Euron Greyjoy was, true to his word upon landing, simply here for a "visit"—or so it appeared to everyone else.
While the representatives of the Ice and Fire Trading Company sat at the negotiating table with the officials of New Ghis, haggling over every copper of tariffs, berth assignments, and quota allocations, the Lord of Sea Monsters—the man who actually held all the power—couldn't be bothered to even show his face. Euron didn't interfere with the company's business, treating his massive commercial empire like a set of dice he'd idly tossed onto the table.
In truth, under the terrifying shadow of his reputation and unfathomable military strength, the Trading Company found it laughably easy to settle terms. The process was unusually smooth.
Stripped of his formal titles for the moment, Euron took the Warrior Queen, Alicia, and roamed freely through the compact, militaristic streets and markets of New Ghis.
He acted like a curious traveler, immersing himself in the gritty, vibrant atmosphere of the port city.
In a crude shack by the docks, Euron and Alicia drank the local apricot wine, a spirit so spicy it clawed at the throat. At a small stall by the stone steps of the market, he peeled spiced pickled eggs. They walked into a smoke-filled eatery to dip coarse black bread into clay bowls of octopus stewed until the sauce was thick and rich. He even ate a plate of dog meat—its natural flavor masked by heavy garlic and chilies—without batting an eye when the shopkeeper served it.
He tasted every kind of meat available—whether it was common livestock or the local specialty known as "Rock Rats," roasted whole.
But Euron wasn't just tasting the food. He was using his palate to measure the land's produce, its resources, and the habits of the people who lived there. Alicia followed silently at his side, watching him chat with stall owners, watching him flick a silver stag to a fire-breathing street urchin with a faint smile. Since they had met, this was the first time she had seen this side of Euron.
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However, Euron and Alicia's "sightseeing" went far deeper than the idle wandering of travelers.
Their path seemed random, but it surgically covered every critical zone of the military city-state—from the heavily guarded military districts to the smoke-filled residential quarters, and finally to the bustling port. Their eyes skimmed over the surface, but their minds were dissecting the city's layout, its true strength, its proudest assets, and the weaknesses it tried to hide.
In the military district, high black walls completely cut the area off from the outside world.
The barracks were built of heavy volcanic rock, roofed with dried seagrass—a pragmatic use of local materials. When the doors to the massive armory swung open, they caught glimpses of mountains of spears, shields, and heavy plate armor designed specifically for elephants.
The massive elephant stables, filled with low rumbles and a mix of pungent smells, revealed a capacity for fifty war elephants—the city's undisputed "core strike force." At the entrance to the district, heavy iron portcullises and towering guard posts created a fatal funnel. The soldiers, fully armed, watched with wary eyes that warned strangers to keep their distance.
Adjacent to the port was the residential district, home to the so-called "Sons of the Harpy."
Most houses were one or two-story stone structures. Under rough terracotta roofs, walls were painted with crude murals of the Harpy—that ancient cultural symbol was the only spiritual sustenance left for these people. The streets were narrow, winding, and unplanned, littered with filth and debris. The air was thick with the pungent stench of fish and the heavy aroma of street grills trying to cover up the rot.
Wherever they went, the foundation of the city exuded a cold ruthlessness.
The walls and all major buildings were constructed of black volcanic rock. The masonry was despairingly thick, windowless save for narrow arrow slits at key positions. The overall appearance was gloomy and solid, like a giant beast crouching in the sand. The common homes were cruder, mostly stone bungalows with thatched roofs, walls hung with dried fish and unknown herbs. The interiors were simple at a glance: a living area, a bedroom, wooden furniture, and clay pottery constituted their entire worldly possessions.
Euron's gaze lingered longest on the mighty War Elephant Corps. Those fifty behemoths, each clad in iron plating and carrying a tower manned with spearmen and archers, were impressive. Commanded by experienced "Elephant Captains," their main task was to charge the lines, smash gates with brute force, or simply shatter enemy morale with their size and roar.
The port represented New Ghis's naval power: about fifty triremes sat quietly at anchor. Each warship was crewed by nearly a hundred soldiers, including rowers and archers, and equipped with catapults. They existed to protect the harbor, fend off pirates, and rapidly transport troops to fight for the other cities of Slaver's Bay.
Beneath this seemingly powerful military shell, Euron and Alicia saw clearly that the residents lived in extreme hardship. The glorious ancient symbols couldn't fill bellies, and the strict military planning did not extend to public welfare.
A glorious past woven with a struggling present. The reality of the city was far worse than the steel fangs it bared. All of this was silently cataloged by the two special "tourists."
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Of all the structures in New Ghis, only the massive circular fighting pit—the Grand Arena—was considered the grandest masterpiece and the greatest pride of the Masters.
This beast of obsidian and volcanic rock was currently roaring with deafening noise. This was the highest honor for a guest—a bloody feast of death.
Euron Greyjoy and Alicia sat with the six Masters in the prime viewing box overlooking the arena. Even the soft cushions and the silk canopy couldn't completely block the heat and fanaticism rising from the sand below.
This spectacle, gathering the city's top gladiators, was held specifically for his arrival. The intent was self-evident: to display strength and to cater to what they assumed were his tastes.
On the sand, the contest began in the most direct manner.
First came the brutal combat between gladiators. Blades sliced through flesh, chains snapped bones. Every fatal exchange drew thunderous cheers from the stands. Then, the cages rattled open. The low growl of beasts drowned out the human shouts as the scene escalated to gladiators against starving animals. Lions, shadowcats, and even a particularly vicious striped beast captured from the Red Waste took turns entering the fray, pushing the gore and cruelty to the extreme.
The yellow sand was stained deep brown. Broken limbs and weapons lay scattered. This naked display of death intoxicated the thousands of spectators, who screamed in waves, their faces twisted with extreme excitement.
Euron leaned back in his seat, calmly watching the slaughter below, a faint smile on his lips. He looked as if he were watching an amusing play rather than the end of lives. Beside him, Alicia's back remained straight. Her warrior's instinct led her to coolly assess every move and weakness of the fighters. The raucous carnival and the spraying blood didn't shake her; it only deepened the calculation in her eyes.
The Masters assumed that because Euron and Alicia were valiant warriors, they would enjoy this "sport."
But... the forced butchery of slaves for entertainment was not the same as the slaughter of the battlefield. There was not a shred of honor to be found here.