Game of Thrones: I'm Dothrak King!!
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The night at Lotus Port was as thick as ink, with only the tireless waves beating against the reefs in the dead silence.
Torches on the walls were sparse, like the fading will of the defenders.
Within the time limit set by Euron—on the second night, the appointed hour arrived.
Inside the city, warriors of the Long Lances and Stormcrows, with the tacit consent of their commanders, had "rotated" to the key passage leading to the main gate. The air was as tight as a drawn bowstring; every pair of eyes flickered with unease and resolve in the darkness. The camp of the Company of the Cat was unusually quiet. Their new commander, "Great Axe" Cassius Frazer, had controlled the situation. Bloodbeard's trusted aides had been quietly eliminated, and that head with its wildly bristling beard was packed in a rough wooden box.
Outside the city, the Iron Islands camp looked like a dormant giant beast, revealing cold outlines under the moonlight.
Euron Greyjoy wore no armor, just a dark robe, as if he came not for battle but to accept a preordained sacrifice. Jalabhar Xho stood by his side, hand on his sword, breathing slightly fast, staring at the huge gate that would decide the fate of countless people.
CREAK— SCRAAPE—
A heavy, rusty friction sound, seemingly from the depths of hell, suddenly tore through the silence of the night!
The incredibly thick main gate of Lotus Port, studded with bronze nails, slowly pushed open a crack from the inside amidst a tooth-aching groan!
At first, it was just a line, revealing faint light and swaying figures from within.
The crack grew wider. Pushing the gate were several shirtless, muscular men from the Long Lances, their shoulders pressed hard against the door, faces contorted with exertion and grim determination.
The city gate yawned open! Like a huge wound exposed before the Iron Islands alliance.
Behind the gate was the deep tunnel, and at the end of the tunnel, the chaotic, terrified, yet somewhat relieved scene inside the city.
Stormcrow Commander Prendahl na Ghezn appeared at the entrance. He held a torch high and vigorously drew three huge circles toward the Iron Islands camp—this was the agreed signal!
Simultaneously with the signal, Gylo Rhegan of the Long Lances personally carried the wooden box containing Bloodbeard's head, strode out from the gate, respectfully placed it on the open ground directly in front of the gate, then quickly retreated, knelt on one knee, and lowered his head.
"Advance."
Euron saw the red-haired, red-bearded head. He nodded slightly and gave the order. His voice wasn't loud, but it spread clearly through the entire vanguard formation.
There were no earth-shaking war cries, no frenzied charge.
Ironborn warriors, like a gray silent tide, marched with heavy and orderly steps past the kneeling defectors, over the head serving as a blood oath, through the open gate, and irresistibly surged into Lotus Port.
The fall of the Summer Isles' last fortress began with its heart cut open from the inside. The boots of the conquerors finally stepped onto its streets.
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In the shadows inside the Lotus Port city gate, three mercenary commanders stood with hands lowered, like prisoners awaiting sentencing. Their men stood quietly behind them, silent.
The air was filled with sporadic sounds of fighting and crying from deep within the city, further highlighting the dead silence here.
Euron Greyjoy slowly strolled up to them. The sea breeze ruffled the hem of his dark robe. His gaze fell on the head with tangled beard and hair in the wooden box.
"Hmph," Euron spoke lightly, his tone revealing neither joy nor anger. "You did well."
Before Euron stood three mercenary commanders, weapons in hand, having just completed their betrayal, and behind them, three thousand mercenaries standing solemnly in a dark mass.
The advantage brought by numerical superiority vanished completely at this moment.
Euron didn't even deliberately release killing intent. He just stood there, slightly raising his eyes, calmly scanning the crowd. But this seemingly ordinary gaze seemed to carry the weight of a thousand tons, an invisible pressure accumulated from countless bloody battles, commanding deep-sea beasts, and even stealing divine authority, spreading out like a tangible tide.
The air seemed to solidify; the noise by the port seemed isolated in another world.
The three commanders bearing the brunt felt it most intensely.
