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Wildfire embers still glowed when Iron accounting commenced.
Pirates barely escaping from shadowed underground rivers, surfacing, were dragged ashore by waiting Iron folk—blade-flash—skulls rolled into turbid waters.
Survivors scrambling down steep ridges, barely catching breath, met descending axes mid-flight.
Even early-surrendering weapon-droppers raising high palms received no mercy. Iron soldiers silently advanced, hand-raise-blade-fall, movements crisp as harvesting crops.
No trials. No interrogation. No excess curses.
Only steel-splitting bone-flesh's dull thuds, brief dying-gasps swallowed by sea-wind.
Survivors from various paths reached identical endings. Their skulls collected, becoming cold stone-material for next Bone Crown. This cold execution drew Howl Mountain's battle bloody, thorough conclusion.
Black smoke shot toward clouds above mountain, ten thousand enjoyed fire-spectacle below.
Euron gazed upon smoking black ruins, shaking head, voice carrying genuine regret: "Pity. This island accumulated countless years' gold-silver treasures, likely all transformed to ash with this fire."
A trembling voice emerged from surrendered pirates:
"G...great lord, perhaps... things still remain."
All eyes fixed upon a scrawny pirate prostrating.
He'd once stayed this island period. Conveniently, distant relative was minor chief here, thus knowing many secrets.
"Island's...valuable things," he swallowed, gathering courage. "To prevent fire-theft, long ago transferred to mountain's extremely-hidden caverns. That place, ordinary fire cannot reach!"
This information made Euron's brows raise slightly, regret disappearing, replaced by interested smile.
"Excellent." Euron regarded that pirate, voice carrying clear promise: "Lead us there. Find them, I'll credit you."
Twilight descended, illuminating Howl Mountain's blackened ridge.
Euron standing beach-front, voice clear across bay: "Camp here tonight. Continue tomorrow—march to Serpent's Corner!"
"Whoooosh—!"
Iron warriors' cheers like thunder instantly overwhelmed wave-noise, echoing through canyons repeatedly.
That defected pirate immediately led dozens elite Iron folk, torches raised, disappearing into dim mountain-paths toward hidden caverns. Their silhouettes quickly vanished behind jagged boulders, only dancing torch-light like fire-dragon illuminating their path through darkness.
Yet the bay displayed different scene.
Most Iron folk remained aboard, lighting campfires on deck-planks; others sprawled directly upon broad beach. Large buckets of mead rolled ashore, salted-meat sizzled over flames, fat dripping fire erupting fragrant bursts.
Bold war-songs and crude laughs interwove, drifting far with salty wind.
Midnight:
Silent camp shattered by approaching commotion. Torch-light chains like excited fire-dragon winding down mountain-trails, returning pirate guides and hundreds Iron folk gradually clarifying. Nearly using hands-and-feet sliding steep slopes, earth-shaking laughter and unrestrained cheering crashed through bay, startling roosting mast-birds.
"Done! Damn it, actually done!" an Iron captain ferociously slapped the defected pirate's back, nearly driving him into sand. The pirate only grinned foolishly.
This commotion awakened entire camp. Already-sleeping Iron folk poured from ship-cabins, emerged from crude tents. Even night-watch sentries couldn't resist craning necks peering.
Crowds quickly encircled, squeezing into massive beach-ring, sleep-urge overwhelmed by curiosity.
Beneath countless torch-beams' focus, twenty-plus heavy boxes and dozens bulging burlap-sacks were heavily deposited upon beach.
One box's lock fractured upon impact—blinding golden light poured from cracks, instantly igniting everyone's breath.
Ormont Island's clan-chief Elin Oakwood vigorously slapped nearby ale-barrel, releasing hearty laughter: "Ha ha ha! Good! This expedition wasn't wasted, worthwhile!"
Beside him Medred Merlin immediately raised cup responding, shouting: "Well said! Iron expedition, never returns empty!"
His loud voice still echoed sea-wind when Old Wych Island's Dunstan Drumm suddenly slammed cup upon barrel, producing dull sound. His thick brows tightened, glaring at Medred, voice thunderous: "What means 'not wasted'!? What means 'never empty'!?"
His gaze swept Elin and Medred, carrying unconcealed contempt, cold-smiling: "We ride winds, crush archipelagos—for these shiny metals and stones?"
He spread arms as if embracing entire Serpent Isles: "We want sea-routes at archipelago's end! Golden kraken flag planted across every island! Descendants trembling remembering Iron Islands—not merely our treasuries, but our domains!"
Dunstan seized wineskin, tilting head deep-drinking, ale cascading beard, finally hurling empty-skin into sand: "Broaden perspective, brothers—these gold-silvers merely shells casually picked along great conquest's journey!"
Dunstan's passionate words barely finished when nearby erupted loud snort.
"Shut it—!" Lord Barron roared unceremoniously, thick finger nearly poking Dunstan's nose, mockingly cursing: "Stop boasting Euron's words here!"
This immediately triggered surrounding Iron folk's roaring laughter. Even usually-serious Rodrick Harrenhal couldn't suppress head-shaking smiles. Beach filled happy atmosphere.
Amid this commotion, Euron casually approached treasure-piles, randomly grabbing gold-dragons from chest, letting them cascade through fingers. Coin-collisions' crisp sounds oddly overwhelmed everyone's laughter.
Campfire danced within Euron's heterochromatic pupils. When he turned facing everyone, entire beach instantly quieted—as if invisible hands seized all throats.
"Dunstan's right." Euron's voice soft yet hammered each word into hearts: "These gold-silvers..."
He kicked the treasure-chest beside him. "Merely shells we picked passing."
Euron's gaze swept every firelight-illuminated face: "True treasure lies in each future port's surrendering at first sight, merchant-fleets actively paying passage-taxes, our descendants' eternal dominion over these waters!"
Sea-wind carrying sparks crossed night-sky. This moment, even dullest Iron folk sensed—they witnessed history.