Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

The prophecy of winter, like an invisible chill, penetrated the very marrow of the Iron Islands even before the salty, cold sea breezes blowing from the Narrow Sea.

Beneath the dome of the Maester's Tower, Euron Greyjoy's gaze did not linger on the map before him marking the granaries and forests of Westeros, but instead stared intently at the massive, ancient map of Essos on the wall, its edges blurred by bookworms and dampness.

Another option in the face of a harsh winter is to go to another continent.

On the parchment, from the frozen, trembling sea to the dust-shrouded Valantis, from the serpentine Lorne River to the mysterious and gloomy Asshai, that vast and boundless land of the East was depicted as a jigsaw puzzle of countless city-states, deserts, oases, and grasslands.

King Coron's deep voice analyzed the valley's food reserves, the predicament in the North, and the Narrow Sea route, which was about to become increasingly raging and unpredictable. But Euron's thoughts, carried on the sails of imagination, had already soared over that storm-ravaged sea.

Euron knew that the winters of Westeros were not ordinary. The maesters of the Citadel explained it with the celestial orbits and the cycles of the seasons, but a deeper, more unsettling belief lingered in their hearts: the seasons of this land were distorted by some vast, primordial, and incomprehensible magic.

The long summer is both a blessing and a curse, foreshadowing the long, harsh winter that follows, capable of freezing souls and civilizations. It is a chronic disease rooted in the very laws of the world, tormenting Westeros alone.

And what about Essos, across the Narrow Sea? When ice crystals clung to the battlements of Winterfell, when the fields of the Riverlands were blanketed in deep snow, when even the beggars of King's Landing huddled together in a corner, shivering...

South of Essos, perhaps basking in the ever-shining sun of Reis and Valantis, the Spice Islands still sway in warm breezes, and the hills of Giscali still dotted with olive groves and vineyards. Their winters are merely a mild footnote on the trade calendar, requiring an extra velvet coat.

Their worries were trade tariffs, mercenary contracts, and slave prices, not whether they could dig out the last grain of food from the deep snow.

The laws governing the world are so distinct between this shore and the other shore.

Euron's fingertips silently traced the narrow, dark blue slit on the map that represented the Narrow Sea. This trench separated not only two continents, but also seemed to divide two completely different destinies.

Westeros struggles in a game of gods and demons, bearing the cost of extreme seasonal changes, and perhaps secretly nurturing the ancient powers that correspond to it (such as the Children of the Forest, the White Walkers, and the dragons). Essos, though it also has its gods, its blood magic, and its children of shadow, seems to operate under a more "worldly" rule, one more inclined towards trade, conquest, and pleasure, thus avoiding the periodic, magical punishments that come with it.

Euron thought that every fragment of Valyrian steel chanted a lost incantation; every fire of the Red Temple might burn with true divine power; every immortal of Qarth might guard the secrets of time; and every deformed creature on the edge of the Smoky Sea might be the product of a twisted magical experiment.

Within the system's laws, these are all shining, harvestable "points." His journey to the East will be a grand hunt, the prey not of lions and bison, but of miracles, secrets, and forbidden knowledge themselves.

In Westeros, magic has faded, becoming a pale ghost. The Citadel dismisses it as superstition, the nobles confine it to ancient rituals, its presence as faint as the last warmth of summer's end. Dragons are long extinct, the Children of the Forest have vanished into legend, and the White Walkers have become bedtime stories to frighten children. The world here has become monotonous, imprisoned in a tedious cycle of steel, honor, and power.

But in Essos… magic never truly died. It merely transformed, lurking in the shadows, waiting to be awakened.

Euron's fingertips lingered on the ruins of Valyria, where the rising sulfurous mists still held the raging energy of blood magic and dragonfire. He thought of the Shadowlands of Ashar, where wizards were said to still be trading with things not of this world. He thought of the immortals of Qarth, perhaps immersed in the Jade Pools, watching the flow of time. He thought of the Red Temple, where the priests of the Lord of Light might truly be able to raise the dead through faith.

