The Crows Eye's words were like a boulder thrown into stagnant water, the fear they stirred spreading through the crowd like ripples.
A clamor rose, then turned into a deathly silence a moment later, as gaze after gaze fixed upon Aegon.
The original looks had changed flavor; gratitude turned into resentment, and reliance into alienation.
Having achieved his goal, the Crows Eye's lips curled into a sickly arc. He turned and slowly swept his arm forward, his dagger advancing as if to leave a mark on Aegon's face.
"Ha... our Little Dragon King, what choice will you make?"
The dagger drew closer, inch by inch.
The veins on Aegon's hand gripping his blade bulged. He weighed whether to strike suddenly, taking advantage of the Crows Eye's lack of preparation to unsheathe his longsword and cut down this one-eyed dragon.
"You're full of shit!"
Just then, Henry, who had been following behind Aegon, suddenly stepped forward, raising his hammer to block Aegon.
Though his voice trembled slightly, he still stood firmly in front of Aegon.
"Tch...!"
Just as the Crows Eye's sneer escaped his throat—
"Lord Greyjoy."
In a flash, Aegon stepped out, interrupting his next move. He reached out and pressed down on Henry's arm holding the hammer with steady force.
Every drop of blood in his body screamed for rebellion, yet it was suppressed by cold reason.
Live. Keep walking to stay alive. The System's check-in location was deep within this place. As long as he reached the check-in point, there was a chance to turn everything around.
There was no point in a bloody fight right now.
He didn't believe that the items obtained from a check-in mission that had troubled him for so long and been so difficult would be useless.
"Henry, put the hammer down." His voice was as cold as iron. He then took a step forward, meeting the Crows Eye's gaze. "I'm hard to kill; the ghostly things here won't be taking my life."
"But yours... might not be so certain."
He pulled Henry back behind him. He couldn't let this honest, stout man—the only one brave enough to stand up—be wasted here for nothing.
Aegon's face showed no trace of anger; instead, it was calm to the point of ruthlessness. Only those violet eyes locked onto the Crows Eye's murky single eye, refusing to yield an inch.
The atmosphere dropped to freezing point.
Euron Greyjoy's single eye narrowed, filled with killing intent.
Just as the Crows Eye was about to act, Aegon suddenly spoke, changing the subject.
His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a calm that saw through everything.
His gaze swept over the Ironborn behind him, then over Corleone and his guards, before returning to the Crows Eye's face.
"Lord Greyjoy, I assume you didn't spend a fortune and so much time just to watch us perish here at the entrance along with 'monsters'."
"What you're looking for should be deep within these ruins. If no one clears the path ahead for you, would you be satisfied?"
"A bloody fight here will only waste your resources for nothing."
"How about this—I and 'my people' will lead the way for you." He cast a meaningful glance at the Mercenaries behind him before continuing.
"Since we have to go in anyway, why let your elite subordinates take the first wave of risks? If we die inside, it's a good use of resources; if we scout the path... isn't that more convenient for you?"
"If you want to push things to the limit now... believe me, we who are about to die can splash blood all over you. When that happens, you'll be in even more trouble in this hellhole with a group of wounded soldiers."
Euron Greyjoy's gaze fixed intently on Aegon. His blue-stained lips twisted, finally turning into a low, oily chuckle.
He appreciated this sharp-edged cunning.
"A silver-haired boy with brains. Interesting."
"Know the name Greyjoy? It seems I've met a fellow countryman in this hellhole!"
"Silver hair is rare in Westeros. Let me guess, is it Velaryon? Or... Targa...ryen!"
The Crows Eye's oily voice deliberately lingered, then his tone shifted.
"But it doesn't matter. I've bedded more than one or two silver-haired whores. It's the 'Great' Baratheon dynasty now; they even drove my dear brother off the throne a few years ago."
"Since you want to lead the way for me, then take your flock of sheep and taste the traps for me."
"But remember, boy."
"If you dare play tricks, I will pull out the intestines of that fat man beside you and wrap them around your neck, coil by coil, until you stop breathing."
The Crows Eye stepped forward, his face almost touching Aegon's. His voice was very low, filled with malicious pleasure.
Aegon didn't retreat at all, staring back at the Crows Eye, their reflections mirrored in each other's pupils.
"Don't worry, I still want to take them..." He turned his gaze across the Mercenaries, then across the Ironborn behind the Crows Eye. "...and pick the fastest ship to go home."
Having finished, Aegon turned around without hesitation, giving the Crows Eye no chance to speak again.
Facing the group of Mercenaries who had just scattered and were still shaken.
He didn't roar but spoke in a voice that was exceptionally clear in the dead silence, carrying an unquestionable authority:
"Did you hear that? Lord Greyjoy has given us a chance to live—by walking in the very front."
"Those who want to live, grip your weapons and follow me."
"Anyone who falls behind, or anyone who incites others to flee again..."
Aegon's gaze deliberately swept over the Crows Eye and his eager Ironborn subordinates; the meaning was self-evident.
"We won't need the monsters here; the Ironborn of the Iron Islands will help us'save on rations'."
After speaking, Aegon took the lead, taking a torch from a nearby rack.
With a clang, his longsword was unsheathed.
With a sword in one hand and a torch in the other, he walked straight toward the dark fissure blowing a foul wind.
It was as if he were walking into the abyss-like maw of a demon of his own accord.
Seeing this, Henry gritted his teeth, hoisted his great hammer onto his shoulder, and quickly caught up.
There was a cook Mercenary who had been seen at the Shoal Camp before; he was also one of the few who had insisted on staying by Aegon's side when the Crows Eye made trouble, having been one of those saved in previous attacks, and had followed Aegon for several days since.
Seeing Aegon walk toward the fissure alone and the fat man follow closely, he hesitated for a moment, stomped his foot, grabbed a torch, and followed as well.
Once there was one, there were two. As several people followed, some Mercenaries remembered Aegon's previous kindness and looked at the encroaching Ironborn behind them.
Gritting their teeth, they figured they were dead either way, so they might as well go with the silver-haired boy who had saved them. More and more people began to follow Aegon.
A few Mercenaries still hesitated, standing still.
Seeing this, the Crows Eye's lips curled in disdain. With a wave of his hand, the Ironborn drew their blades and stepped forward.
Terrified, those Mercenaries dared not stay any longer and hurried to catch up with the main group.
At the very front, Aegon had already entered the dark fissure passage. It was pitch black all around, with only a few meters of visibility illuminated by the torchlight.
His silver hair was particularly striking in the dim environment, and a drop of sweat on his temple was turned translucent by the firelight.
The hand gripping the sword hilt was slippery with sweat, yet he still held it tightly.
Only Aegon knew how dangerous the scene just now had been. It was like walking a tightrope ten thousand meters in the air, a negotiation on a blade's edge; one wrong word, one wrong step, and it would be utter ruin.
Hearing more and more footsteps behind him, the gathered torches lit up the dark fissure in a fiery red.
Only now did he feel that the clothes on his back were soaked through with cold sweat.
Aegon didn't look back; his tightly pursed lips quietly curled into a slight arc.
He... had bet correctly!
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