Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

The ritual that took place in the stone chamber, intertwined with illusions of burning flesh and icy coldness, was like a brand, deeply etched into Euron Greyjoy's senses.

The inhuman heat emanating from the red priestess Gwendolyn, along with the fanatical cry of "Burn them all!" echoing in her mind, and the bone-chilling cold brought by the endless White Walkers beyond the Wall, created a strange and powerful tension that lingered around him, almost dragging him into a frenzied state of pure light and shadow, fire and ice.

However, Euron is Euron after all. At dawn, while Gwendolyn was still whispering incomprehensible prayers of fire in her weary and devoted sleep, Euron had already risen.

He glanced at the pale yet once-burning body, then resolutely pushed open the stone chamber door, completely shutting out the ambiguous atmosphere of incense and lust behind him, and stepped back into the cold, rough, yet incredibly real world of Iron Smoke Island.

Outside, the deafening roar of hammering, bellows, and furnaces instantly enveloped him. The pungent smell of sulfur and coal ash made him feel far more grounded than the priestess's exotic fragrance. Here, there were no illusory prophecies, only harsh realities that needed to be conquered.

He conquered salt, and now he will conquer iron!

Marvin Stephens and Atticus Whitney were already waiting outside, their faces showing the anxiety and anticipation typical of craftsmen.

"My lord." The two bowed.

"Show me," Euron's voice was hoarse but clear, leaving no room for argument, "from beginning to end, every single step. Don't miss any details."

Thus began a long and meticulous inspection. Euron Greyjoy, the future ruler of Ironsmoke Isle, immersed himself in the entire process of the birth of iron and fire, like the most demanding foreman.

They first arrived at the makeshift dock on the edge of the island. Here, iron ore from mines throughout the Iron Islands was transported by deep-draft barges, carried in rough sacks or wicker baskets. The workers, their bare upper bodies bulging with muscles, chanted deep, resonant work chants, sweat etched deep lines into their coal-dust-covered skin. They hoisted these extremely heavy packages onto their shoulders with rough wooden barges, trudging along the creaking, unsettling planks, step by step, to the designated storage area, each step leaving a deep pit in the muddy ground.

"This road," Euron's voice cut through the noise, leaving no room for argument, "is the first shackle hindering efficiency. From the docks to the furnace, all the passageways must be compacted with gravel and paved smooth. Don't skimp on these few days' work; a solid, flat road is the lifeblood, saving us a hundred times the effort later."

Then his gaze fell upon the porters, their backs almost bent under the weight. "Stop this futile self-inflicted torment!" he commanded. "Human strength should be used where it matters most. Gather all the carpenters on the island, immediately cease secondary work, and, according to my specifications, hastily construct wheelbarrows." He picked up a piece of charcoal and quickly sketched a clear design with balancing wheels and a cargo box on a discarded plank. This simple design, however, was a revolutionary change of perspective for everyone present. "One person pushing it can easily transport the weight of three people carrying on their shoulders. Freed hands can then be used to operate more important machinery!"

Marvin Stephens and Atticus Whitney nodded in agreement.

“My lord,” Atticus picked up a piece of ore, pried it open, revealing a structure with a dull metallic luster inside, “this is our biggest problem. There are too many impurities, especially these yellow sulfides and gray gangue… they will seriously affect the purity and fluidity of the molten iron.”

"I know, but you must understand, don't complain about things that can't be changed, just as we can't change the quality of the Iron Islands ore itself!" Euron picked up a piece, weighed it in his hand, and carefully observed its color. Atticus nodded hurriedly, somewhat guilty, "I understand, my lord..."

Next, the ore was transported to the deafening crushing plant. Strong laborers, shirtless, worked as if performing some ancient ritual, vigorously swinging massive iron hammers to smash large chunks of ore into fist-sized pieces. Stone chips flew everywhere, the impacts were deafening, sweat and debris mingled – a display of raw, labor-intensive, and inefficient power.

“This kind of crushing is pointless! Inefficient, a waste of manpower, and the results are crude. What we need is pulverization, complete separation!” Euron used charcoal again, this time drawing a more complex sketch: a huge, deeply grooved circular stone base, upon which rested an equally massive, heavy, cylindrical stone mill with a central axle. “Look closely! This is called a grinder,” he explained, his voice like that of a prophet imparting esoteric rituals. “Use animal or water power to pull this mill, circulating it along the grooves to grind the stone. Pour the ore into it, and it will be continuously ground until it becomes a uniform powder! This is the way to conquer stone!”

The crushed ore was then fed into makeshift roasting kilns. "We roasted them over a slow fire to try and remove some of the sulfur and other volatile impurities," Marvin explained. "But that was time-consuming and used a lot of charcoal." Thick, acidic smoke billowed from the kiln openings. The roasted ore was then transported to the core area—the towering furnace workshops.

The massive stone furnace stood like a silent giant, with blowers (powered by water or manpower) humming continuously, forcibly pushing air into the furnace bottom. Mixed ore, charcoal (occasionally expensive coke was used), and limestone as a flux were continuously added to the top of the furnace.

"The temperature must be high enough," Atticus said, pointing to the scorching flames shooting from the furnace opening, "so that the iron can be reduced from the ore and melted into molten iron. But our furnace temperature... is inconsistent, and there are too many impurities, resulting in sticky slag that often clogs the taphole."

