The defected pirate was pushed forward.
The pirate's face flushed with extreme excitement, chest heaving violently, prostrating before Euron, his voice hoarse with intensity: "My lord... everything is here!"
Euron regarded the trembling pirate, his expression gentle: "What's your name?"
The pirate shuddered, burying his head lower, voice stammering nervously: "Beast-Lord Euron, my humble name is... Brook!"
"Brook," Euron repeated, his tone flat yet carrying irrefutable power. "Henceforth, no need kneeling when seeing me. Iron Islands don't observe such customs."
His gaze swept surrounding breathless onlookers, voice clear: "From today, you're promoted to squad-leader."
Brook's head shot up, his face written with unbelievable ecstasy, lips trembling speechlessly.
Euron said no more, turning toward Rodrick Harrenhal standing aside: "Make assessment."
Rodrick Harrenhal stepped forward steadily, his sharp gaze sweeping beach-treasures. He methodically opened chests, inspected sacks, fingertips manipulating coins, weighing gems. Moments later, he turned to Euron, voice clear and accurate:
"Twenty-five chests total. Half contain gold-dragons, half pearls and various gems. This portion alone, preliminary assessment: three-hundred-thousand gold-dragon value."
Rodrick gently kicked the burlap-sacks: "These fourteen sacks contain mostly silver-vessels, antiques, and miscellaneous items, estimated three to five-thousand gold-dragons."
Final summary: "All seized goods, total estimate approximately three-hundred-thirty-thousand gold-dragons."
Iron folk hearing this number showed little reaction, continuing to drink and eat—they'd witnessed many times greater treasures following Euron.
Yet newly-surrendered pirates displayed starkly different reactions, their eyes fixed upon treasures, throats working audibly, eyes barely concealing greed and shock.
Euron ignored everything, merely stating flatly: "Take one-thousand gold-dragons, reward Brook. Remaining spoils distributed subsequently by merit."
This struck the quiet water like boulders.
Brook froze utterly, mouth agape, as if hearing fairy-tales. Other surrendered pirates exchanged bewildered glances, scarcely believing their ears.
Euron observed Brook's astonished expression, brow raising slightly: "Too little?"
"No! No! No!" Brook recovered, shaking head like a rattle, voice trembling: "It's... too much! My lord, these treasures are yours..."
"They're not mine! They belong to every expeditioner, including you."
"Every meritorious person receives their deserved share—Iron Islands' custom." Euron interrupted, his tone calm yet carrying taken-for-granted authority. "You receive more because without you, perhaps we'd miss these treasures entirely."
Euron's gaze swept still-shocked pirates, his voice clear reaching every ear: "Merely three-hundred-thirty-thousand gold-dragons—unworthy such fuss."
He paused, his tone carved into steel certainty: "I, Euron Greyjoy, never begrudge distributing earned rewards."
Sea-wind carrying campfire embers swept across beach, imprinting "never begrudge" upon every new adherent's heart.
Within Howl Mountain's command-tent:
Euron sat quietly at head-position, fingers unconsciously tapping sea-charts upon his knees.
The three Lone Light sisters stood motionless within, deep-gray cloaks unwavering, only their eyes displaying eerie milk-white, gazing toward unreachable distances.
Their vision already connected with circling crows above Serpent's Corner.
Much later, that strange whiteness gradually receded from their eyes. Like sharing one soul, they spoke sequentially:
"Serpent's Corner—"
"Those pirates prepare escape—"
"Awaiting blown-over winds before returning."
Euron didn't even raise his brows, his voice betraying no surprise: "Let them flee. No need concern." He lifted eyes, asking: "What else?"
The sisters' voices seamlessly continued:
"Certain pirates—"
"Hide in cliff-crevices and forests—"
"Only appearing beach after fleet departs."
Speaking in unison: "They... plan surrender."
Euron chuckled: "Then congratulate them making the... only correct choice for survival."
He contemplated those fleeing pirates—expecting to return!?
Serpent's Corner:
Serpent's Corner was the North Shore's most precipitous island, entirely formed single volcanic-rock, resembling coiled sea-serpent, merely fifteen miles length, three miles maximum width.
When the Iron Islands' black silhouettes appeared on horizon, over hundred waiting pirates simultaneously straightened.
The fleet slowly approached. The Telltale's keel barely touched shallows when over hundred pirates uniformly knelt, their movements synchronized as if rehearsed.
White beach beneath blazing sun reflected blinding light.
Pirates raised their curved-swords and long-swords high, keen blades weaving shimmering steel-thorns under sunlight. No words. No exchanged glances. Only submitting posture—blade-down, hilt-up—and deeply bowed heads.
Wave-sounds suddenly became remarkably clear.
Euron's mouth curved into a smile, his gaze sweeping lowered heads.
"Though arriving somewhat late," Euron spoke flatly, "your sincerity... satisfies me adequately."
Euron's vision slowly swept entire beach and silent forest beyond, his tone casual: "Serpent's Corner—only you remain?"
Noise rippled through kneeling crowds.
One pirate suddenly raised his head, then awkwardly knee-walked toward Euron until stopping before his boot-tips.
Supporting himself on palms, his voice tight with reverence: "Esteemed Beast-Lord, that's not entirely so." He swallowed. "Serpent's Corner is held by the Fang Brotherhood. They originally numbered over thousand. But they... they've all gone toward Tear Island's direction."
Euron's gaze swept the kneeling pirates, casually gesturing toward the distant ridge where Viper Fortress' outline appeared, saying: "I accept your submission. You'll temporarily serve under Edwin Ramirez."
Euron paused, issuing his first command flatly: "Today's task: dismantle that fortress into level ground for me."
This statement shocked not merely newly-surrendered pirates but even several Iron lords behind Euron, their eyes exchanging confusion.
In enemy territory, first action isn't fortifying positions but demolishing defenses?
Euron absorbed all reactions, his head slightly raised, voice carrying pride: "Yesterday I remembered the Dothraki. Across vast grasslands, they build no walls or fortresses, yet fear no attacks. Why?"
His eyes blazed, sweeping every Iron warrior: "Because across grasslands, no force rivals their curved-blades!"
"Henceforth, across the sea-domain Iron Islands rule, similarly need no walls nor fortresses for protection!"
His voice thundered like lightning through everyone's hearts: "Because—upon the great sea, with me, none undefeated!"
After brief silence, like volcanic eruption, every Iron warrior's passion instantly ignited, exploding into ear-shattering war-cries!
That sound aggregated, making surrounding waters tremble.
"Upon the great sea!"
"With me, none undefeated!!!"