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Morning light pierced the horizon, illuminating the broken silhouette of the Weeping Keep and the newly constructed, death-reeking Crown of Skulls.
The elite forces of the Pirate Kings from the Isle of Toads, Talon, Skull, and Ax had all been turned to ash in the fires of the Isle of Tears. Their ambition, their courage, and their very bodies were now part of that gruesome crown, staring silently into the salty breeze at the sea that had changed masters.
Euron's Iron Fleet didn't linger. As the first rays of sun bathed the ruins, the black longships in the harbor were already raising their sails. Anchor chains rattled like war horns signaling a new campaign.
Like a waking beast, the fleet cut white scars across the calm morning sea, sailing unhurriedly away from the bay just baptized in blood and fire.
Their swords pointed to the next target: the Isle of Toads.
---
When the Iron Fleet appeared on the horizon of the Isle of Toads, the remaining pirates had long lost any will to resist.
Just as Euron had predicted, there was no war here.
As the lead ships crunched onto the shallows, the Ironborn were greeted by a scene of total submission.
All the surviving pirates were kneeling quietly on the wet sand, a dark mass of bodies. The location they chose was symbolic—right at the feet of the massive statue known as the "Toad Stone."
It was a bizarre idol carved from oily black stone, standing forty feet high. Rough and menacing, it was shaped like a gigantic toad crouching on the ground. No one knew how many ages it had stood there. The black stone gleamed with a greasy luster under the erosion of sea winds, its hollow eye sockets seemingly looking down in contempt at the tiny creatures at its feet.
Beside this ancient, eerie totem, the pirates held their scimitars, axes, and spears high above their heads with both hands, blades pointed downward in a gesture of absolute surrender. No one spoke. No one looked up. There was only the faint whistling of the wind over the edges of their weapons.
With the most humble posture possible, they declared their complete submission to the Iron Islands, accepting the Golden Kraken banner as the new master of these seas.
As before, they were placed under the rule of Edwin Ramirez.
---
Euron stood silently on the beach, looking past the kneeling surrenderers to gaze at the massive Toad Stone.
Ancient legends claimed that in the distant past, the inhabitants of the Isle of Toads were hideous, bearing fish-like features and webbed fingers and toes. Scholars had speculated that they were the degenerate descendants of the mysterious, ancient race that had carved this Toad Stone.
Ages had passed, and those strange inhabitants had vanished into the dust of time, leaving only this silent megalith to endure thousands of years of wind and waves.
In the silence of surrender, Euron narrowed his eye slightly. No ordinary man could feel it, but he caught it clearly—from deep within that rough, black, salt-worn stone, a faint, incredibly ancient pulse was emanating.
It wasn't magic, nor was it an illusion. It was a residual power, deeper and more primal, like the slow heartbeat of a sleeping beast. It was as if the statue wasn't dead matter, but a vessel still sealing a sliver of divinity from the dawn of creation that had never fully been extinguished.
Euron dismissed his guards and stood alone before the giant stone toad. He slowly pressed his palm against the cold, rough surface. The ancient ability derived from the Grey King's bloodline—Divinity Devour—quietly activated.
In an instant, a weak energy—cold, viscous, and smelling of damp shadows—tried to wiggle out from the depths of the stone like a dying leech, attempting to wrap around his arm. It was filled with forgotten grudges and the decay of eons.
Just as Euron had sensed, without the worship and sacrifices of its people for generations, this remnant of divinity was incredibly weak. It couldn't even manifest the faintest phantom in the physical world; it could only emit a silent scream on the spiritual plane.
The moment that cold energy touched Euron's palm, it was like a stream flowing into an abyss. The more ancient, domineering devouring power in his bloodline swept it up, tore it apart, and assimilated it without effort. The process was so brief it was almost imperceptible. The last faint spark of light deep within the statue was snuffed out completely.
Euron withdrew his hand, feeling the insignificant yet strangely natured power merge into him. The Toad Stone before him still stood, but in his perception, it had been reduced to a massive, ordinary rock. All its mystery and extraordinariness had vanished into smoke.
---
The final three islands of the Basilisk chain—Talon, Skull, and Ax—had also completely abandoned resistance. When the Iron Fleet appeared in their respective waters, scenes identical to the Isle of Toads played out.
The remnants of the pirate crews knelt in dark masses on their shorelines, beside the totems or ruins that symbolized their islands' pasts, holding their weapons high above their heads. There was no anger, no reluctance, only a fatalistic submission.
This was no longer conquest; it was routine processing.
All Euron had to do was stop his longship briefly at each island's coast, like a monarch touring his newly annexed territories.
He accepted their kneeling worship with indifference, then assigned all these surrendering pirates to Edwin Ramirez's command. Brand new Golden Kraken banners were driven forcefully by Ironborn hands onto the highest reefs or castle ruins of each island. The sea breeze instantly unfurled the flags, letting the fierce kraken fly freely under the sun.
When the final flag was raised on the cliffs of the Isle of Ax, snapping in the wind, it signified that the centuries of chaotic fragmentation in the Basilisk Isles had been brought to a definitive end.
Over all seven islands, only the Golden Kraken of the Iron Islands flew.
The War of Unification for the Basilisk Isles had officially concluded.
This once lawless land now had only one master—Euron Greyjoy.
---
The Iron Fleet rested like sleeping beasts in the harbors of the Basilisk Isles, undergoing post-war refitting.
They would stay for several days, not out of idleness, but to wait—waiting for the massive fleet belonging to the "Ice and Fire Trading Company."
In the past, due to the rampant piracy and dangerous environment of the Basilisk Isles, any legitimate merchant fleet would steer well clear of these waters.
But from now on, this was no longer a lawless zone fraught with danger; it had become an "inland sea" within the Iron Islands' domain.
When the sails of the merchant fleet finally appeared on the horizon, growing from a few specks to a dense forest of masts, the harbors of the entire archipelago bustled with activity. These ships brought not just supplies, but two critical missions.
The merchant ships would take away the veterans who had been too heavily wounded in this campaign to continue fighting. These Ironborn would be properly transported back to the Iron Islands to recover in peace.
Cargo ships docked slowly, ready to load the mountains of spoils seized in this conquest—Gold Dragons, jewelry, and rare goods—all to be shipped back to the Iron Islands. This massive wealth, symbolizing the fruits of conquest, needed to be injected into the heart of the Iron Islands through these reliable routes to support the operation of this growing maritime empire.
While trade routes and business were the long-term benefits of the future, right now, the merchant fleet served as a lifeline connecting the front lines to the homeland, healing wounds and delivering sustenance.