Euron's fleet was like a ghost slipping into the dark, using the heavy night and the supernatural fog summoned by the Dance Powder to prowl silently toward the outer harbor of Gulltown.
On land, the siege had already been raging for a full day and night. The combined assault of the Eyrie and Storm's End on Gulltown was more brutal than anyone could have imagined.
Inside and outside the walls, it was hell on earth.
Raging fires swallowed houses and towers, sending thick black smoke up like an ominous curtain to choke out the moon and the dawn. The cold stone walls were splattered with blood, both dried and fresh, filling the air with the sharp tang of iron. The screams of the dying, the clash of steel, and the groan of collapsing buildings echoed constantly—a cruel symphony of war.
Euron stood at the prow of his flagship, staring at the distant flicker of fire and the sounds of slaughter from the Gulltown harbor. He gave the final order to his Ironborn reavers. "Now, it's our turn!"
The horn of attack was not blown by human lips, but by the roar of fire and the rush of the tide!
At Euron's decisive command, over a dozen "fire ships"—specially modified vessels packed with deadly combustibles—were quietly released. Guided by precisely calculated tides and a perfectly timed gust of wind, these death boats were like angry, flaming serpents. Dragging tails of scorching fire, they smashed straight into the heart of the Royal Fleet's anchorage.
In an instant, disaster struck.
Deafening explosions ripped through the air, one after another. The towering flames lit up the entire harbor, burning away even the supernatural mist.
Fueled by the wind, the fire spread with terrifying speed, jumping between the water and the ships, greedily devouring everything. Wooden warships twisted and disintegrated in the horrific blaze, turning into floating charcoal and ash. Dozens of ships loyal to the Crown were crippled before they could even raise their sails. Gulltown's proud naval defense was reduced to nothing overnight.
Euron watched the inferno from his deck, the reflection of hell burning in his eyes.
When the fire from the harbor lit up the night sky, dyeing the sea a grotesque orange-red, it served as the signal for the coordinated assault.
Eddard Stark, clad in grey-brown chainmail, his eyes calm as still water, brought his arm down sharply. As the vanguard, he personally led the Vale forces into the final assault on Gulltown.
Soldiers heaved massive oak battering rams. Under the cover of a dense rain of arrows from their own archers, they moved like a forest of steel toward the sturdy oak gates. From the battlements, defenders poured down arrows like locusts and dumped boiling oil that hissed with death. Warriors fell screaming, but the coalition of Storm's End and the Vale showed terrifying resilience. Locking shields, they stepped over the bodies of their fallen comrades, pushing forward step by unstoppable step.
BOOM!
BOOM!!
BOOM!!!
The heavy impacts were like the heartbeat of a giant, shaking the entire battlefield. With every strike, the thick gates groaned in agony, splinters flying. Finally, with a tearing crash, the gates burst open!
Eddard Stark was the first through the breach. In his hand, the massive Valyrian steel greatsword, Ice, flowed with a pale, cold light under the fire's glow.
Leading from the front, Ned let out a Northern war cry. Behind him, a tide of knights and soldiers surged into the tunnel, instantly overwhelming the panic-stricken defenders in a brutal, bloody street fight. Every inch of pavement, every house became a battleground. The clash of swords and the screams of men filled the Gulltown night.
When the harbor fires reached their peak, staining the sky blood-orange, Robert Baratheon roared for the total assault.
illuminated by the firelight, Robert's massive figure looked like a god of war descended to earth. In his hands, the terrifying warhammer "Skullbreaker" radiated a cold aura of death.
No extra orders were needed; Robert himself was the strongest banner of the attack. With a roar that shook the battlefield, he led the elite knights of the Stormlands in a devastating charge. They were an iron current wrapped in thunder and storm, smashing into the defenders' hasty formation with unstoppable force.
Robert was at the very tip of the spear. Wherever he went, shields shattered, spears snapped, and lives were harvested like wheat. Every wild swing of his massive hammer was accompanied by the screech of crushed metal and the dull thud of pulverized bone. No armor could withstand the pure power born of his rage and grief.
He tore through the defensive line with ease, leaving a bloody path paved with broken weapons and fallen bodies.
Robert's gaze, like a hawk locking onto its prey, cut through the chaos of the battlefield. He fixed his eyes on the hard core at the rear of Gulltown—the citadel fortress ruled for generations by House Grafton. It was the city's last and strongest bastion. Robert Baratheon's goal was clear. He led his flood of destruction straight toward it.
On the walls of Gulltown, the defending commander, Ser Lyn Corbray (Correction: The text says Ser 'Leonor' or similar, likely a minor character or OC, but later mentions Lyn Corbray. The text says "Ser Leonor Cobray" then "Lyn Corbray" later. I will check standard lore. The Grafton leader is usually Marq Grafton. Lyn Corbray fought for the loyalists initially. The text mentions "Leonor" first as a defender on the wall, then Lyn Corbray and Marq Grafton inside. I will translate the names as written: Ser Leonor Corbray on the wall, Lyn Corbray inside).
