Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Coron Greyjoy had three sons, born to his first wife, Meryl of House Stonetrace on Harlow Island. Haron Greyjoy, his first son, died in infancy from greyscale. Quinton Greyjoy, his second son, died in infancy. Donald Greyjoy, his third son, was born and returned to the embrace of the Drowned God along with his wife.

Later, Corren had his second wife, the rock wife, who was also the mother of Baron and Euron. Because of the deaths of his three previous children, Corren cherished and valued his two sons, whom he had finally had.

Eighteen-year-old Balon was incredibly strong, defeating many experienced and ruthless pirates in finger-dance duels, and capable of holding his own against his uncle Balf Greyjoy, now hailed as the First Knight of the Iron Islands, in longsword combat. Five-year-old Euron, on the other hand, was the center of attention from birth. His heterochromatic eyes, resurrection, and reputation as the son of the drowning god spread throughout the Iron Islands, and his intelligence and resilience astonished those who came into contact with him.

One is a warrior, the other a scholar; they represent the future and hope of the Iron Islands.

But now, the two beloved sons of the Iron Islands kings are both on his "Drinking Spree," ready to accompany him to the Stone Steps Islands to plunder merchant ships. "Dagmo" felt immense pressure, and the thrill of plundering suddenly diminished considerably.

But the sails were already hoisted, and they could only move forward, never to return unless they were laden with spoils of war or their own corpses!

Before dawn, the Pike Place docks were shrouded in a salty mist. The damp planks sank slightly underfoot, seeping black seawater, like a drowning god licking the ships about to set sail. Euron Greyjoy walked barefoot across the piles of ropes, the fine sand and shells digging into his soles. The icy seawater washed over his ankles, then receded, leaving behind a layer of fine foam. The black silhouette of the "Drinking Spree" loomed in and out of the morning mist, its low-slung gunwales like a lurking sea beast, the dragon carved on its prow with its mouth wide open, as if ready to devour its distant prey at any moment.

"Remember, little sea monster." Dagmore ruffled Euron's curly hair with his calloused hand, his split chin gleaming coldly in the morning light. His voice was like a rock weathered by the sea breeze, rough yet carrying a strange rhythm. "The sound of the waves speaks. A gentle murmur means safety, a hiss means shallows, but if you hear a thud..." The old pirate made a sinking gesture, a gurgling laugh escaping his throat, "that's the rocks gnawing at your hull, the Drowning God knocking on your coffin lid."

Euron nodded, his heterochromatic eyes sweeping across the deck—his left eye like an abyss swallowing light, his right eye as cold as the sea before a storm. A five-year-old body housed the soul of a transmigrator, but now, he had to learn like a true Iron Citizen. He reached out and touched the hull; the rough planks left tiny splinters in his palm, carrying the salty taste of seawater.

The sea breeze suddenly picked up, carrying a salty, pungent odor. Baron Greyjoy stood motionless beside the helm, like a bronze statue, his eighteen-year-old muscles taut beneath his leather armor, his gaze fixed on the gradually whitening horizon. The scars from his father Corren's whippings still lingered on his neck, dark red scabs like a writhing sea serpent, but at this moment, his mind was entirely focused on the distant raids.

Dagmore was holding a voyage ceremony in front of the figurehead. The old pirate smeared whale oil on the eyes of the wooden sea monster, his hoarse voice carried on the sea breeze: "Open your eyes, old buddy, and lead us to a fat prey!" Fifty-three sailors took their positions, and Baron stood beside the helm like a bronze statue.

"Raise the sails!" Dagmo's roar drowned out the seagulls' screams.

Black sails billowed, and a banner emblazoned with a sea serpent biting its tail fluttered at the masthead. Euron gripped the gangline tightly, feeling the longship's awakening tremor—the creaking of the keel, the hum of the taut ropes, the muffled crashing of waves against the hull—these sounds wove together in his ears a war song of iron and steel. Salty spray splashed onto his face, carrying a strange vitality—[Ding! One Piece System activation rate 2.5%...]

On the third day of the voyage, Euron was caught red-handed by Dagmo while he was lying on the forecourt observing the angle of the sun.

"Ha! Our little prince is studying navigation?" The old pirate lifted him up to the ship's wheel like a kitten, his eyes gleaming with a mocking light. "Look closely, this is the real Iron Man's Compass."

Dagmore loosened his belt and urinated into the sea. "A forked stream of urine against the wind means there's an undercurrent, while a straight stream with the wind is a good sign." He glanced at Euron, grinned, and said, "Never mind, you can learn that when you're older."

Euron didn't laugh. He pointed to a wooden crate in the corner of the deck: "There's an astrolabe in there."