This omnipresent, living, and potentially tangible power held a more alluring aura for Euron than any gold or crown. The system needed "anomalies" and needed exploration, and perhaps his soul, at a deeper level, yearned to understand and even control this wild and dangerous primal force that constituted the underlying logic of the world.

While the Seven Kingdoms are playing a game of power, in certain corners of Essos, a game of chess between gods and demons is unfolding. He is going there not merely to observe, but to learn, and ultimately, to... join the game.

Finally, there's a safety net. If, by any chance, Westeros cannot withstand the White Walkers, the land across the Narrow Sea will be the Ironborn's last sanctuary.

Historically, the Targaryen family's exile before the "Mad King" Aerys had already proven the value of the East. When the harsh winters or wars of Westeros became unbearable, the East served as a natural refuge and supply line. Dragonstone was the outpost, while Essos provided a vast rear base.

The light from the whale oil lamp flickered in Euron Greyjoy's heterochromatic eyes, reflecting the enormous, incredibly detailed map of Essos spread out on the table. His fingertips slowly traced the rough surface of the parchment, from the Step Pyramid of Pentos, to the Black Forest of Kohor, finally settling beside the shadowy Asshal. It was more than just a geographical journey; it was a search for the magnetic poles of destiny.

"In autumn and winter, the Narrow Sea becomes a roaring behemoth," Coron's voice pulled Euron back to reality. He was pointing to the strait on the map, his brow furrowed. "The storms can tear apart the strongest longships, and the fog hides reefs and something far more terrifying. Every crossing is a gamble with the drowning gods. All ships must remain ashore, and all trade must cease."

Risk. Yes, the risk is enormous.

But this risk itself is a natural barrier, protecting Essos from being immediately affected by the chill of Westeros, and also filtering out the brave and desperate who have the courage and ability to traverse it.

A thought, like a sea monster quietly rising from the darkness, became clear in Euron's mind: The world is so big, I want to see it.

I don't just want to look; I want to touch, taste, and understand that land untouched by the curse of magical winter.

The system requires points, and the continent of Essos is full of "anomalies" and "stories," making it an excellent hunting ground for earning points.

More practically, there was food and timber that Westeros desperately needed, and the Ice and Fire Merchant Guild's trade network needed him to personally integrate, strengthen, and expand it.

This trade network is complex and sophisticated, involving too many free cities, too many cultural differences, and too much greed and betrayal. It requires a mind with absolute authority, extraordinary calculation ability, and ruthless determination to personally integrate, deter, and make instantaneous decisions. Those agents and partners need to witness Greyjoy's will firsthand, even if that will resides in the body of a seven-year-old child.

This is not an inspection, it is activation, it is turning potential trade routes into the lifeline of the Iron Islands.

The father and the others might worry about safety, but they were unaware that the Ice and Fire Merchant Guild, with its keen business acumen and a bit of "luck" (a tip from Euron), had already quietly laid its groundwork in Pentos, Braavos, and even further afield in Rhys. Nearly a hundred elites from the Iron Islands—not just merchants, but also artisans, spies, and even warriors disguised as mercenaries—had already driven themselves into several major free trading cities like wedges.

His trip was not to venture into unknown dangers, but to inspect and tighten the fishing nets that had already been quietly cast.

The lords of Westeros are still fighting tooth and nail for the Iron Throne, for their fiefdoms, and for the right of succession. But have they ever looked up at the world?

True power may not only come from cold blades and long lineages, but also from golden rivers, information networks, and a deeper understanding of the rules that govern the world. Essos is the best classroom for understanding all of this.

Euron longs for a "winter camp" on the other side of the Narrow Sea.

This is not escapism, but another form of progress. While Westeros huddles in the cold winter, licking its wounds and gathering strength, he, Euron Greyjoy, will, on another stage, accumulate another form of power—power sufficient to overturn everything in the future—for House Greyjoy and for himself.

His gaze returned to the unfamiliar place names on the map of Essos, as if he could already see the chimney-lined workshops, the bustling slave markets, the fragrant spice fairs, and beneath them, the undercurrents of gold and power. It was a vibrant, alive world, unfrozen by the long winter of Westeros, waiting for him to explore and conquer it, in a way different from the Ironborn Road.