Ser Leonor Corbray saw the massive figure climbing toward him like a demon of war. He knew he was outmatched, but a knight's honor drove him to grip his longsword with both hands, shouting a challenge as he met Robert Baratheon.
His bravery was met with absolute, crushing force. Robert didn't use any technique, just three pure, savage swings.
The first hammer blow, delivered with crushing brute strength, smashed down, instantly knocking the longsword from Ser Leonor's hands and splitting the web of his thumb!
The second blow didn't pause, slamming into his breastplate. The tempered steel armor caved in like paper, shattering. The crack of breaking ribs was audible over the din of battle!
The third blow was the finisher. It crashed directly into his head, smashing the helmet and everything beneath it into pulp!
Ser Leonor's headless corpse collapsed. Robert became the first attacker to set foot on the walls of Gulltown.
Robert didn't even look at the body at his feet. His eyes, burning with fury, were locked on the highest point of the wall where the red three-headed dragon banner of House Targaryen flew. He strode forward, grabbed the hated flag with a massive hand, and tore it from the pole. He threw it roughly onto the blood-soaked stone and stomped on it repeatedly with his heavy boots.
After venting his rage, Robert threw his head back and let out a roar that vibrated through the entire battlefield, a sound filled with the thrill of revenge and endless anger.
"This is the fate of those who support the Mad King!"
Just as Robert's hammer shook the gates of the inner keep, another wave of destruction poured into the city from the harbor.
Euron's Ironborn were like bloodthirsty sharks, killing their way up from the burning docks and through the crumbling defense lines. Wielding axes and curved blades, shouting ancient reaver cries, they reaped a cruel harvest wherever they went.
With a loud crack of splintering wood, Robert Baratheon used his unparalleled strength to personally smash open the final gate of the inner keep. Wood chips and twisted iron flew everywhere as the stormlanders poured into the castle's heart like an angry tide behind their lord.
Inside the Lord's Hall, the final resistance was taking place.
Ser Lyn Corbray and Lord Marq Grafton, the two loyalist leaders, had gathered their last guards for a desperate stand.
But they were facing Euron.
Euron moved as fast as a ghost and as viciously as a viper. His two long swords drew fatal arcs in the dim hall. After a brief but intense skirmish, Ser Lyn Corbray's throat was slit, his blood staining the family crest behind him. In the next breath, Euron spun and delivered a backhanded thrust that precisely pierced through Lord Marq Grafton's attempted parry, skewering his heart.
The two nobles collapsed, dead in the hall they had sworn to defend. Lyn Corbray's Valyrian steel sword, Lady Forlorn, was claimed by Euron.
Euron stood between their bodies, his expression indifferent, as if he had just finished some trivial cleaning.
Essie Arryn , the so-called "Heir to the Vale" forcibly appointed by the Mad King Aerys II, stood in the blood-soaked hall, his stomach churning. The thick smell of rust and the corpses at his feet made him want to retch.
Though he clutched a longsword, facing the oppressive pressure of Euron approaching like a deep-sea predator, he could only retreat, his face pale as death. His heel hit the cold stone wall; he had nowhere left to run.
In despair, Essie let out a scream that sounded like a sob and thrust his sword forward blindly. The strike was weak, slow, and posed no real threat.
A flash of boredom crossed Euron's eyes. He didn't even bother to raise his blades to parry. He simply sidestepped like a phantom, letting the futile tip brush past his clothes. Then, Euron's leg lashed out like a steel whip, tearing through the air with a high-pitched whistle.
Rokushiki — Rankyaku (Tempest Kick)!
Pure kinetic force slammed into Essie Arryn's midsection. He was lifted off the ground like a puppet with cut strings, smashing backward into a thick stone pillar with a dull thud before sliding limply to the floor, completely incapacitated.
Euron walked over slowly, looking down coldly at the man curled up and groaning in pain. He didn't kill him. Instead, he signaled his men to bind his hands behind his back. Like a pig waiting for slaughter, Essie was dragged pathetically and thrown at the feet of the true Warden of the East, Jon Arryn, for judgment.
Essie Arryn had lost all the arrogance he had when he accepted the appointment. He wept and crawled, his forehead pressed tight against the cold floor, his voice broken by extreme fear. "My Lord... mercy! For the sake of our shared Arryn blood... spare my worthless life! I was confused! The Mad King forced me!"
Jon Arryn looked down at the distant cousin who had tried to steal his family's legacy. There was no pity on his face, only a cold, contemptuous sneer. He didn't answer the begging. He simply gave a nod to his guards.
Essie was roughly dragged to the center of Gulltown's square, where the victorious coalition soldiers and the surrendered, terrified defenders were gathered. Under everyone's gaze, Jon Arryn slowly drew his longsword.
There was no long trial, only swift justice. The blade flashed, and Essie Arryn's terrified pleading was cut short as his head rolled onto the ground. Jon personally hoisted the dripping head onto a spear and hung it high beneath the archway of Gulltown's entrance.
The frozen expression of fear on that face served as the clearest warning, declaring the final end of any traitor who betrayed their liege lord to grasp at power.