Euron's three-day deadline had a dual purpose. First, since his movements were exposed, a surprise attack was no longer realistic. Second, he was waiting for the arrival of important allies—reinforcements from Dorne and the Arbor.
At this moment, Prince Oberyn of Dorne had arrived with his fleet.
His flagship, the Dornish Sun, led twenty warships cutting through the waves. Dorne's naval strength was indeed limited; each ship was crewed by only thirty men, making the total force a mere six hundred soldiers.
The figurehead of every ship was carved into the likeness of Queen Nymeria holding a spear, or the sun-and-spear sigil of House Martell. These statues shone with bronze and gold leaf under the sun, speaking of the unyielding spirit of the Dornish people. If one looked closely at the inner walls of the cabins, they would find lines of ancient Rhoynish proverbs carved into the wood: "Sand may sharpen a blade, or fill an enemy's lungs"—a testament to the unique wisdom and resilience of the Dornish.
Due to the desert kingdom's lack of quality timber and iron ore, their total naval strength numbered fewer than a hundred ships, unable to compete head-on with the Redwyne fleet of the Reach or the longships of the Iron Islands. As Prince Doran had said, "Dorne's sword belongs to the desert, not the deep sea." Their navy had always focused on coastal defense, so bringing twenty ships to this campaign was already a significant commitment.
Oberyn stood at the prow, his bronze skin glowing in the sunlight. He looked at Euron's fleet in the distance, a smile of anticipation curling his lips.
Euron stood on the shore, the sea breeze rustling his dark robes, and smiled at the newly arrived Oberyn. "A pity. You missed the first battle."
Oberyn narrowed his uniquely sharp Dornish eyes, sizing up Euron meaningfully. "I actually wanted to ask, how did you get here so fast? That speed is simply unnatural."
Euron's lips curled into a deliberately mysterious smile. "Don't forget, I am a son of the Drowned God. The sea is naturally willing to lend me a hand." His gaze swept over the distant horizon, as if responding to some invisible call.
Oberyn gave a light hmph, his silvery spear glinting cold in the sun. "No matter. There will be plenty of fighting to come." He turned his head toward the gruesome "Crown of Sea Skulls," his expression a mix of appreciation and warning. "That creative work of yours is certainly impressive. But if you think that alone will cow the pirates of the Stepstones, I'm afraid it won't be enough. The cruelty of these desperadoes isn't something a few heads can scare off."
Euron shrugged indifferently. "It doesn't matter. The Crown of Sea Skulls will pile higher and higher, until no one can ignore it." His voice was calm but carried an unquestionable resolve. "Until every man sailing these waters looks up and sees the warning of the Iron Islands."
---
Three days were enough for the sea to churn up countless changes.
Marlin "Bloodhand," the Pirate King of the Pirate Alliance, was a tyrant who took pleasure in torture. He was infamous for once nailing the entire crew of a merchant fleet to their sails to bake in the sun for three days. His missing right eye had been pierced by an iron hook, and his left arm was fitted with a terrifying steel claw. His bronze skin was covered in crisscrossing whip marks and brands, each scar a cruel story from the past.
Upon receiving Euron's letter, a bloodthirsty light erupted in Marlin's single eye. His response was to immediately dispatch thirty longships of elite forces to garrison Skull Island, a fortress easy to defend and hard to attack. Simultaneously, he swiftly summoned the scattered forces of the Pirate Alliance, ordering all pirate captains to rally their ships toward Bloodstone.
In the pirate fortress on Grey Gallows, Marlin tapped the nautical chart with his steel claw, his voice like sandpaper grinding against rock. "Let those Ironborn bastards know who the real master of these waters is!" At that moment, hundreds of pirate flags were snapping in the wind, like sharks scenting blood, ready to pounce on their prey.
The three-day deadline passed in a flash.
As the last sliver of the setting sun sank into the sea, Oberyn Martell came to Euron's side, his bronze skin glimmering in the twilight. "Where to next?"
Euron's gaze swept over the darkening sea like a falcon, his voice low and decisive. "Prepare for battle. We move tonight." He slowly drew the longsword at his waist, the blade gleaming cold in the dusk. "But before we move, we need to gouge out their eyes."
