissipated from his eyes completely.
Jalabhar Xho let go, allowing the stiffening corpse to slump into the pool of blood. He straightened up, panting violently, looked up at the sky cut by the castle's high walls, and let out a long howl mixed with relief and endless sorrow.
Silence reigned around him. Only the heavy breathing of the Ironborn warriors bore witness to the end of this holy vengeance.
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