Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 83 Battle of Qingting Island

On the seventh day, the final day of the Iron Islands Treaty, was the agreed-upon time for Green Pavilion Island to give an explanation for the plundering of the three merchant ships of the "Ice and Fire Merchant Guild" of the Iron Islands. When the Redwin family failed to provide any satisfactory response to the Iron Islands as agreed, the war began as scheduled.

As the first pale rays of sunlight barely pierced the clouds, illuminating the suffocating black fleet on the sea, Coron...

King Greyjoy appeared on the towering bridge of the Invincible Ironborn.

He was like an ancient sea god rising from the deep sea, wearing a crown made of driftwood and sea stones, his cold gaze sweeping over the Redwin family's heavily armed fleet, their ships painted in dazzling colors.

There was no attempt to persuade them to surrender, no final communication, no pre-battle dialogue between the commanders; it was as uneventful as a meal being served on time.

King Coron slowly raised his giant battle axe, a symbol of power, and made a downward chopping motion.

Boom!Boom!Boom!

Heavy, savage war drums, as if striking the heart of every living being, first erupted from the mast of the "Invincible Iron Seed." The drumbeats were not complex melodies, but the simplest, most primal rhythms, filled with an undeniable desire to attack and a will to destroy.

As if ignited by the sound of the drums, the next instant, a deafening battle cry erupted from the first Iron Islands longship, and then spread to the entire fleet at an alarming speed like a plague!

"The dead live on!"

"We will rise again!"

"Its momentum is even stronger!"

The roars emanating from thousands of thick throats converged into a terrifying sonic wave, even temporarily drowning out the roar of the waves. There was no fear, no hesitation in these roars, only a fanatical faith in the drowning god, a thirst for plunder, and the purest madness for battle.

With this battle cry, the entire Iron Islands fleet—that dense array of longships resembling a moving reef—began to move.

Like a school of sharks that have smelled blood, they rowed in unison, cutting through the waves, and with an indomitable, do-or-die spirit, launched a full-scale attack on the ornately decorated and well-organized Redwin Seastar Harbor and its surrounding defensive fleet!

Opposite them, Earl Adrian Redwin's fleet was already on high alert. They possessed the largest fleet of the Seven Kingdoms—the Redwin Fleet—but when ranking the naval fleets of the Seven Kingdoms, the first place had always been contested between the Iron Fleet and the Royal Fleet, with the Redwin Fleet perpetually ranked third. Today, Earl Adrian Redwin wanted to vindicate his fleet and defeat the Iron Fleet of the Iron Clan on the high seas.

The Redwin Fleet, with its larger, sturdier warships covered in superior bronze, boasted highly trained sailors and officers with clear commands. Their formations were impeccably organized, aiming to crush their opponents with superior discipline and equipment.

Naval battle erupted instantly!

In an instant, Whisper Bay transformed into a boiling cauldron of slaughter!

The crossbows roared, and huge arrows and pebbles ripped through the sky, crashing down on their targets with a piercing whistle. Some struck the hull, cracking wood and splintering it, while others fell into the sea, creating towering columns of water. Archers exchanged fire on the swaying deck, their arrows flying like locusts.

However, boarding maneuvers were the real main event.

The main battleship drew attention, while the Ironborn's longships, with their agility and speed, recklessly closed in on Redwin's massive vessel, disregarding casualties. Countless grappling hooks and boarding boards were thrown out, the iron hooks clamping tightly onto the opponent's ornate hull.

"For Greyjoy!"

"For old Wick!"

"For the sake of drowning the gods!"

"For the Iron Islands!"

The Ironborn warriors roared like wild beasts, short axes in their mouths, round shields and battle axes in their hands, surging onto the deck of the Redwin warship like a raging torrent. They fought fearlessly, risking their lives, their fighting style frenzied and efficient. Often, they would use their bodies to withstand an opponent's thrust, just to smash their battle axes into their opponent's neck; they would even embrace their enemies and leap into the icy sea together. Their aura was as if they hadn't come to fight, but to attend a feast hosted by the drowning god!