Dagmore raised an eyebrow: "A maester's toy. The Ironborn have no use for that stuff." He patted the dagger at his waist. "We rely on this for navigation—the instinct of blood and salt."

But Euron knew that true seafaring was much more than that.

The nautical charts near the Stepstone Islands are the Ironborn's secret. Dagmore pulled a whalebone from his leather armor, covered in symbols marking whirlpools, reefs, and pirate lairs. The bone was polished smooth by countless handling, its edges rounded, clearly the result of numerous examinations.

"We're almost there." He pointed to a jagged mark on the bone fragment with his missing finger. "The 'Weeping Widow' whirlpool, which swallowed twenty ships. Sprinkle salt on the deck as you pass through, or the Drowning God will take away your helmsman."

Euron silently noted it down. As for sprinkling salt on the deck, regardless of whether it actually worked, respecting tradition was fine—salt wasn't worth much anyway! Dagmore was experienced, both in navigation and plunder; the nautical knowledge he imparted wasn't found in books, but for someone who wanted to control the seas, this knowledge was more precious than gold. As the voyage began, the "Drinking Spree" continued to venture into the depths of the ocean, heading towards the Stone Steps Islands, and the Pirate King System's activation level gradually increased—[Ding! Pirate King System activation level 20.5%...]

On the seventh day of the voyage, Euron witnessed the wrath of the sea.

The "Havoc" is a typical Ironman longship, with a low hull suitable for surprise attacks and a shallow draft that allows it to run aground on beaches. Its sails are black sails coated with tar, which are lighter and faster than the sails of merchant ships on Green Pavilion Island, but when encountering headwinds, the Ironmen will furl the sails and rely entirely on oars—six oar positions on each side, rotated by the strongest pirates.

"Look at the clouds." Baron suddenly appeared behind Euron, pointing to the swirling, fish-scale-like clouds on the horizon. "Those are the 'Teeth of the Drowned God,' a storm is coming."

At first, it was just a leaden gray on the horizon, but soon, the dark clouds pounded the sea like warhammers. Huge waves rose like walls, and the "Drinking Ship" was tossed to the crest of a wave like a leaf, only to be slammed into the trough. Euron was thrown to port and rolled to starboard, his fingernails digging into the cracks in the planks to keep him from being swept overboard.

Even with thorough preparations, the raging sea is still beyond human control.

"Flatten the sails! Secure the cargo boxes!" Dagmore tied himself to the helm with ropes, rainwater seeping in from his cracked chin and spitting out with his saliva. "Baron! Get your brother in the hold!"

Baron grabbed Euron like a sack of potatoes and rushed into the captain's cabin. In the dim light of the whale oil lamp, the nautical chart was soaked with seawater, the ink blurred into a hazy blue-black. Baron, however, pointed precisely to a spot: "Remember this location—'Devil's Molar,' the most dangerous whirlpool area in the Steppes Islands. If the ship breaks apart, swim northeast; there are reefs there you can climb."

Euron stared at his brother's rain-soaked face. At that moment, Baron didn't seem like a brute, but rather like a true captain.

A deafening crash of snapping masts echoed outside the cabin. Dagmore's curses pierced the wooden planks: "Damn the Seven! Old Wick's fallen into the sea!"

Euron suddenly broke free from Baron, grabbed the dagger on the table, and slashed his palm, smearing the blood on the doorframe—an ancient ritual he had heard from the old fisherman Wick, a blood sacrifice offered to the drowning god. The blood flowed down the doorframe, seeping into the cracks in the wooden planks, as if absorbed by some unseen force.

[Ding! The host has actively participated in the maritime crisis for the first time. The activation level of the One Piece System has increased by 5%, currently at 65%.] A warm current flowed into his limbs.

Baron stared intently at his brother, about to grab him back, when a giant wave blasted him back into the captain's cabin. His fingers, pale and bluish, gripped the door crack as he screamed wildly, "Damn it, get back here right now..." But his voice was drowned out by the howling wind and roaring waves, and then he witnessed a miraculous scene.

When Euron climbed back onto the deck, he was able to walk on the tilting ship as if it were flat ground, and he could even predict the direction of each wave.

Euron picked up a rope from the deck and threw it to the port rower struggling in the giant waves. The rope, as if alive, precisely wrapped around old Wick's wrist as he tumbled in the waves. Once he was sure the rower had gripped the rope, Euron tied the other end to a nail on the deck. No matter how big the waves or how fierce the wind, Euron remained unaffected, as if the sea were an extension of his own body.

Dagmo lay sprawled on the deck, his eyes wide: "By the God of Drowning... does this little sea monster live on the ship?"

The son of the drowning god! Everyone unconsciously recalled the legend related to Euron.