---
Among the reefs and caves surrounding the islands, the Pirate Alliance had set up countless observation posts—these were the "eyes" sent by Marlin, constantly monitoring every move of the allied forces, ready to report back to their leader at any moment.
To ensure the element of surprise for tonight's operation, these hidden eyes had to be removed first. Euron's order was simple and brutal: Kill anyone not belonging to the Ironborn or Dornish fleets. Their heads were to be taken to add height to the terrifying "Crown of Sea Skulls."
In the twilight, dozens of swift small boats moved out quietly, pouncing on the observation posts like leopards. The cold light of drawn steel flashed on the darkening sea; every strike was lethally efficient. Screams were swallowed by the sound of waves, and blood stained the reefs red.
Before the moon rose, all the "eyes" of the pirates had been thoroughly gouged out.
Euron's strategic gaze did not land on the heavily guarded Skull Island—currently on high alert with thousands of bloodthirsty pirates gathered there. Instead, he pointed his blade at the Pirate Alliance's other two strongholds: Blood Sail Point and Serpent's Tooth Island.
These two islands formed a precise tripod with Skull Island, like the two large pincers of a crab. If one attacked Skull Island directly, the garrisons at these two points could sortie at any time to flank the attackers, trapping them in a pincer movement.
"Let them guard an empty fortress." Euron's fingertip glided across the map, landing on Blood Sail Point. "We will break these two claws and turn Skull Island into a prison."
Under the moonlight, the fleet quietly adjusted course, like a wolf pack changing its target, pouncing toward Blood Sail Point and Serpent's Tooth Island.
The wind brought the noise from distant Skull Island, but it could not disperse the silent murderous intent of the death fleet.
---
The dark night of Blood Sail Point was shrouded in salty wind and the heavy stench of blood.
Floyd Pyke—Commander Balfour's bastard son and the Iron Islands' long-term sleeper agent—was leading an elite squad in a silent operation. They moved through the shadows like ghosts, daggers and short swords glinting cold. Every strike was precise and fatal. The patrolling pirates fell one by one before they could even sound the alarm, their throats slit, blood seeping silently into the earth.
As the last sentry fell, Floyd signaled out to sea.
Moments later, the Ironborn warships quietly approached the shore like black sea monsters. Warriors surged onto the beach like a tide. Blades reflected the sparse moonlight, and the roar of battle finally tore through the silence of the night. Caught off guard, the pirates woke from their dreams in panic, rushing to fight, only to see flashing steel before falling one after another.
The deafening sounds of slaughter alerted the island's ruler—Thor "Bone-Smasher."
This giant pirate captain from the northern island of Skagos rose in a fury, his three-meter-tall frame like a moving fortress. His deformed spine protruded from his back like a mast, and the ground trembled slightly with every step he took. The bronze anchor-hammer on his shoulder was heavy enough to crush any armor, and the totem of a mermaid devouring the sun and moon on his chest flickered in the firelight, adding to his terrifying presence.
"Who dares run wild on Thor Bone-Smasher's island!" he roared, charging into the fray. His anchor-hammer swung, whipping up a bloody wind. Two Ironborn warriors failed to dodge in time and were instantly reduced to mangled corpses.
However, when he faced Euron, the situation reversed abruptly.
Euron moved as agilely as a sea snake, dodging the heavy, lethal hammer. In the instant the giant missed another full-force swing, Euron's twin blades struck like vipers, precisely severing the hamstrings of those pillar-like legs.
Thor Bone-Smasher let out a sky-shaking wail as he crashed to the ground like a collapsing mountain. Before he could struggle, Euron's cold blade was already pressed against his neck.
Surprisingly, this pirate, famous for eating the entrails of enemy commanders raw, began to tremble all over. "I yield!" His voice was hoarse with fear, a stark contrast to his previous arrogance. "I am willing to serve you, Lord Greyjoy!"
Nearby, Prince Oberyn raised an eyebrow slightly, seeming somewhat moved by the proposal.
Euron merely shook his head, his eyes devoid of emotion. "My men can be cruel, but they cannot be cannibals." His voice was calm but chilled to the bone. "Besides, you have already betrayed two leaders you swore allegiance to. I have no desire to be the third."
A flash of steel, and the giant's head fell, rolling a few times on the ground before stopping, a look of incredulous terror frozen on its face.