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From the moment the Iron Islands fleet pierced the azure waves of the Summer Isles like the spear of fate, to the sunset on the third day dipping below the horizon, only three days had passed.
In these three heart-palpitatingly short days, the tide of conquest swept through this emerald-like island chain with devastating force.
Except for Lotus Port, the capital on Walano, the largest and most heavily defended island in the north, which was still stubbornly resisting, the entire sea area had changed hands.
On Jhala in the south, the bloody vengeance in Red Flower Vale and the fall of Ebonhead had long sounded the death knell for the old order. On Omboru in the center, the prince's reckless resistance resulted in his head separated from his body and the island's swift fall. The remaining scattered small islands were either persuaded by the prestige of the Isle of Women and the martial force of the Ironborn, or raised the banner of submission after symbolic resistance.
With the raising of new flags one after another, the name of Prince Jalabhar Xho was officially crowned as the recognized ruler of these islands. The gray sails and Golden Kraken banner of the Iron Islands became the new symbol of dominance in these waters.
The cost of achieving such brilliant results was minimal, almost negligible.
The Ironborn warriors seemed not to be fighting a war of conquest, but conducting an efficient and ruthless armed parade rehearsed countless times. With excellent equipment, rigorous training, fierce style, precise intelligence, and internal coordination, the losses were very small.
All eyes, all pressure, turned to the north, to the last fortress still gathering strength in silence—Walano. The fate of the Summer Isles hinged on breaking this final, and hardest, barrier.
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The monarch of Walano, Donovan Lyman, was not an incompetent mediocrity.
When news of the Iron Islands fleet sweeping through the southern islands with thunderous momentum arrived successively, he clearly foresaw the outcome of defending separate points—being defeated one by one by the opponent, ultimately losing everything.
He stood on the highest tower of Lotus Port, gazing at the distant junction of sea and sky to the south, his eyes gloomy and decisive. Without a moment's hesitation, he issued a cruel but most realistic order: Abandon all peripheral strongholds.
The elites stationed in the inland rainforest of Tall Trees Town, the garrison guarding the strategic Last Lament in the north, and all available troops scattered on other small islands were forcibly and rapidly gathered back like a retreating tide, all assembling within Lotus Port, this final fortress.
Donovan Lyman chose Lotus Port as the stage for the decisive battle because it was the most heavily fortified place on all of Walano, and indeed the entire Summer Isles. The towering walls had been reinforced over generations, towers full of arrow slits overlooked the sea and mudflats, and the port area was set with layers of fences and hidden stakes, truly an iron wall.
Additionally, he had an unspoken consideration deep in his heart—Lotus Port possessed the most convenient outlet to the sea. It was both a shield against foreign enemies and an escape door that could be opened at any time. Once the battle went poorly and the situation became irretrievable, he and his core followers could board ships at the fastest speed, escape through secret underground waterways, flee overseas, and preserve the capital for a comeback.
Another point that gave Donovan Lyman confidence to defend against the Ironborn attack was that after learning of the agreement between Jalabhar Xho and the Iron Islands, he had continuously hired other mercenary companies with heavy gold to join the fight, and even bought a thousand Unsullied from Astapor in Slaver's Bay. The defensive capabilities of the Unsullied were known worldwide.
The location of Lotus Port, close to the coast, made it the castle where reinforcements could arrive fastest to support.
Donovan Lyman staked all his bets, along with his own possible survival, on this city he had managed for years.
Inside the walls of Lotus Port, it had now become a crowded mix of barracks and refugees.
Donovan Lyman had exhausted everything to assemble a considerable force: five thousand Summer Isles standing army equipped with bright silver armor, standard long spears, and scimitars; three thousand mercenaries with greedy eyes and mixed attire from the Disputed Lands or further away; and one thousand Unsullied, silent as mountains, holding long spears and shields, their faces expressionless.
Counting the large number of civilians swept up in this, nearly ten thousand anxious faces crowded within this last fortress.
Donovan Lyman stood on the battlements, looking at this army he relied on for survival, his heart settling slightly. The bloody battle he envisioned seemed imminent; he was ready to face the storm-like attack.
