Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Euron's second stop in Braavos was the renowned Neptune's Palace.

Aquaman is the ruler of Braavos, and before the appearance of the White Sands, the Iron Islands had little business dealings with him. Only in the last two years have these dealings gradually increased.

Euron was not there as a beggar, but as a trading partner who possessed scarce resources. The meeting with Aquaman took place in a cold marble hall, flanked by statues of past Aquamen, their piercing gazes looking down upon the assembled crowd.

Aquaman Ferrego Antalion clicked his tongue in amazement: "Euron Greyjoy, son of the Drowned God, at the age of seven, is already able to sail alone and manages the family's vital business. And I, at seven, would probably still be peeing and playing in the mud..."

A joke, a jest, is also a test.

Euron did not dodge the question. He smiled slightly and calmly took over the conversation, his tone carrying just the right amount of humility and unmistakable wit: "Your Majesty is too kind. Only from the clay can one take shape; even in childish play, one can glimpse ambition. This water kingdom that you now rule may very well have originated from that passion you had for shaping the world back then."

You Lun then got to the point, his tone calm but his words clear and unwavering, carrying weight without any inflection.

When discussing "Platinum Sands," he doesn't seem to be selling a product, but rather stating an order—a set of rules he defines that leads to the ultimate sensory world. He doesn't rush to boast about profits, but calmly weaves it into a net.

Luxury goods are products that equate to status.

The huge tax revenue was certainly tempting, but what attracted Aquaman even more was Euron's suggestion that it was a bond that could deeply bind the hedonistic needs of the Braavos elite with the fundamental interests of the Iron Islands.

It wasn't a one-off transaction, but a slow, ingrained dependence. Moreover, Euron confidently assured Aquaman that in the near future, the Iron Islands would have far more valuable assets, far exceeding the value of Platinum Sands, as part of the deal between the two parties.

When the conversation turned to port usage rights, Euron's terms were precise and restrained. He demonstrated familiarity with Braavos maritime regulations, tidal patterns, and even the distribution of dock factions, demanding not privileges, but stable, sustainable access. This was less like the haggling of a short-sighted businessman and more like a strategist laying the first cornerstone for a long-term trade route.

Aquaman Ferrego Antalion gradually stopped treating Euron as a seven-year-old child and instead saw him as a business partner in Braavos. The entire meeting was conducted calmly and politely, without any loud arguments or bluster.

Except for not being able to drink with women like Oberyn Martell, the host and guests all had a great time.

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The true power of Braavos lies half in the Temple of Neptune and the other half hidden behind the massive stone walls of the Iron Bank.

If Neptune wields military and legal power, then the Iron Treasury controls the silent, yet vital lifeline of a nation—wealth.

The Braavos Iron Vault is an international financial institution that can directly influence the value of currency through lending rates.

Here, there was none of the splendor and clamor of the Sea King's Palace, only endless, cold corridors, towering archive shelves reaching to the dome, and the air thick with the scent of aged parchment and ink. The officials moved with light, slow steps, their voices low as if in repentance, their eyes sharp yet restrained, as if they had already calculated their emotions into interest rates.

In this digitally constructed fortress, Euron donned a completely different mask: no longer a sea madman or a smooth-talking diplomat, but a calm, precise, and insightful business leader.

Euron didn't come to beg for a loan; he came to present a proposition. He clearly laid out the wealth prospects brought by "Platinum Sands": not just huge profits, but a stable, continuous, and ever-expanding cash flow. He discussed transportation costs and output, estimated market saturation and demand cycles, explored the possibility of building Platinum Sands refineries in every port city, and even proposed a financial cooperation plan deeply intertwined with the Iron Treasury, as well as matters related to joint investment in new shipping routes in the future.

Euron's language lacked the fervor of surging waves, possessing only the meticulous logic of gears. Under the gaze of those heterochromatic eyes, even the most stubborn auditor seemed to glimpse a silent torrent of gold coins surging forth behind the dry numbers. He didn't need to plead for trust; he only needed to demonstrate order, and order was the sole language of faith for the Iron Treasury.

Finally, Euron exchanged the golden dragon he had brought from Westeros for the Braavos iron coins, which were more commonly used on the continent.

The gold coins that once symbolized the power and faith of his homeland were collected by the Iron Treasury, replaced by stacks of dark, heavy iron coins bearing the crescent moon emblem of Braavos. These iron coins were cold and unadorned, devoid of any ornate decorations, yet widely recognized in every corner of the continent. Their value lay not in their luster, but in the credit bestowed upon them by a republic without a king, a republic based solely on contracts and capital.

