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The war-horn had sounded. The Iron Islands' steel torrent officially launched.
Once Fly Island fell, the Bone Brothers uprooted, word spread swiftly. The Iron fleet didn't pause for rest.
Those long-ships bearing golden kraken flags, like sharks scenting fresh blood, turned their prows, breaking waves, racing toward their next target—Howl Mountain Island.
This was merely beginning.
The moment the first flaming arrow shot toward Bone Citadel, countless eyes watched hidden. Carrier-pigeons launched from dense forests. Swift-boats silently departed concealed harbors. When Fly Island's final resistance-beacon extinguished, detailed intelligence of its fall—like silent plague—swept across the entire Serpent Isles with astounding speed.
Every port, every tavern transmitted identical message accompanied by fear-whispers:
"The Iron Islands... have moved."
"The Bone Brothers... are gone."
"Their fleet sails southward..."
Panic like thick fog instantly shrouded every lair across this lawless realm.
Atop Hurricane Island's black reefs, Edwin Ramirez watched successive ship-silhouettes materializing upon the horizon, stroked his upturned mustache, his mouth curving into an anticipated smile.
Those pirate-captains who'd roared in taverns about "gnawing Iron bones" now piloted their fastest light-skiffs, fleeing like rabbits before hunting-dogs. Their arrogance had been washed away by cold sweat, replaced only by post-escape terror.
"See clearly?" Edwin whispered to his aide, fingertip caressing the golden kraken flag's pole. "This is why I first raised this flag on Hurricane Island."
When the first ship beached, that pirate who'd sworn to sever Euron's head dropped both knees upon gravel-beach, trembling as he presented his curved blade: "We... willingly submit!"
Like toppling the first domino, increasingly more pirates knelt upon Hurricane Island's beach. They surrendered not merely weapons but once-supreme pride. Some collapsed describing Fly Island's blood-crimson coastlines. Others incoherently repeated "Bone Crown."
Edwin's boot-tip casually kicked a tooth embedded in sand-gravel, pacing among the kneeling shadows, voice carrying cat-playing-mouse mockery: "You should have understood earlier—when the Iron Islands speak, they never negotiate. It's final judgment."
Edwin suddenly stopped, leaning toward one corpse-pale face, grin spreading: "Realizing you should bow now... isn't that a bit too late?" He straightened, spreading palms, shaking head helplessly. "The Beast-Lord's three-day limit was crystal-clear. You've exceeded deadline."
Pirates' face-color drained entirely. Some opened mouths soundlessly, eyes filled with despair.
Watching trembling prey, Edwin shifted tone, suddenly light-hearted: "However... I could intercede for you." He surveyed everyone, drawing out words meaningfully: "After all, the Serpent Isles span vast distances, complex waters—delayed a day or two during transit... is perfectly understandable, yes?"
Like drowning men grasping floating-timber, pirates immediately nodded frantically, squeezing smiles uglier than tears:
"Absolutely! Your lordship's wisdom!"
"The currents were too fierce—we detoured far..."
"This cursed weather delayed us!"
Edwin satisfied observed these pirates desperately fabricating excuses, as if appreciating carefully-choreographed farce.
Before dawn's mist dispersed under sunlight, the Iron Islands' fleet appeared like a mobile steel forest upon Hurricane Island's horizon.
When the Telltale's keel touched Hurricane Island's shallows, the shore already lay completely blanketed with kneeling figures. Except for Edwin's three-hundred-plus elite who maintained standing posture, nearly two thousand newly-surrendered pirates virtually covered the entire beach. They hung heads low, breathing carefully.
Euron descended the gangway, his gaze flatly sweeping this "grand surrender-spectacle," his eyes utterly calm.
He barely cared whether these pirates submitted. He'd never regarded them as reliable combat-strength. In Euron's assessment, these indecisive rabble were merely conquest-road's byproducts. Those who'd truly tear enemy-lines, determine war's direction remained forever the silent, reef-like Iron warriors behind him. Their blades wrote victory.
Euron's gaze passed across the beach like ice-cold tides.
Over two thousand pirates knelt precisely per his command upon fine sand, raised swords forming silent steel-forests in dawn-light.
His vision lingered upon lowered heads, as if assessing freshly-unloaded cargo. Moments later, he slightly nodded, voice emotionless: "Rise."
This word released them like amnesty-proclamation. Suppressed breathing immediately erupted throughout.
Euron pointed toward Edwin Ramirez: "All of you temporarily serve under Edwin Ramirez."
Edwin Ramirez stepped forward, nodding.
Pirates hastily stood, their faces plastered with servile smiles, exchanging relieved glances—their lives were preserved. Several front-rank pirates nearly dropped their swords, trembling with relief.
Euron's voice remained quiet yet scraped across every pirate's eardrums like blade-edges:
"I accept your submission—"
He paused. His heterochromatic eyes utterly lacked warmth.
"But this doesn't mean I trust you."
Euron spoke gravely: "Compared to open enemies, I despise backstabbers far more."
His gaze pressed against the crowd. Several cowardly pirates already trembled.
"Toward traitors, I show no mercy, understand no forgiveness. That's too cheap."
His fingertip lightly traced his sword-hilt, speaking coldly: "I'll reduce him to breathing skeleton, let him use his final breath regretting being born."
Terror-silence spread across beach. Only waves tireless pounded shore.
Suddenly, Euron's tone abruptly shifted, nearly tolerant-calm: "Now, if any among you are spies or agents, step forward. I swear by House Greyjoy, I'll let you leave unimpeded."
He surveyed everyone, voice clear and cruel:
"This opportunity comes once only."
Seagulls wheeled overhead crying, yet nobody moved. That seemingly-open escape-route, following moments-past bloody threats, resembled a deadly trap instead.
Conqueror's Haki—activated!
Beneath this soul-deep fear-impact, several pirates' faces turned deathly pale, their legs trembling uncontrollably, their swords "clanging" repeatedly dropping to sand, audible across silent beach.
Without Euron speaking, wolf-like Iron warriors beside him exploded like lightning, precisely pinning those paralyzed figures, dragging them before the formation.
Euron's gaze fell upon them, speaking coldly: "I gave you the chance."
His voice contained no anger, yet sounded more desperate than roaring: "You're just... useless~~~"
"Flay them. Strip flesh. Break bones."
Commands concise and brutal.
"Let everyone watch—" Euron delivered final judgment: "This is what traitors deserve!"
Commands swiftly executed.
Temporary execution-frames erected along the coast. Soon inhuman, piercing shrieks filled the air.
That sound persisted long—heartrending, drowning wave-noise, leaving every surviving pirate ashen-faced, hanging heads deeply, daring not look once more.
That desperate wailing—like ice-cold wedges—firmly nailed fear into every soul's depths.