Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 450 Sergio Carlisle - I'll Borrow Your Head

In the secret chamber of the Thirteen Giants, filled with the scents of spices and intrigue, Sergio Carlisle's voice was as jarring as shattered glass: "Instead of dredging up old grievances and dwelling on a tired, worn-out affair," he surveyed the crowd, his eyes sinister, "we should be thinking about how to stop her next move."

Shipping magnate Aris Antalion leaned back lazily in his ivory chair, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "Sergio, the only one here who hasn't been 'visited by that lady' is you. The only one with a blood feud with her is you." He shrugged lightly. "Next, she'll naturally come looking for you to settle old scores."

Faced with this almost explicit accusation, Sergio Carlisle no longer denied it, but instead let out a cold laugh from deep in his throat: "Hmph! Don't pretend to be so innocent. Haven't you ever done anything that required bloodshed for wealth, fame, or to sit here comfortably?"

The silent sorcerer Paiya Puli raised his eyes, shadows shifting around him, his voice calm yet deadly: "But at least we didn't leave behind such a troublesome legacy."

Melarre Rogar, heiress to a spice dynasty, stopped fiddling with the amber abacus in her fingers. She looked at Sergio and asked, "So, Sergio, what are your plans now?"

Sergio Carlisle abruptly stood up, slamming his hands heavily onto the gold- and dragon-crystal-inlaid tabletop, like a cornered beast, his eyes burning with a desperate, reckless glint: "Plans?" He practically spat out the words, his blood-soaked declaration echoing in the secret room, "I could kill her entire family then, and I can do it again this time!"

Zarro Zanvan Dasos's plump fingers gently caressed the jade wine glass, emitting a low, meaningful chuckle that broke the tense atmosphere created by Sergio.

He spoke slowly, "My dear Sergio, you seem to have missed the point. Killing you might not even be the most important step in her plan." He paused, enjoying Sergio's instantly ashen face. "After all, with the resources she currently controls—the wealth of the Ice and Fire Merchant Guild, and her husband's martial prowess—killing you wouldn't be difficult."

"You—!" Sergio Carlisle jumped to his feet, his finger trembling as he pointed at Zarro. "Whose side are you on?!"

Ignoring his lapse in composure, Zarro continued calmly, "What she wants to do, though not explicitly stated, is enough for people to guess from the clues."

"What is it?" Sergio almost shouted, and the other giants in the secret room held their breath.

Zarro downed his drink in one gulp, his voice not loud, but it boomed like thunder in everyone's ears: "She wants to be the Queen of Qarth!"

"That madwoman!" Sergio roared, his face a mask of absurdity and rage. "Qarth doesn't need a king! Not in a thousand years! Besides, what right does she have? Does she even have the power?!"

The sorcerer Paiya Boli, who had remained silent like a shadow, slowly raised his head. His face, obscured by his hood, was only illuminated by two flickering points of light. His voice was dry and cold, carrying a cruel calm that declared a fact: "Her husband—"

"Having completed my travels in Assassin, at this moment—"

"—He is arriving riding a dragon."

The last four words, like an invisible hammer, struck everyone's heart hard.

Inside the sealed room, you could hear a pin drop, with only Sergio Carlisle's heavy, desperate breathing remaining.

Sergio Carlisle's Adam's apple bobbed as he tried to grasp at the last straw: "Then we should really think about how to deal with him!"

The sorcerer Paiya Puri's voice seemed to emanate from a cold tomb, carrying an undeniable warning, "Deal with him? The Lord of Shadows has given me a revelation—to oppose him is to die!" He surveyed the crowd, his deep gaze finally settling on Sergio's face, "There is no other outcome!"

Zhalo Zanwan Dasos tapped his plump fingers lightly on the table, producing a dull thud, and said calmly, "Besides, why should we be his enemy? Just because Lisa Garfield is going to be queen? Will our treasury's wealth decrease if she puts on the crown?"

