Day 20 of the Voyage.
When the black towers of Pyke finally broke the horizon, the sailors didn't cheer. They simply licked cracked lips in silence, eyes fixed on the promise of fresh water barrels and the smoke of roasting at rising from the shore.
Euron stood at the prow, watching Lysa polish the dragonglass compass with a piece of gold-embroidered black cloth—a spoil of war Dagr had secretly slipped him. The girl's fingers were slender and deft. As she murmured in High Valyrian, the rim of the compass glowed with a faint, eerie blue light. "She calls it a 'Beacon of Blood and Fire,'" Dagr's single eye twinkled in the twilight. "Little Prince, you found yourself a treasure."
Waves gently lapped against the hull. The wound on Euron's shoulder had scabbed over. Watching the silhouette of Pyke erge, he knew this voyage had changed things forever—perhaps the future of the Iron Islands, perhaps his own destiny. Twenty days at sea had finally fully activated the Pirate King System he had been longing for.
[Pirate King System bound to host: Euron Greyjoy]
[Synchronizing world laws... Adapting to low-magic plane... Loading complete.]
[Spending points rewards Free Attribute Points. Thresholds: 100/200/400/800/1600/3000...]
[Remaining Free Attribute Points: 0]
[Points: 0/100]
Basic Reward: Digitized Character Panel
(Values in parentheses represent the standard for a normal adult male in Westeros)
Strength: 4 (10) - Child's body; punch force less than a wild dog.
Agility: 6 (10) - Balance tempered by sea winds.
Stamina: 4 (10) - Old rib injury limits blood oxygen.
Spirit: 12 (10) - Soul fusion exceeds threshold.
Command: 8 (10) - Aura of the Drowned God beginning to condense.
Charm: 9 (10) - Seductive power of heterochromia Legend of the Drowned God's Son.
Luck: C - Range A-F (F is worst, A is best). Special attribute, highly variable.
System Activation Reward: Conqueror's Haki (Lv. 1)
Type: Passive. Cannot be actively controlled.
Trigger: Unleashed unconsciously through eyes or aura during intense emotional fluctuation (rage, fear, life crisis).
Effect: ntal intimidation / Clears weaklings.
Upgrade to Lv. 2: 2000 Points.
---
Euron felt a mix of surprise and disappointnt.
Surprise: He had obtained the rarest ability in One Piece, Conqueror's Haki—the qualification of a King.
Disappointnt: In ani, Conqueror's Haki could knock out armies of fodder with a glare. But in the gritty, low-magic world of A Song of Ice and Fire, the skill wasn't that overpowered yet. He couldn't just flex his aura and make people faint.
However, the "Lv. 1" tag ant it could be upgraded. The potential was infinite. Perhaps at higher levels, he could achieve ani-level feats.
For now, Lv. 1 Conqueror's Haki was a passive area-of-effect skill, radiating about ten paces from Euron.
It made so feel he had a "regal air," compelling them to submit.
It made others wary, deepening their impression of him.
It made recruiting easier, instilling awe.
It caused fear in the weak (ntally or physically), preventing resistance.
Under pressure, enemies suffered debuffs to Strength, Agility, and Spirit, and might even hallucinate.
Future rewards could be redeed from the Pirate King System for every 100 points gained. Rewards were random. Points could be earned in many ways:
Exploring new continents (e.g., Sothoryos).
Discovering new races (Children of the Forest / White Walkers).
Eating special foods for the first ti.
Defeating famous characters (points based on strength tier).
Rewards could be skills, talents, or items.
Thinking about the Haki, Devil Fruits, Rokushiki, and magical foods from One Piece, Euron suddenly felt the unknown future was full of hope.
The mont he obtained Conqueror's Haki, Euron standing at the prow looked different to everyone else. Filled with joy, Euron roared into the sea wind like a young dragon. Old Wick felt the hair on his arms stand up, dropping his dried cod into the sea. Grenn at the helm felt his knees go weak, nearly crashing into the compass. Balon, sharpening his axe on deck, felt the handle splinter in his grip. In Dagr's eye, Euron's shadow in the twilight twisted into a giant wearing a coral crown, a trident pointed straight at the Smoking Sea.
[Exploration: Discovered Sunset Sea of Westeros. Reward: 80 Points.]
---
[Exploration: Discovered Pyke. Reward: 80 Points.]
In the Great Hall of Pyke, the sll of salt and blood hadn't yet faded before it was frozen by a heavier chill.
The spoils of the Drinker—piles of silk, glittering gold coins, fragrant spices—were heaped in a corner. They should have been dals of victory, but under the flickering torches, they glowed with an ominous light. The drunken noise of the sailors had long since died. Dagr's split grin was tight shut. Everyone stood with hands down, heads bowed, not daring to look at the figure standing like a reef at the end of the hall.
