Dont forget to Vote and Review if you like story...
your comment make me motivate posting here
read full story in patreon : CaveLeather
Ten days.
For ten full days and nights, the holy precinct of Tall Trees Town, shrouded by Talking Trees and studded with temples, was completely cleared by Ironborn warriors with ruthless efficiency.
All residents and priests, regardless of status, were driven outside the town without exception, leaving behind only empty halls filled with the scent of incense and ancient aura.
During these ten days, Euron Greyjoy, alone like a silent pilgrim and a picky diner, "visited" those twenty-plus temples one by one.
No rituals, no spectators. No one knew exactly what he did inside those deep, secluded temples.
When the morning light of the eleventh day pierced through the leaves of the Talking Trees again, and Lisa returned to Tall Trees Town as agreed, she saw Euron standing quietly under the largest Talking Tree.
Just ten days.
Lisa's steps involuntarily halted. An indescribable, almost heart-palpitating feeling seized her. The Euron before her didn't seem to have changed much in appearance, but something intrinsic, something essential, was different.
Euron merely stood there, yet the surrounding air seemed to become viscous and heavy, light seemingly twisting slightly around him. He didn't deliberately release any pressure, but an invisible aura that made souls tremble naturally diffused outward. It was no longer the aura a mortal powerhouse should have, but more like... the feeling of insignificance and awe one felt when facing a profound, unfathomable ancient temple, or gazing at a sky containing thunder and storms.
Lisa keenly perceived that he had become more powerful. This power was not a simple accumulation of strength, but a leap in level, a sublimation of essence.
Powerful enough—to rival gods!
This thought intruded uncontrollably into her mind, causing her to feel a chill herself. The man before her seemed to have quietly stolen some authority belonging to the divine realm, stepping into a domain mortals couldn't understand.
Euron lightly held her hand, smiled faintly, and said, "Let's go. It's time to finish the last battle of the Summer Isles!"
---
Day Thirteen of the Siege
Inside Lotus Port, the last public well had run dry. The stone-lined bottom, once used to store fresh water, held only sun-bleached, cracked mud clods. Fresh water was completely cut off.
The air was filled with a thirsty scent mixed with despair and death. People's lips were covered in cracks from severe dehydration, like parched earth. Throats felt stuffed with hot gravel; even swallowing saliva became a torturous luxury.
Food remained scarce, but that little precious grain was strictly controlled by Donovan Lyman with an iron fist, reserved only for mercenaries and guards still capable of wielding weapons. Every mouthful swallowed was accompanied by the hungry, resentful gazes of the commoners.
Despair spread and fermented among the commoners like a plague, finally brewing into small-scale disturbances again. They were no longer fighting for food, but merely trying to get close to the long-dry wells, or attempting to storm the Lord's mansion for the last possible private stash.
Donovan Lyman stood on the battlements, looking down at the crowd surging like walking dead below. His eyes held no pity, only a dead-end madness and coldness to maintain order.
He had no extra words, nor did he try to appease them.
The order was given again.
In the numb, mechanical movements of the defenders, a third batch of civilians—this time mostly women, children, and the elderly too weak to even stand—were roughly dragged to the edge of the wall. Like discarding useless burdens, amidst heart-rending wailing and faint curses, they were pushed off one by one...
To clear hidden dangers inside the city, and also to force the army outside to attack.
Below the wall, corpses piled up, the stench rising to the heavens.
Jalabhar Xho stood before Euron, his chest heaving violently with anger and intolerance. His face was ashen, knuckles white from clenched fists.
The mountain of civilian corpses piled under the city wall haunted his eyes like a nightmare.
"Lord Euron! We can't wait like this anymore!" Jalabhar's voice was hoarse with emotion, carrying a trace of imperceptible pleading. "Watching them starve to death, thrown down like garbage! There are women, elderly, children... We have superior numbers, superior weapons; we can definitely take the walls! We must do something!"
Euron slowly turned around. The sea breeze blew his dark curly hair. His deep eyes were calm and waveless, as if listening to a trivial matter unrelated to him.
