The devastating conclusion of the naval battle swept through every corner of the Stepstones almost the instant the curtain fell, like a sea wind carrying a plague.
Through surviving escape boats, keen merchant lookouts, and spies lurking in shadows, the news traveled at astonishing speed, triggering unprecedented tremors and fear in every lair, every port, and every fortress.
The core content was brief yet horrifying: Euron Greyjoy, the "Son of the Drowned God" of the Iron Islands, did not rely on traditional fleets and swords. Instead, commanding deep-sea behemoths from ancient legends that no one could withstand, he utterly crushed the massive Pirate Alliance in the waters of Grey Gallows with absolute, overwhelming force.
The once-mighty Pirate King "Bloodhand" Marlin, symbol of the old order, and his ally "Skull King" Mor Bones, were now prisoners. They would be publicly executed on Black Rock Island in seven days.
By the next day, the "invitation to witness" notice—marked with black sails, concise in wording yet heavy as a thousand tons—had been delivered to the hands of every faction leader who considered themselves a player in the Stepstones.
To go, or not to go?
For anyone possessing a shred of survival instinct, this didn't seem like a question worth weighing. The implication of refusal was self-evident—those five increasingly tall "Crowns of Sea Skulls" were the clearest warning possible.
The real dilemma haunting the minds of these leaders, keeping them awake at night, quietly became:
What kind of gift should they bring that would be grand enough, humble enough, and sincere enough to congratulate this new king crowned in blood and fire on his official debut?
---
Inside a dim and oppressive cabin, the news of the bloody naval battle wrapped around every surviving pirate captain like a ghost.
The air was heavy enough to wring water from, and fear was written on every pale face. Just then, Pirate Captain Edwin Ramirez slowly stroked his curly mustache, an inscrutable smile hanging on his lips, breaking the deathly silence.
"To go or not to go?" His voice wasn't loud, but it knocked clearly on everyone's heart. "You should ask yourselves this—do you still want to survive in the Stepstones?"
His words were like a cold needle piercing the panic in the cabin. The captains, who had been shivering in the terror of memories involving monsters tearing apart warships, involuntarily looked up at him with complicated eyes.
Edwin chuckled and continued, his tone stating a simple fact. "It's simple. If you don't go, it's equivalent to telling the 'Son of the Drowned God' that you don't believe you deserve a place in these waters." He paused, adding meaningfully, "And usually, things that don't deserve to exist are thoroughly wiped out."
A scarred captain couldn't help but ask tremblingly, "But... but what if he says we were part of the Pirate Alliance too, and executes us alongside Marlin?"
Edwin shook his head, looking confident. "He won't. That Lord has personally announced that 'the war is over.' Besides, gentlemen, don't forget," he looked around, his voice carrying deliberate emphasis, "before the war broke out, we 'wisely' withdrew from Marlin's foolish alliance. Now, we are the 'New Pirate Alliance'." He spread his hands as if it were obvious. "Since the war is over, why would the victor continue to fuss over us 'unrelated' bystanders? The birth of a new king always requires a magnanimity to match, doesn't it?"
Another captain with shifting eyes seized the opportunity, his tone carrying obvious deflection and probing. "Edwin, you are the Pirate King of our new alliance now! Of course, you should go as our representative!"
Edwin raised an eyebrow, the smile on his lips deepening with a hint of mockery. "Me? The new Pirate King? When did that happen? How did I not know?"
Before his voice faded, almost all the captains in the cabin seemed to find their backbone, shouting in unison:
"From the moment you led us out of that death trap, you were already our King!"
Edwin Ramirez's gaze slowly swept over these faces eager for protection yet unwilling to take risks. After a moment of silence, he finally nodded, his tone becoming steady and decisive.
"Very well. Since you all insist... I will be this representative. I, too, wish to witness the birth of a new King of the Stepstones with my own eyes." He changed the subject, tapping his fingers lightly on the table. "However, regarding the gift for this audience..."
The captains exchanged glances and immediately scrambled to promise:
"We will handle it! We will ensure a heavy gift of sufficient weight is prepared!"
---
Across the Narrow Sea, Tyrosh, Lys, and Myr—the three Free Cities that were once briefly united as the "Kingdom of the Three Daughters" (the Triarchy)—had long since split again, their mutual suspicion and competition never ceasing.