Euron leaned closer to observe, and a wave of scorching heat hit him. He squinted as he watched the red-hot molten iron churning in the furnace and the dark, glassy slag constantly being skimmed off the top.

"Our furnace is merely burning, not smelting!" Euron succinctly pointed out the crux of the matter. "The wind is weak, the air supply method is foolish, and seventy percent of the heat is lost! We need to build a deeper furnace with a more rational internal structure, allowing the heat to swirl upwards, leaving nowhere to escape! The efficiency of the blowers must be increased tenfold—improving the bellows, making high-temperature resistant clay ducts, and even utilizing the island's perpetual winds to drive a larger blower! Temperature!" He emphasized, "What I need is absolute heat enough to make stones weep and impurities float to the surface!"

Regarding impurity removal, his method went beyond simply adding limestone. "Pretreatment!" Euron introduced a completely new concept: "Before the ore enters the furnace, it is separated as much as possible by size and specific gravity using grinders and sieves of varying mesh sizes (he explained the concept of sieving), discarding large amounts of waste stone in advance. During smelting, the slag must be skimmed off continuously and ruthlessly, as if dealing with an enemy! Every skimming is a sacrifice to the purity of the steel!"

The smelted pig iron (sometimes semi-molten, spongy wrought iron blocks) was clamped out by huge iron tongs and sent to the forging area. Here, the heat was intense, and sparks flew everywhere. Strong blacksmiths, shirtless and muscular, wielded heavy hammers, repeatedly forging the red-hot iron blocks to rhythmic chants.

"Forging through hammering, sir!" Marvin's voice was almost a shout amidst the clanging sounds. "Only in this way can most of the impurities be removed, making the iron tougher and harder!" Each hammer blow was accompanied by sparks flying and the iron block deforming.

Forged iron bars or blanks are sent to the adjacent workshop. Here, more skilled blacksmiths begin further processing them—heating, shaping, quenching, and polishing. The clanging sounds become more rhythmic, and gradually, the outlines of sword blanks, axes, and spear tips begin to emerge. During quenching, the red-hot iron is immersed in a cold water bath, emitting a piercing "sizzle" sound, and large plumes of white steam rise into the air.

Finally, the blade is sharpened. The friction between the metal and the stone produces a sharp noise, and sparks are ejected in a fan shape. The rough ironware gradually becomes sharp and gleams with a cold light.

"Forging isn't about blindly venting your anger," Euron's voice was like the most precise hammer blow, "but about absolute control over temperature and time! You must apply force when the metal is in its most docile 'heat window'! Too high and it's ruined; too low and it's cracked!" He even proposed an even more astonishing concept: "Quenching isn't the end, but the beginning of another kind of strengthening! Different iron ores require different cooling rates—some need rapid cooling for ultimate hardness, others need slow cooling for flexibility and toughness! This requires you to experiment, record, compare, and find the most suitable 'strain' for each type of steel!"

Euron walked silently, watching and listening. He saw the furnace from the docks, from the forging area to the polishing table. His eyes were like the most precise ruler, measuring the efficiency and defects of each process. He saw the workers' exhaustion, the inferior materials, the limitations of the technology, and also the rough yet powerful force contained within.

Marvin Stephens and Atticus Whitney also gained a new understanding of Euron. Upon learning that the young lord was about to visit Ironsmoke Isle, they had already imagined the scene: a nobleman's impulsive inspection, frowning and covering his ears in the deafening workshops, fanning the air in disgust amidst the pervasive soot, perhaps asking a few superficial questions with feigned profundity, then quickly losing interest after their cautious answers, leaving behind a few empty words of encouragement or rebuke, before eagerly returning to the comfortable castle in Pyke.

They never imagined that this would be the scene that awaited them.

Euron Greyjoy didn't cover his ears; he even listened intently to the unique rhythm of each bellows. He didn't despise the coal dust; instead, he reached out and touched the freshly solidified slag, carefully examining and distinguishing it. The questions he raised were far from superficial; each one precisely hit the most painful and difficult points in the iron-making process.

What made it even more unbelievable to them was that he didn't just ask questions. He provided answers.

Those answers—the wheelbarrow, the grinder, the improved blower method, the demanding precision of temperature control, the systematic approach to removing impurities—were like lightning in the night, instantly shattering the mental barriers that had bound them for years. These insights did not come from any known artisan texts or traditions; they were unique, efficient, and even possessed an almost cold elegance, pointing directly to the core of efficiency and quality.

Marvin, a burly man who used to let his muscles and hammers do the talking, realized for the first time that conquering a stubborn rock could not only rely on endless brute force, but also on intelligently designed machinery.

Atticus, the artisan who was good at thinking but was constrained by reality, seemed to see a whole new and systematic philosophy of metallurgy slowly unfolding before him. Many dilemmas that he intuitively felt but could not summarize or solve were suddenly revealed by this young lord, who also proposed a clear solution.

The way they looked at Euron had completely changed. The initial respect stemmed from awe of his status; the subsequent surprise was due to the unexpectedness of his attitude; but now, a genuine shock and admiration, rooted in his skill, was quietly growing within them.

Euron declared firmly, "I believe we will forge Greyjoy steel that rivals Valyrian steel!"