Shipping magnate Aris Antalion immediately chimed in, replying definitively, "No! Quite the opposite! With the Iron Islands' invincible fleet escorting us, coupled with the continuous supply of high-quality timber from the Summer Islands, my fleet will only grow larger, and our routes will reach even the most lucrative corners!"

Melanie Rogar, heiress to a spice dynasty, calmly added, "That's right. In the past, we had to pay exorbitant protection fees to various pirates," an expense that can now be eliminated. A stable trading environment is the foundation of profits.

The scales of interest had clearly tipped at that moment. Sergio Carlisle stood there helplessly, finding himself an isolated island.

Sergio Carlisle stared incredulously at his former ally, his voice hoarse with shock: "You mean—you intend to support her as Queen of Qarth!?"

"Is it not allowed?" Shipping magnate Aris Antalion retorted, his eyes showing no sign of wavering.

Zhalo Zanwan Dasos toyed with the gem in his hand and said bluntly, "Or perhaps—you can give us more than she can?"

Melarre Rogar, heiress to a spice dynasty, let out a light, cold laugh: "Heh, Sergio, face reality. Even if we don't support her, can't she become Queen of Qarth? The Iron Islands' fleet is in port, and his dragon is about to descend. We've simply chosen the side that's bound to win."

The sorcerer Paiya Boli spoke last, his voice low and indifferent: "Since we are destined to be unable to stop what is bound to happen in the future—" His dark pupils swept across Sergio's pale face, "Why don't we join in now?"

Sergio Carlisle's pupils constricted: "You—"

"We!" Zarro Zanwan Dasos nodded, his fat face still bearing that chilling smile. He slowly repeated Sergio's words, "You said it yourself, each of us has stained our hands with blood for the Golden Dragon, wealth, profit, and status. Now, it's just another time."

Shipping magnate Aris Antalion, arms crossed, calmly stated the reality: "Gaining her approval and becoming part of her future kingdom is no easy task. We need to prove our worth and our determination."

Melarre Rogar, heiress to a spice dynasty, toyed with a piece of fragrant amber, chuckling softly, "So, we need a pledge of loyalty." Her gaze fell on Sergio, whose face was ashen, a cruel sense of relief in her eyes, "Luckily, you're here."

The sorcerer Paiya Boli slowly raised his hand, two eerie lights beneath his hood locking onto the limp Sergio. His voice was dry and cold, devoid of any human emotion, as he pronounced the final verdict: "So—please lend me your head!"

The moment the words fell—

The closest to Sergio Carlisle was Melarre Rogar, heiress of a spice dynasty—her hands, with their indigo-painted nails, casually adjusted her cuffs, and in the next instant, a jewel-encrusted dagger, like a viper emerging from its hole, suddenly and precisely plunged into Sergio Carlisle's chest.

Sergio grunted, his eyes filled with astonishment.

The shadow behind him gathered, and the sharp blade in the hand of the sorcerer Paiya Puli silently pierced his back before he stepped back and leaned against the door, cutting off any possibility of his escape.

Shipping magnate Aris Antalion moved with swift and powerful strokes. He stepped to the side, and a magnificent short sword, used for opening letters, coldly pierced his left ribs, avoiding the bones and aiming straight for his internal organs.

This was a cruel ceremony.

The thirteen leaders, as if carrying out an ancient and cruel contract, each received a blow.

Some remained expressionless, some had a gleam of pleasure in their eyes, and others were driven by pure calculation. The blades slashed in from different angles, ensuring that each strike carried a weight of "loyalty," and ensuring that Sergio's body was completely torn apart, leaving no trace of life.

A total of twelve cuts.

When Sergio Carlisle's mangled body finally collapsed to the ground, the sorcerer Paiya Boli stepped forward again. A strangely shaped, gleaming ceremonial dagger appeared in his hand; he bent down and swiftly and decisively severed Sergio's head.

The head was placed in a finely crafted box lined with velvet, which had been prepared beforehand.

The box lid closed with a crisp click, as if sealing away an old grudge and the cowardice of an era.

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