The night breeze at Silent Bay carried an almost imperceptible scent of compromise.
The representatives of the Triarchy Alliance stood before Euron once more. This time, their faces held none of the previous day's arrogance or struggle, only exhaustion and a resigned calm. The Commander at the lead bowed deeply, his voice dry but clear: "Lord Euron, on behalf of Tyrosh, Lys, and Myr, we accept all the conditions you have proposed."
Even knowing Euron was essentially extorting a massive sum of Gold Dragons, they had to swallow their pride! After all, they simply couldn't win a fight against him.
A satisfied smile bloomed on Euron's face. He raised his hand elegantly, signaling everyone to rise, his tone as gentle as a benevolent monarch. "Very good. A wise choice. Peace is always in the best long-term interest of every one of us."
After the preliminary terms of conquest were agreed upon, Euron did not let the representatives leave immediately. Like the shrewdest of merchants, only after winning an overwhelming victory did he begin to display his true wares.
He held separate, private meetings with the representatives of the three cities, opening a new round of discussions on the level of "cooperation."
In the secret chamber, candlelight flickered.
Euron no longer spoke of reparations and punishment, turning instead to trade and the future.
With the Tyroshi representative, he discussed their world-famous Tyroshi Dye. Extracted from specific purple sea snails through an incredibly complex and costly process, it was the most precious and rare natural dye of the ancient world, symbolizing supreme power and wealth. It was the very bedrock of Tyrosh's fortune. Euron expressed that the Iron Islands and the markets under their control had a "keen interest" in this.
With the Lysene representative, he critiqued luxurious perfumes and exquisite tapestries, discussing how to transport these luxury goods symbolizing taste and wealth through smoother channels to Westeros and even further afield.
With the Myrish representative, he focused on their crystal-clear glassware, high-precision lenses, and spyglasses, as well as their equally valuable carpets, screens, mirrors, and lace. He specifically mentioned clear glass panes—which could be sold at sky-high prices equivalent to eastern spices—hinting at massive demand.
At the end of each seemingly harmonious private meeting, Euron's tone would always become meaningful. In a manner that felt like casual chat yet was enough to make hearts pound, he would "vaguely" indicate: Under the new order of these waters, deep cooperation meant something more. He hinted that the Iron Islands wouldn't mind giving "special care" in trade to the city-state that was "more obedient and cooperative," or even using his influence to "moderately" suppress the interests of the other two cities to support his most loyal "partner."
He didn't say it explicitly, but every word was like a soft dagger, precisely piercing the already fragile bond of trust within the Triarchy Alliance. Temptation and threat were cleverly woven by him into the same web named "Cooperation."
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Euron Greyjoy never worried that the Triarchy Alliance would dare play tricks with the reparations or delay payment. Absolute power was, in itself, the most reliable contract.
After negotiations ended, the fleet returned to Grey Gallows Island. After waiting only two days, the transport convoy of the Triarchy appeared on the horizon. These were not warships flaunting their might, but cargo ships sitting deep in the water, fully loaded with heavy "sincerity."
Iron-bound wooden chests, so heavy they required several strong men to lift, were transported ashore in an endless stream, piling up into a glittering mountain in the fortress square of Grey Gallows. A full one million Gold Dragons—an astronomical sum enough to buy several castles or even a small duchy—was delivered on time, not a coin short.
Following closely were the representatives of the three cities themselves. With solemn, even somewhat respectful expressions, they gravely presented a formal contract document written in neat script on exquisite parchment. It detailed all reparation clauses, payment methods, and the future trade cooperation framework—standard format, complete seals, impeccable.
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Euron didn't even sit down to read it in detail. He simply took the heavy document symbolizing submission and compromise, his gaze "sweeping" over it like skimming the sea surface. Immediately after, he took a quill from an attendant and, without any legal review or scrutiny of clauses, fluently signed his name at the bottom—Euron Greyjoy.
The action was as relaxed and casual as signing a daily cargo manifest. He seemed not the least bit worried about the complex document potentially hiding countless legal traps, word games, or future liabilities.
Because in his eyes, the price anyone would have to pay for daring to violate this contract—founded on his military force—would be far more severe than abiding by it. The clauses on the paper were merely formal decorations to him. The true binding force always came from the Invincible Fleet anchored offshore and the terrifying monsters diving deep below. Moreover, Euron never expected this contract to last too long anyway.
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After establishing absolute rule over the Stepstones, the allied forces of the Iron Islands did not become intoxicated with victory. Instead, like a precise and ruthless war machine, they began to operate efficiently.
Patrol squadrons composed of longships began to cruise day and night through these now-controlled waters.
They landed on the scattered islands one by one, measuring land, assessing ports, and drawing detailed nautical and topographical maps.
Accompanying scribes and Maesters busily recorded every piece of information: the strategic value of each island, how many troops were needed to effectively control it, whether the native inhabitants were submissive or potential threats, and most importantly—what resources lay buried underground for extraction (whether timber, minerals, or special produce).
A ruthless purge unfolded simultaneously.
The scattered pirates who still lingered between the islands, attempting to cling to life or loot amidst the chaos, faced their doomsday.
The Ironborn warriors showed no mercy. Wherever they went, the choice was clear: accept the rule of the Iron Islands Alliance and become one of them; be exiled forever from the waters they controlled; or have their heads chopped off and piled onto the "Crown of Sea Skulls" as a bloody totem to warn latecomers.
Order was being forcibly implanted into this lawless land in the most iron-blooded way.
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Above this busy scene, Euron Greyjoy displayed a composure bordering on laziness. He did not involve himself in the trivial work of governance. Instead, he leisurely rode his sea beast—the awe-inspiring "Giant Sea Spider"—on a tour of his new kingdom.
When this terrifying creature moved, it was like a floating, living island covered in spikes and compound eyes. Its hundreds of massive, cold eyes reflected the broken light of the sky; its hideous mouthparts opened and closed as if ready to devour everything; countless spear-sharp legs sliced through the seawater, silent but bringing endless oppression.
Euron stood atop this nightmarish creature, like a demon god from the deep sea. Wherever he passed—whether it was fishermen working at sea, sailors repairing ships on the shore, or residents on the islands—everyone was scared out of their wits. Some collapsed to the ground, trembling like leaves in the wind; others knelt, praying madly to the incomprehensible existence, transforming their fear into twisted faith.
As far as the eye could see, there was only total submission and awe. In these waters, one could no longer find a single gaze daring to look up and meet his eyes, let alone raise any hostile flag. With this embodied terror, he silently declared who was the sole master here.