In contrast, while Redwin's fleet was well-equipped and highly disciplined, with many soldiers wearing gleaming armor, their advantages were greatly diminished in this extreme environment of close-quarters combat. This was especially true for the large number of new recruits in the fleet; they may have undergone rigorous sail handling and formation training, but they had never personally experienced such a brutal and reckless attack.

Many young sailors and soldiers were terrified by the Ironborn's twisted faces, frenzied roars, and suicidal fighting style, their faces turning pale and their limbs going weak. Their accustomed fighting style was to maintain formation, attack from a distance—one thrusts a sword, another parries with a shield; one attacks forward, another retreats—just as they were trained, rather than engaging in a primal, chaotic tearing apart of flesh and blood on the swaying, blood-soaked, visceral decks of roaring barbarians.

Often, before the enemy even gets close, the will of the Redwin fleet's greenhorns is already crushed by that terrifying aura. Their movements become distorted, and they even forget to resist, only able to watch helplessly as rusty iron axes cleave through their ornate breastplates. These greenhorns make up 70% of the Redwin fleet's total strength.

The advantage of equipment seems so pale in the face of absolute madness.

On the sea, ships collided and entangled with each other, each Redwyn warship seemingly being frantically torn apart by several Ironborn longships.

Roars, the clash of weapons, screams, the shattering of ships, and the burning of flames—all combined to create a death symphony of iron and blood, ice and fire.

The azure sea was quickly stained a murky dark red, littered with broken planks, torn sails, and countless mutilated corpses. Whispering Bay, once a bountiful and beautiful sea of ​​vineyards, was transformed on this day into a vast, swirling graveyard.

From the very beginning, the battle entered its most brutal and bloody phase of attrition. The Redwyn fleet struggled to hold on, relying on discipline and equipment, while the Ironborn, with their fanatical faith and lives, relentlessly attacked and tore at the enemy's defenses. The balance of power swung violently on every fiercely engaged warship.

As the Battle of Whispering Bay reached its most brutal moment, the entire Redwyn Fleet and the ships of the Iron Islands were almost completely entangled, forming a huge and chaotic vortex of death—a maelstrom of colliding wooden hulls, flying grappling hooks, and swarms of slaughtered men—thump! thump! thump! thump!

The heavy, savage war drums, seemingly originating from the abyss, once again thundered fiercely from the heart of the Iron Fleet—the "Invincible Iron Seed"!

This time, the drumbeats were no longer the prelude to an attack, but the rhythm of slaughter. They were more ferocious and persistent than before, seemingly tireless, each beat like the heartbeat of a giant, or the death knell of a sea monster, rolling across the noisy battlefield like thunder, clearly resounding throughout the entire Starfish Harbor.

This continuous, oppressive drumming was a frenzied encouragement and a bloodthirsty catalyst for the Iron People fighting on the front lines, making their already fervent fighting will burn even more fiercely.

However, for everyone in Starfish Harbor—the civilians huddled by windows and shivering on rooftops, the pale-faced logistics soldiers running between docks and warehouses—the continuous war drums from the sea demon flagship were nothing short of the most terrifying mental torture.

It relentlessly reminded them that battle was at their doorstep, the terrifying enemy within reach. Each drumbeat pounded on their nerves, intensifying the panic that permeated the entire city. People rushed about, rumors spreading like wildfire: some said the port defenses had been breached, others that the Ironborn had landed. Supply lines began to crumble; soldiers carrying arrows and medicine scrambled about, constantly looking around in alarm at the slightest sound.

The entire rear of Starfish Harbor, amidst the resounding war drums that seemed to shake bones, was gradually being eroded by an invisible fear, becoming fragile and sensitive.

And these deafening war drums also became the signal for the start of another operation.

In the dark, damp basement of the "Beauty's Nest" brothel, Euron Greyjoy slowly opened his eyes. He had been waiting, like a viper waiting for the perfect moment to strike. The rhythmic, vibrating war drums outside, which could be faintly felt even here, told him: the time had come.