In a dark, damp cellar within Lotus Port, several cheap oil lamps flickered with dim yellow halos, casting four twisted shadows onto the mottled stone walls.
The air was thick with the smell of mold, sweat, and a faint, elusive scent of blood.
The Commander of the Long Lances, Gylo Rhegan, a middle-aged man with a shrewd face but eyes betraying lingering fear, broke the silence first. His voice was pitched extremely low: "If I'd known we were going up against Euron, 'Master of Sea Beasts,' even for all the gold dragons in the world, I would never have set foot in these waters!" His Adam's apple bobbed, as if recalling some terrifying scene. "In the Stepstones, when we Long Lances were hired by the Three Daughters Alliance, I saw those sea king beasts with my own eyes on the open sea... Those are not things human power can contend with! Just one is enough to overturn an entire fleet! And the Castellan is still talking nonsense there, saying reinforcements will arrive soon, food, water, the Golden Company from Slaver's Bay, more Unsullied... Hmph!"
He spat heavily, his eyes fierce. "I believe him like hell! Outside is the Greyjoy Golden Kraken banner! In front of that thing, no matter how many come, it's just sending them to death. Not even a plank can dream of drifting into the port!"
He said solemnly, "Believe it or not, on the great sea, no matter which fleet it is, upon seeing the Golden Kraken banner, there is only one choice—turn around and run for your life! Before they decide to kill you!"
The Captain of the Stormcrows, the Ghiscari Prendahl na Ghezn, had a gloomy look on his broad face. He chimed in, his voice carrying the unique hissing accent of the Ghiscari: "In a siege defense, relying on the walls, even with half the attacker's strength, it might not be unwinnable. But the problem now..." He pointed to his cracked lips. "Is here! The city is out of ammunition and food!"
"Bloodbeard" of the Company of the Cat grinned, revealing teeth yellowed by tobacco smoke. His fiery red braided beard trembled with his heavy breathing. "Running out of food is one thing," he smacked his lips, recalling a gruesome taste, "Yesterday I got a little wench, roasted her... haha, the meat was quite tender."
Beside "Bloodbeard," the bald Sallor, the other captain of the Stormcrows, with a twisted scar on his face looking even more hideous in the lamplight, picked his nose incessantly and muffledly added the most fatal point: "Fresh water... is completely gone. Without water, within a few days, we'll all die of thirst here and turn into dried husks."
Gylo Rhegan looked around at the other three, a decisive light flashing in his eyes. "If that day really comes, and the Castellan orders us to charge out together, what do you think?"
"Charge out?!" "Bloodbeard" sounded like he heard the biggest joke, his voice suddenly rising then sharply dropping. "That's called suicide! Rushing into the mouths of the Ironborn and those monsters?"
"I've thought it through," Long Lances Commander Gylo Rhegan's voice was cold and firm. "The only way to live is for us to help the Iron Islands open the city gates."
Dead silence fell instantly in the cellar, broken only by the crackling of the oil lamps.
Betrayal was a taboo for mercenary companies, but... faced with life and death, it was the only choice.
Prendahl of the Stormcrows nodded slowly, his eyes gleaming shrewdly. "We intend to defect, naturally. But we also need to see what that 'Master of Sea Beasts' thinks, if it's worth it, and what price he offers." He looked at Gylo. "Tonight, someone must be sent out of the city to make contact with him and negotiate clearly."
"Leave it to me," Gylo Rhegan said without hesitation. "I have a kid under me, agile as a civet cat, who can slip down the wall unnoticed."
The four mercenary leaders—shrewd Gylo, sinister Prendahl, brutal "Bloodbeard," and silent Sallor—exchanged one last look in the dim light, seeing the same choice in each other's eyes, and nodded heavily.
A betrayal that would decide the fate of Lotus Port was quietly finalized in this cellar redolent of mold and despair.
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Inside the main tent of the Iron Islands camp, whale-oil torches burned with a steady crackle. The silhouettes of Euron and Jalabhar Xho were cast onto the tent walls, swaying slightly with the firelight.
The heavy tent flap was thrown open violently. An Ironborn warrior in iron armor with a scarred face strode in, kneeling on one knee before Euron, his voice rough: "Commander, we caught a suspicious fellow outside the camp. Claims to be a mercenary from the Long Lances inside the city, sent by their commander, demanding to see you." He looked up, fierce light in his eyes, as if the moment Euron showed any refusal, he would turn around and twist the messenger's head off to kick like a ball.
Euron sat upright on a simple wooden chair and said indifferently, "I'll see him. Bring him in."
After the Ironborn warrior turned to leave with the order, Euron turned his head, showing an expected smile to Jalabhar Xho, who appeared anxious from the days of siege, and whispered, "Look, the opportunity I spoke of... here it is."
Prince Jalabhar's spirits lifted, hope instantly exploding in his eyes.
The tent flap opened again.
A small man entered, wearing ill-fitting, dust-covered leather armor. His face was ordinary, the kind you couldn't find if thrown into a crowd. He was clearly intimidated by the killing aura inside the tent and Euron's invisible pressure, appearing very nervous. His fingers curled unconsciously, his voice trembling slightly:
"Res... Respected Master of Sea Beasts, I... I am a mercenary of the Long Lances, my name is Orpheus. By order of our Commander Gylo Rhegan, I have come... to see my lord."
Euron wore an inscrutable smile. His tone was gentle, like chatting about family matters, yet every word was clear as he asked, "Orpheus, it is wartime now, swords have no eyes. Your commander sent you specifically to risk leaving the city to see me. Is there a reason?"
Under the silent gaze of the cold axe blades of the Ironborn warriors in the tent, Orpheus appeared exceptionally humble. He tried hard to suppress his body's trembling. His movement reaching into his bosom was slow and deliberate, fearing to cause any misunderstanding. He carefully took out a scroll of parchment and respectfully presented it with both hands.
"This... this is a handwritten letter from our commander. Please take a look, my lord."
Euron took it, his gaze sweeping over the brief sentences on the paper. The content was straightforward and practical: The Long Lances, Stormcrows, and Company of the Cat, three mercenary groups, did not know the opponent was Euron beforehand. Now they were willing to help the Iron Islands open the city gates, asking only for appropriate remuneration after the city fell.
Euron put down the letter, no joy or anger visible on his face. His voice was as flat as stating a simple fact: "I only need to besiege the city for three more days, and Lotus Port will fall on its own, a victory without fighting. Why should I accept your surrender at this time and pay for it?" His tone shifted slightly, indifferent: "However, I am not a bloodthirsty man."
Euron's gaze pressed on Orpheus like a physical substance, every word crystal clear and unquestionable: "Go back and tell Gylo Rhegan, remuneration—not a single Gold Dragon! But I can give you a way to live."
"If you want to live, remember my demands clearly:"
"First, tomorrow night, open the gates of Lotus Port."
"Second, 'Bloodbeard' of the Company of the Cat, a cannibal who feeds on his own kind, should not live. Tell your commander and the commander of the Stormcrows, I want Bloodbeard's head. His head is the blood oath for everyone in your three mercenary companies."
Euron's flat tone was filled with freezing bloody scent:
"Tell him, if either of these two conditions is not met..."
"On the day the city falls, your three mercenary companies, everyone—"
"Will die! None shall be left!"
The last words slammed into the depths of Orpheus's soul like cold iron nails, draining the blood from his face instantly.
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