But the reality was completely different from what he expected, even revealing a disturbing strangeness.
On the sea, the massive fleet of the Iron Islands had completed the encirclement. Like a pack of wolves surrounding prey, gray sails blocked the distant horizon. They did not roar for attack, no war drums thundered, and no overwhelming landing craft rushed the beach; they merely blockaded the coast.
On land, the Ironborn set up defenses around Lotus Port, pitched tents, laid stakes and trenches before the camp, and then peacefully raised cooking smoke.
Euron Greyjoy was in no hurry at all.
He delayed launching a general attack, seemingly having no intention of attacking.
This was a suffocating silence, a pressure more torturous than swords. The Iron Islands chose to besiege without attacking, waiting for something, or perhaps using time and isolation to slowly grind down the will of every living soul in this isolated city.
Euron stood on the sterncastle of the Zhiyuan, measuring the seemingly impregnable defenses of Lotus Port, his thinking clear and cold.
Eight thousand defenders.
This number itself was not enough to frighten him, but the price required for a forced siege was clearly calculated in his mind.
Every Ironborn warrior was Euron's precious wealth, to be used for a grander future, never to be easily consumed in the bloody grind of storming fortifications.
Especially among the defenders, those one thousand Unsullied standing silently behind the walls.
These warriors, stripped of all emotion since childhood, existing solely for absolute obedience and combat, were the toughest rocks in a defensive battle. Their formation was like a Great Wall of steel; their spears could weave a jungle of death.
Euron recalled the world-famous Battle of Qohor—three thousand Unsullied facing fifty thousand roaring Dothraki screamers, stubbornly building an insurmountable defense line with flesh and discipline. When the smoke cleared, twelve thousand Dothraki lay dead before the formation, and only six hundred Unsullied remained. Those surviving grassland riders were ultimately forced to dismount, come before the silent phalanx, cut off their braids symbolizing honor and life, and throw them at their feet to show the deepest awe and respect.
While part of this was due to the Dothraki's ineptitude at sieges, the Unsullied's ability to defend a city could not be underestimated. Facing such an enemy behind solid walls was definitely not the act of a wise man.
Euron had a powerful fleet, endless patience, and plenty of means. Since the cost of a forceful attack was too high, he chose a smarter, less strenuous way.
As long as there was a better method, he would never use the blood of Ironborn sons to pave the steps for a siege.
The original design of this city was for trade and defense, not to sustain a massive army through a long-term siege. The grain in the warehouses was bottoming out at an alarming rate under the consumption of so many mouths. Even more fatal was fresh water. The island's fresh water sources were limited; the few springs and cisterns originally relied upon were a drop in the bucket against the sudden increase in demand.
The nearly ten thousand soldiers and civilians gathered in Lotus Port now transformed from an advantage of strength into heavy shackles. The sense of security brought by those eight thousand warriors was rapidly replaced by a more primal, deadly crisis—survival.
Euron didn't need to spend the lives of Ironborn warriors to storm the walls. His fleet thoroughly cut off any possibility of seaborne supplies, strangling the lifeline of Lotus Port like an iron hoop. He didn't even need to launch an attack; he just needed to wait patiently.
Time became his most powerful ally and Lotus Port's cruelest executioner.
Every passing day meant a reduction in the city's food stores and a drop in fresh water reserves. Panic spread like a silent plague among the hungry and thirsty soldiers and civilians.
Donovan Lyman's seemingly wise strategy of contraction was dragging him and all his followers step by step into the abyss of despair.
Before Lotus Port lay only two clear and cruel paths: open the gates and surrender before starvation and thirst killed everyone; or stubbornly hold on until everyone marched toward destruction in slow, painful torment.
Euron wasn't short on time. He could wait leisurely, watching this isolated city slowly sink under its own weight. Conquest didn't necessarily require bloodstained walls; sometimes, it only required enough patience to let time and scarcity do all the work.
Ten days.
The Iron Islands fleet sat motionless like gray reefs embedded in the horizon. No war drums, no horns, no landing craft attempting to approach. Not even a symbolic request for negotiation was issued, nor were any negotiations accepted.