But in the opportunistic and dangerous waters of the Stepstones, they maintained a strange and mutually beneficial alliance: their joint fleet and representatives still used the name "Triarchy Alliance," firmly occupying the strategic Bloodstone Island. Relying on powerful military force and commercial networks, they extracted massive amounts of gold from passing merchant ships through trade and mandatory "pricing rights."
Now, the thrilling great war between the Pirate Alliance and the Iron Islands Alliance had concluded.
The victor was a third party rising with absolute terror—Euron Greyjoy, who called himself the "Son of the Drowned God" and declared his rule with "Crowns of Sea Skulls."
Euron Greyjoy's "invitation to witness" now lay quietly on the ornate, shell-inlaid conference table inside the fortress of Bloodstone. The handwriting on the parchment seemed to emit the cold scent of rust and blood.
This was by no means a simple invitation to a victory celebration, nor was it just to watch a former Pirate King lose his head.
Everyone knew clearly that this was a banquet negotiation concerning the future landscape of the Stepstones, a redistricting of power, and a showdown determining the flow of countless future fortunes.
Thus, the highest-level representatives of the Triarchy Alliance in the Stepstones—the nephew of the Archon of Tyrosh, the mysterious banker from Lys, and the Fleet Admiral of Myr—along with their most important strategists and backers, rarely gathered in the most secure secret chamber of Bloodstone.
Heavy velvet curtains were drawn, cutting off all outside sound. Only the muffled roar of the sea was faintly audible, like an uneasy heartbeat.
They sat around the table, expressions grave. The air was thick with the scent of expensive spices, the bouquet of aged wine, and a deeper anxiety about the choices for the future.
"We must talk," the representative from Tyrosh broke the silence first, his fingertip tapping on the invitation. "About him, and about our future."
---
Inside the sealed council chamber of the Bloodstone fortress overlooking the harbor, the atmosphere was as heavy as the sea before a storm. Expensive Myrish carpets absorbed most footsteps, and the Tyroshi tapestries on the walls seemed to have lost their usual vibrancy.
The representative from Lys, a banker in deep purple velvet robes wearing massive gemstone rings, broke the suffocating silence. He didn't look at the invitation on the table but directed his gaze to the man in military uniform sitting at the end.
"Before discussing any strategy," the Lysene's voice was smooth but carried an unavoidable sharpness, "first, let us ask our trusted Allied Fleet Commander, General Gustav Drummond. Please tell us honestly: with the strength of our alliance fleet, can we defeat that man... who controls deep-sea monsters?"
Everyone's eyes instantly focused on the veteran general known for his bravery. Commander Gustav Drummond's face was ashen. Without a moment's hesitation, he shook his head heavily, his voice dry and certain.
"Don't even think about it! Absolutely not!" He looked up, the lingering terror of witnessing the naval battle from afar still in his eyes. "Those creatures... any single one of them possesses the power to turn the tide of a naval battle. And we are facing eight of them! Not to mention the thousands of sharks that obey his command like an army..." His Adam's apple bobbed as he spoke the despairing truth. "To be blunt, my Lords, that Euron Greyjoy... he alone could destroy our entire alliance fleet."
The brutal military assessment caused the temperature in the room to plummet. The representative from Myr, a trade prince known for his shrewd pragmatism, immediately wiped sweat from his forehead with a silk handkerchief and interjected, his tone almost urgent. "Then what is there to hesitate about? Prepare gifts! The most lavish gifts! The only thing we should do now is pray that we can coexist with him peacefully!"
The representative from Tyrosh, the Archon's nephew, had a face full of unwillingness and worry. His fingers tapped anxiously on the table. "But... the interests in the Stepstones... we've managed them for so years... I'm afraid he will demand..."
"Conceding profits to him is inevitable." The Lysene representative interrupted calmly, his tone decisive, displaying a banker's precise judgment of value and risk. "Power naturally possesses pricing rights. Now that he holds absolute power, the rules are naturally set by him. What we can do is not haggle when we are powerless to resist, but figure out how to retain as much benefit for our respective cities as possible under the new rules."
After a brief silence, the four men representing the highest will of the three city-states exchanged glances. Finally—whether willingly or helplessly—they all slowly nodded, reaching a consensus.
Compromise was the only choice for survival.