"Siege?" Euron asked back indifferently, not a ripple in his tone. "I know we can win. From the moment the fleet arrived, the fate of Lotus Port was sealed."
Euron's gaze, like a cold blade, scraped across Jalabhar's flushed face. He said coldly, "But there are many ways to win. If we attack rashly, we will win, but what is the cost?" His voice remained steady but stated with the weight of a thousand pounds: "Is it to let my loyal Ironborn warriors irrigate those walls with their blood!? Let their corpses pave the road of attack!?"
Just as Jalabhar wanted to argue again, Euron raised his hand, interrupting him crisply with an unquestionable gesture.
"I know, you feel those civilians thrown down died unjustly." Euron's gaze was sharp, piercing straight to Jalabhar's heart. "I saw it too. No one wants this to happen. But we cannot shake our established tactics, which are most beneficial to us, just because of the enemy's brutality, and let my people bleed for nothing."
His tone softened slightly as he turned his gaze back to the silent city, as if penetrating the stone walls to see the fission fermenting within.
"Wait." He spat out the word, like issuing a divine decree that brooked no disobedience. "Trust me, the opportunity... will be here momentarily."
The absolute confidence contained in those calm words was like a cold boulder, temporarily suppressing the churning fire in Jalabhar's chest, but also making him feel a near-heartless rationality.
---
Inside the Lord's Hall of Lotus Port.
Candlelight flickered, illuminating several faces with varied expressions. The air was as sultry as the eve of a storm, oppressive enough to make one breathless.
The Long Lances, the Stormcrows, the Company of the Cat—three mercenary commanders famous across the Narrow Sea for bravery and greed stood side by side in the center of the hall. Their armor still bore the dust from patrolling the walls, but the arrogance of the past was gone from their eyes, leaving only anxiety about reality.
Standing beside them was the defense commander Bernhardt Sharpe, a veteran general known for his steadiness. At this moment, his brows were locked tight, deep furrows filled with worry.
Standing silently aside like a stone statue was the commander of the one thousand Unsullied, known as "Black Worm." On his face, smoothed of all expression by time and rigorous training, no thoughts could be seen, only a dead silence.
Donovan Lyman's son, young Skadi Lyman, stood behind and to the side of his father's throne. His face still held a trace of near-naive confidence, firmly believing in the future his father spoke of, in everything he said.
They gathered here with a clear purpose—to demand a clear answer from the monarch of Walano, Donovan Lyman: How much longer could the food and fresh water last? How should this hopeless siege battle be fought? Where was the way out for the future?
Donovan Lyman on the throne faced the questioning of his core generals, yet no urgency could be seen on his face. He spoke in a calm, flat tone, his voice echoing in the hall, but the content was chillingly empty:
"Supplies are on the way, my generals. Our allies will not abandon us. Reinforcements are also gathering. Victory will eventually belong to us! We only need to hold on; holding on is victory..."
He had repeated these words on different occasions since the first day of the siege. Until now, the thirteenth day, there was still nothing new, no concrete plan, no details that could touch upon the cruel reality.
They sounded more like self-hypnosis, or fairy tales used to coax ignorant children.
The worry on Bernhardt Sharpe's face grew heavier. He opened his mouth but eventually turned it into a silent sigh. Having served as the defender of Lotus Port for twenty years, he knew clearly what state the city had reached.
Skadi Lyman, greatly encouraged by his father's words, straightened his back a little more.
The Unsullied commander, Black Worm, remained expressionless. In fact, he didn't care about the reinforcements Donovan Lyman spoke of; he only needed food and water to keep the Unsullied alive. He did not fear death, waiting for the final battle.
The three mercenary commanders exchanged an extremely fast glance containing countless pieces of information. The Commander of the Long Lances turned the corners of his mouth down slightly; a trace of mockery flashed in the eyes of the Stormcrow Commander; the Commander of the Company of the Cat shook his head almost imperceptibly.
They asked no more questions, nor did they refute. They simply maintained a tacit, unsettling... silence.
---