After leaving the Iron Bank, Euron lingered among the bustling streets of Braavos.

He would pause at the smoky stalls along the canal, savoring eel grilled with exotic spices, experiencing the combined impact of its smooth texture and stimulating flavors. He would also venture into a bustling tavern, order a glass of locally brewed sour ale, and listen to sailors and dockworkers boast about their adventures in various accents, filtering out valuable rumors and intelligence. He would also seek out time-honored establishments hidden in deep alleys, trying the supposedly century-old secret recipe for clam chowder, tasting the unique richness that time bestows upon the food.

These seemingly casual tastes were actually his way of measuring the pulse of the city. The flavors of the food, the conversations in the marketplace, even the eyes of the vendors were sources of intelligence more authentic than any official report.

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After navigating Braavos's power network for several days, Euron Greyjoy's schedule was left with only one final, and most symbolic, destination: the Isle of the Gods.

This island, located in the heart of the city and connected to the main urban area by countless elegant bridges, is the epitome of Braavos' unique spirit.

Here, all known gods can find a place, from the Seven of Westeros to R'hllor the Red God across the Narrow Sea, from the Dothraki horse god to the mysterious Black Goat, and even some long-forgotten sea gods remembered only by a few sailors, all have altars and temples of varying sizes, as well as the drowning god worshipped by the Ironborn.

The air seemed to tremble slightly because of this complex faith, and the sounds of various incense, prayers and rituals intertwined strangely, forming a background murmur that was both unsettling and incredibly harmonious.

Stepping onto the Isle of Gods was like entering a miniature pantheon marketplace. His steps were unhurried, his heterochromatic eyes calmly scanning each temple, each with its own distinct style. He saw the solemn statues behind the stained glass windows of the Church of the Seven Gods, and the leaping flames and the figure of a monk in a deep red robe before the Temple of the Red God; he passed low stone grottoes dedicated to unnamed beings of the deep sea, their entrances adorned with seashells and grains of salt offered by fishermen; he also glimpsed the small shrines decorated with exotic totems, the incense burners emitting unfamiliar scents.

Here, there is no single truth, only parallel faiths. The freedom of Braavos is vividly displayed here: faith is a tool, a solace, a transaction; as long as it does not affect the flow of gold coins and the operation of the city, it can coexist here. Neptune and the Council of Guardians wisely understand that suppressing faith will only breed underground embers, while giving them a public space will bring them under control.

Euron stopped before a small, seemingly abandoned altar. Ancient runes, weathered and blurred by time, were carved into its rough stone base. Beside it sat a rusted iron lamp, which seemed to have once held ointment. There were no signs, no priests, and not even the deity it was dedicated to was known. Perhaps it was an ancient variant of a forgotten drowning god, or perhaps a relic of a lost civilization.

He stood quietly for a moment.

The inclusivity of the Isle of Gods, in a sense, is a ruling wisdom more powerful than swords. It allows fanaticism to be vented within controlled channels, co-opting mysticism into the urban landscape. But Euron felt not awe, but a deeper calm. These gods vied for attention here, receiving offerings, but their power seemed imprisoned on the island, becoming harmless parts of the vast machine of Braavos.

"Truly... astute," he muttered to himself, a subtle, enigmatic smile playing on his lips. The Braavos people seemed to have constructed something more powerful than any single faith: a secular yet efficient system that allowed and governed all beliefs.

The trip to the Isle of Gods did not lead him to convert to any particular deity, but it gave him a deeper understanding of the true source of Braavos' power—not any particular god, but the ultimate practice of the idea that "everything can be used to my advantage."

Euron asked, "Lisa, what if I utilized one of the uninhabited islands in the Iron Islands and built something like the Isle of Gods...?"

After a moment's thought, Lisa shook her head decisively and said, "The Iron Islands are not Braavos. The Braavos people come from both sides of the Narrow Sea, and they bring their own different beliefs. But the Iron Islands only have the Iron People."

Euron sighed and agreed, "You're right!"

Dagmo, however, scoffed dismissively, "We don't need so many gods; just the Drowning God is enough!"

Euron nodded in agreement: "You're more right!" He almost forgot that he was the son of the Drowned God! Why make trouble out of nothing!