Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 89 Battle Damage Statistics

The noisy hall seemed to be suddenly gripped by an invisible, cold giant hand.

King Corren Greyjoy didn't raise his voice; he simply raised his weathered, rock-hard hands and clapped them heavily a few times. The applause was deep and penetrating, like the lingering echo of war drums or the muffled thud of waves crashing against the shore, instantly drowning out all the wild singing and laughter.

The lords, their faces still flushed with intoxication and fervor, instinctively fell silent, their gazes all fixed on the king on the throne.

Koren's gaze slowly swept over every lord and captain present. His face showed no joy of victory, only a calm and pragmatic demeanor befitting a ruler.

"I called you here," his voice was deep, yet carried an undeniable weight, each word clearly reaching everyone's ears, "not to hear you boast about how many cowards you've killed, nor to chat about which floorboards you'll pave with golden dragons in the future."

He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle.

"The important business is done, but this war is not over yet. King's Landing and Tyrell are unprepared, and the next one to be tied up in the square and humiliated could be you or me!" He acknowledged their achievements, but then changed the subject, "There will be plenty of time for you to argue about the distribution of spoils and money later."

"Now," King Koren's voice grew even more somber, like the calm sea before a storm, "take stock of the battle losses."

These four words, like a basin of seawater mixed with ice, abruptly extinguished the remaining frenzied atmosphere in the hall.

The smiles on the faces of the island lords froze and vanished instantly. The lingering warmth of the commotion quickly faded, replaced by a heavy, inescapable silence. The numbing effect of the alcohol seemed to be wearing off, and the fatigue of battle and the weight of losing comrades began to quietly emerge.

A brief silence enveloped the hall, broken only by the crackling of the fire in the fireplace and someone's heavy breathing.

The first to break the silence was Baron Greyjoy. His young face still bore the lingering ferocity of his killing, but his voice was unusually clear, calm, and even possessed an almost cold precision, as if he were stating something unrelated to himself:

"Pike Island," he stepped forward, looking directly at his father, "two hundred and eighteen dead, twenty-one missing. Twenty-eight severely wounded, sixteen of whom are confirmed to never wield an axe again." He stated the cold, hard numbers without any embellishment. Behind each number was a once vibrant life, a shattered family.

Following Baron's lead, the lords of the other islands gradually awoke from their euphoria of victory and began to recount the price they had paid.

"Old Wake Island: 97 dead, 8 missing, 11 maimed—"

"On Harlo Island, eighty-three people died, and nine were maimed—"

"Great Wake Island, sixty-five dead—"

"Salt Cliff Island, forty-one people dead—"

.

As the numbers were announced one by one, the atmosphere in the hall grew increasingly somber. Although these losses seemed acceptable compared to the glorious victory achieved, the cold, hard numbers of death and injury were laid bare before them, instantly shattering the illusion of revelry.

Everyone knew perfectly well that House Greyjoy, as the main force and initiator of this battle, had deployed the most troops and undertaken the most arduous task—directly confronting the main force of the Redwyn fleet in the main sea area and enduring the fiercest counterattack. Therefore, their casualty figures were far higher than those of other families, which was expected, but also particularly shocking.

The other islands were mostly used for flanking maneuvers, landing raids, and mopping up the remaining forces. Although these missions were equally intense, the number of deaths was relatively small compared to the intensity of resistance and the brutal fighting in the core areas.

This battle damage tally is the true foundation of this victory and the most important basis for the future distribution of spoils and compensation. Revelry belongs to the night, while cold, hard numbers are the daytime reality that rulers must confront.

King Koren listened to each number expressionlessly, his deep-set eyes holding a gaze as unfathomable as the sea, revealing no one's inner thoughts. He sat upright in the main seat, his face as still as water, as if the clamor of the recent revelry had never happened. His eyes, which had seen countless deaths and were as deep as an icy pool, remained unmoved, displaying only a settled, almost heavy, majesty.

After the last lord finished reporting, a heavy silence fell over the hall, broken only by the crackling of the torches. Koren's gaze slowly swept over each lord present, his voice low and solemn, breaking the silence like a vow:

"All the fallen warriors," he began, each word resounding, "their bodies must be properly gathered. Wash away the blood with clean seawater and wrap them in the finest linen. They are the spirits of the Iron Islands, and this ritual of returning to the embrace of the Drowned God must not be neglected."

He paused, then continued, "The names, islands, and families of all those killed in battle and seriously wounded must be meticulously recorded without error. Once the records are complete, they must be reported to Rodrik Harlow."

When the name was mentioned, King Koren's tone carried a rare, almost trusting certainty.

"Then," he looked around at everyone, his gaze sharp, making sure everyone heard the promise that followed, "we will strictly follow the ancient customs of our Iron Islands and deliver the golden dragons of compensation to each of their closest relatives without fail."

"Anyone who dares to tamper with this matter, withhold the wages of their fallen brothers, or make false reports," his voice suddenly turned cold, "don't blame me, Koren, for my axe being ruthless!"

Then, he turned to the arrangements for the wounded: "All the wounded, give them the best treatment immediately! Herbs and doctors should be provided to them first. As for those brothers who are definitely no longer able to fight," a hint of heaviness appeared in his voice, "take good care of them, and once the situation stabilizes a bit, the first batch of ships will send them back to the Iron Islands. They will be given other jobs back home."

He entrusted the most tedious, meticulous, and impartial statistical and compensation work to Rodrik Harlow.

All eyes were involuntarily drawn to the lord standing before the Harlow family's ranks. Rodrik Harlow was an anomaly among the rugged, warlike Ironborn. He was not physically weak; he was also the captain of the longship "Sea Song," a veteran of storms and battles.

But what set him apart from other lords was that he was always reading—scrolls, classics, and even precious books brought from distant continents. This was extremely rare among the Ironborn, who viewed reading as a "soft act," and thus he earned the nickname "The Bookish" Rodrik.

However, no one dared to look down on him for this. Besides his extensive reading, Rodrik Harlow was most renowned for his extreme fairness and meticulous attention to detail. He was calm and composed, unlike other lords who were easily angered or fanatical. He handled affairs with clarity and clarity, keeping accurate records. In the entire Iron Islands, few could be more capable and trustworthy than him in handling tasks requiring extreme patience and impartiality, such as casualty statistics and the verification and distribution of compensation. Even the most unruly captains were willing to believe that "the scholar" Rodrik wouldn't tamper with the money their brothers earned through their lives.

Upon receiving the task, the "scholar" Rodrik nodded deeply: "I will certainly live up to your expectations!"

King Koren's actions were not only an acknowledgment of Rodrik's abilities, but also an attempt to stabilize morale, ensure that the cost of this victory would be properly compensated, and let the surviving warriors see that fighting for them, regardless of life or death, would be taken care of after their deaths.

Euron said he had learned something new: this wisdom of governance is far more effective in uniting people than empty rewards.