Lord Reaper Quellon Greyjoy stood with his back to them, staring into the fireplace, his broad shoulders tense as iron. The air was heavy with the silence before a storm. Only the popping of firewood broke the stillness, each crack hitting like a hamr on the heart.
"Returned fully laden?" Quellon's voice wasn't loud, but it hit the stone floor like a cold iron anchor, shaking the entire hall. He turned slowly. His falcon-like gaze swept over the mountain of treasure without a hint of warmth, finally nailing the two sons standing at the front—Balon and Euron.
"Tyroshi spices. Myrish silk. Lyseni gems... Drowned God above, you stole a gold mine! Should I thank you on behalf of the Iron Islands?" Quellon's voice suddenly spiked, exploding like thunder, shaking dust from the rafters. "But what did you trade for it? Your brains? Or the future of Pyke?!"
He strode forward, each step heavy on their hearts, stopping right in front of Balon, nose to nose. Balon could see the fire burning in his father's eyes—not over the loot, but sothing deeper, deadlier.
"Acting without orders!" Spittle flew onto Balon's face. "Under the nose of the Sealord of Braavos! Did you think you were going to a market?! You grabbed gold, but you also drew the wrath of their fleets to the Iron Islands! You grabbed silk, but you exposed the stupidity of the 'Old Way' to the entire Narrow Sea!"
His roar echoed off the stone walls, every word a lash dipped in ice:
"Who gave you the nerve?! Since when do two boys decide where Greyjoy ships sail?! Every piece of gold you took might be paid for with Ironborn blood! Every bolt of silk you brought back might be a shroud!"
His gaze swept to Euron, piercingly cold. "Cleverness used in the wrong place! You think prying open a few captives' mouths fixes everything? You think a warning about 'Wildfire' avoids all risk? Foolish! The real risk is the fuse you just lit!"
Having vented enough, Quellon took a deep breath. The suppressed silence was more suffocating than the shouting. Punishnt ti.
"Grounded!" he announced sharply. "One month! Without my permission, no one steps out of Pyke. Your ship, your weapons—all confiscated! Use this month to let your gold-dizzy heads think about what 'Responsibility' ans!"
The harsh punishnt made the sailors shrink back. But Quellon's gaze, like a poisoned harpoon, locked onto his eldest son again.
"Balon!" Quellon's voice dropped low, heavy with crushing weight. "You! As the eldest son! As my heir! Instead of stopping your brother's reckless idea, you led the charge! Your guilt far exceeds Euron's! Your arrogance needs a deeper lesson to grind it down!"
Balon's fists clenched at his sides, knuckles white. He felt the complex gazes of those around him. His father's words seared his dignity like a branding iron.
"After your confinent," Quellon said, enunciating every word, "you will go clean the barnacles off Wailing Point! With your hands! With your knife! Under the sun! Until it is clean, no rest, no touching a ship! You are done when the rock is bare!"
"Wailing Point!" A few suppressed gasps rose from the crowd. It was the most treacherous reef on the east side of Pyke, where waves roared like ghosts all year round. The rocks were razor-sharp, the barnacles hard as iron. Cleaning them was slow, dangerous, and painful work. Sun exposure, salt water in wounds, repetitive drudgery... For a proud Ironborn warrior, especially the heir, this was humiliation and torture far crueler than a whipping.
Quellon's gaze turned to Euron. Still cold, but lacking the heavy disappointnt directed at Balon. "You, Euron. During your confinent, copy the Scrolls of the Drowned God, History of the Ironborn, and Laws of the Iron Islands three tis each. Use your brain to rember what the true rules of the 'Old Way' are, and what a Greyjoy's duty is! Lysa," he glanced at the blonde girl standing quietly in the shadows, "you will supervise his ink. Ensure every stroke is done. No shortcuts."
It was strict (confinent and boring copying), but compared to Balon's physical and ntal torture, it was a slap on the wrist. Quellon was coldly declaring to everyone: the higher the status, the greater the responsibility, and the heavier the price for failure. Balon had to pay for his failure of leadership.
Balon's face drained of color. He ground his teeth to suppress a growl, eyes burning with humiliation, rage, and unwillingness. He felt his father's gaze pressing on him like a rock, suffocating him. Euron lowered his eyelids, hiding the glint in his eyes, and silently accepted the punishnt. In the corner, Lysa nodded gently.
Lord Quellon looked away from his sons, turning to the pile of loot with eyes as cold as the sea. "As for this... Dagr, distribute it according to the rules. House Greyjoy's share—half goes to the vault. The other half..." He paused, voice heavy with decision. "Trade it for grain and timber. Reinforce the defenses of Pyke and the nearby islands. You brought back gold, but you also brought back trouble. Now, get out!"
The sailors, feeling like they'd been granted amnesty, practically held their breath as they hugged the walls and slipped out of the oppressive hall. The heavy oak doors bood shut behind them, sealing away the cold rage inside and leaving them in the salty, free air.
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