Gylo Rhegan of the Long Lances felt like he was being eyed by some prehistoric sea monster. Cold sweat instantly broke out on his back. He involuntarily lowered his eyelids, daring not meet that calm but bottomless gaze. The muscles on Prendahl na Ghezn's broad, calculating face twitched slightly. He tried to analyze the man before him, but felt his thoughts sinking into a dark deep sea, difficult to operate. "Great Axe" Cassius Frazer, the new commander of the Company of the Cat known for bravery, now felt his throat tighten as if an invisible hand were choking him. His broad shoulders unconsciously shrank slightly, as if dodging some invisible edge.
The three thousand mercenaries behind them were even worse off. The slight commotion and breathing sounds that existed originally disappeared completely the moment Euron's gaze swept over. Everyone felt a chill shoot from the soles of their feet to the top of their heads, as if standing naked on an ice field, peered at by some massive existence under the deep sea. Sweat seeped from their palms gripping weapons; some even began to tremble uncontrollably.
One man standing alone, facing three thousand armored soldiers.
Yet the momentum was completely reversed.
It wasn't roaring anger, nor flamboyant dominance, but a deeper, more essential, almost rule-like oppression. As if where he stood was the center of a domain, the incarnation of authority. Within this domain, numbers lost meaning.
Euron ignored their attitude, paused, and continued, "I am a man who keeps his promises. I said I'd give you a way to live, so I won't kill you. Wait right here." He pointed to the area under their feet adjacent to the port. "To avoid accidental injury, leave only after the battle is completely over."
Gylo Rhegan of the Long Lances took a half-step forward, posture extremely low, but tone carrying a trace of urgency to seize opportunity: "Lord Euron, the city is not fully pacified yet. Is there anything else we can do for you?"
The new commander of the Company of the Cat, "Great Axe" Cassius Frazer, immediately chimed in, voice loud but hard to conceal fawning: "We are willing to serve you, my lord!"
Hearing this, the corner of Euron's mouth curled into an almost imperceptible sneer. His tone remained flat: "I never thought of hiring you." He enunciated every word clearly. "Nor did I intend to pay any commission."
Prendahl na Ghezn of the Stormcrows immediately followed up, his Ghiscari accent exceptionally clear in the tense air: "This job is free." He bowed slightly. "Both to repay your grace for sparing our lives, and as... a token of sincerity in hopes of establishing future cooperation with you, 'Master of Sea Beasts.'"
"Future cooperation?" Euron repeated softly, seemingly thinking of the complex situation in the Stepstones and the more distant Disputed Lands. A meaningful smile flashed across his face, then he said indifferently, "Since that is so... go guard the harbor. Keep a close eye on all ships, prevent anyone from slipping away by sea in the chaos."
With that, he didn't spare another glance. He turned and led his personal guard into the darkness toward the city center, leaving the three mercenary commanders where they stood.
Watching Euron's retreating back, Cassius Frazer couldn't help but lower his voice and ask with a hint of doubt, "He just... left like that? Isn't he worried we'll take the chance to grab a ship and run?"
Prendahl na Ghezn shrugged, wearing an expression that said "You are too naive." Looking in the direction Euron disappeared, his tone carried a calmness bordering on awe. "Since Lord Euron personally said he'd give us a way to live, given his status, position, and the reputation he has built on the sea over these years, he absolutely will not go back on his word. Keeping promises is the foundation of his rule. Lying to small figures like us? He disdains to do so."
Gylo Rhegan took a deep breath of the air salty with sea and gunpowder, as if engraving this lesson into his lungs. He turned to the other two, also seemingly admonishing himself: "Let's go, guard the port well. Remember what I say today, remember it firmly—" His gaze swept over Cassius and Prendahl. "Unless you wash your hands in a golden basin and never make a living on the sea again in this life, otherwise, no matter what, do not offend Euron Greyjoy."
The three exchanged glances, saying no more. With complex feelings of surviving a disaster yet facing an uncertain future, they walked toward the noisy port.
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