Euron Greyjoy, with his absolute silence, built a wall of pressure more suffocating than any shout, tightly constriction Lotus Port.
Inside the city, the initial order and hope were being eroded inch by inch by the increasingly severe shortages.
Food rations dropped to the bare minimum for survival, and clean fresh water became more precious than gold. Panic and despair grew like a plague. Finally, hundreds of civilians on the brink of collapse gathered, attempting to storm the warehouses, triggering a riot.
Donovan Lyman's response was cruel and efficient.
He ordered the hundreds of civilians involved in the disturbance, regardless of age or gender, to be thrown directly from the high walls like garbage. The dull thuds of bodies hitting the ground and the shockingly blooming mud of flesh and blood became the latest footnote to his maintenance of rule.
Below the city, Jalabhar Xho witnessed this scene, his face ashen. He rode forward to the edge of arrow range and shouted to the battlements with all his might:
"Donovan Lyman! Listen! Open the gates and let the civilians out! I, Jalabhar Xho, swear in the name of the future King of the Summer Isles, during the civilian evacuation, I will absolutely not launch any attack on Lotus Port! Give them a way to live!"
His voice echoed in the silent bay, carrying an urgency to save the innocent.
Answering Jalabhar were not words, but actions.
Miserable wails and struggling sounds rose again from the walls.
Under the gaze of Jalabhar and all the Ironborn warriors, another several hundred civilians driven to the battlements were ruthlessly pushed off. Like a rain of flesh and blood, they were smashed to pieces at the foot of the wall, mixing with the remains of the previous victims, a gruesome sight.
With this extremely bloody act, Donovan Lyman issued a declaration clearer than any shout: No compromise, no surrender, even at the cost of burying every living soul in the city with him.
At dawn on the eleventh day, Euron appeared at the camp below the city again. The psychological warfare officially began.
Relentless declarations, through countless throats, surged toward the walls like a tide:
"Defenders, mercenaries, and civilians in Lotus Port, listen! You are the last and only resistance force in the Summer Isles!"
More impactful facts: "The entire Summer Isles, over fifty islands, from the northernmost reefs to the southernmost sandbars, have all declared allegiance to Jalabhar Xho, supporting him as the sole, legitimate King of the Summer Isles!"
To verify the truth of this declaration, flags belonging to various islands were raised in the safe zone beyond arrow range below the city. The warrior queen of the Isle of Women, Alicia, stood proudly in armor; the Lord of Last Lament wore his family's attire; the Prince of Tall Trees Town was also present; furthermore, the Singing Stones, the Stone Head, the Three Exiles, the Isle of Birds... monarchs of these islands, formerly independent or dependent on Walano, now appeared clearly in the view of the city defenders.
Their appearance silently yet eloquently proved that Jalabhar's words were not false.
From high above came the clear, long cry of the Millennium Dragon.
The three sisters from Lonely Light rode the giant beast over the city. Countless snow-white leaflets fluttered down from the clouds like scattered flowers, falling inside and outside the walls, into streets and courtyards, into the hands of every hungry, thirsty, and terrified civilian and soldier.
On the leaflets, written clearly in both the Common Tongue of the Summer Isles and Westeros:
[Message to All Soldiers and Civilians of Lotus Port]
I am Jalabhar Xho, King supported by the Summer Isles. Where my army goes:
· No harm to anyone but warriors
· No destruction of a single crop
· No burning of a single home
· No looting of a single city
· No harm to a single child
· No insult to a single woman
The latter part of the leaflet took a sharp turn, listing with definitive tone the bloody cases and secret crimes committed by Donovan Lyman to consolidate his power during his reign, nakedly exposing his tyranny to the public.
At the very bottom of the leaflet was the final and most crucial declaration issued in the joint names of Jalabhar Xho and "Master of Sea Beasts" Euron Greyjoy:
"All defenders and foreign mercenaries who have not committed atrocities in the Summer Isles, lay down your arms and surrender now. The past will be forgotten, and your lives will be spared!"
The wave of sound and the avalanche of paper together formed a fierce offensive against the human heart.
The will to hold fast, fear of the tyrant, and desire for survival clashed and fermented violently within this isolated city tortured by hunger and thirst.
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