Heavy leather boots stepped onto the smooth obsidian floor, producing hollow echoes that drew closer from the distance.
The Ironborn filed in, stepping into this hall that had been silent for untold centuries.
The orange-red light of the torches in their hands instantly stained this quiet domain, clashing with the cold, pitch-black dome above.
"By the drowned god..." one Ironborn looked up at the ceiling, which was so high the top was invisible and filled with giant pillars, his grimy face filled with dull shock.
The torchlight twisted and elongated on the mirror-smooth floor, reflecting their small and wretched figures.
"What the hell is this place?" another Ironborn's voice cracked with astonishment. "Crow's Eye said there were treasures under these ruins, but he didn't say there was... a place like this!"
"Treasure? Where's the treasure?" An Ironborn with fresh burns on his face looked around irritably and spat out bloody saliva.
"Since falling into this hellhole, we've found nothing but stones, mud, and those 'fire worms' crawling out of the magma! Not a single damn thing! Several brothers were dragged down, armor and all, leaving nothing but two short screams!"
Their gazes were naturally drawn to the stone platform in the center of the hall, which was significantly higher than the floor.
The Ironborn exchanged looks, gripped their weapons, and cautiously approached the stone platform in a loose encirclement.
The firelight gradually illuminated the top of the platform.
Empty.
The stone platform was empty; there was only the cold stone surface, covered in a uniform, extremely thin layer of dust.
"Fuck!" The Ironborn with the injured ear couldn't help but curse, kicking the base of the stone platform hard, producing a dull thud.
"It's fucking empty again!"
"No, it's not," a cold, oily voice came from the entrance.
The Ironborn tensed up, immediately fell silent, and moved aside to make way.
Euron Greyjoy paced in.
His dislocated arm seemed to have been crudely reset and was haphazardly secured to his side with strips of a torn cloak. The new abrasions on his face looked particularly hideous under the flickering torchlight.
That single eye first swept over the magnificent, heart-stopping underground hall with an almost indifferent attitude, and then his gaze landed on the empty stone platform in the center.
The abnormal blue-purple tint at the corner of his mouth shimmered with an eerie luster under the orange-red torchlight.
"It seems a rat got in here before us."
Crow's Eye's voice wasn't loud, but it made every Ironborn prick up their ears.
He didn't look at the stone platform; instead, slowly and with a cat-and-mouse playfulness, he cast his single eye toward the side and rear of the platform, the deepest corner of the hall.
That was the place where light was hardest to reach and the shadows were thickest.
"Like playing hide-and-seek?" Crow's Eye licked his lips, his blue-stained nails lightly tapping the hilt of the dagger at his waist.
"Pity. A rat is a rat after all. No matter how deep you hide, you can't cover up that... disgusting stench."
Silence reigned in the shadows.
After a few breaths, at the edge of that impenetrable shadow, the light seemed to be quietly swallowed by some entity.
A figure, its outline going from blurred to clear, slowly stepped out of the darkness, walking with steady steps that produced clear, cold, and hard echoes on the smooth obsidian floor.
The base was dark black, yet it flowed with a dark red luster like ripples on water under the torchlight.
The armor's design was sleek and sharp, with the pauldrons shaped into roaring dragon heads. It covered every inch of the body, and a sense of calm and extraordinary power radiated from it; it was definitely no ordinary steel.
The visor completely concealed the face, leaving only a narrow slit for vision.
The Ironborn gasped and subconsciously took half a step back, their eyes exploding with shock, which was then replaced by a more intense greed.
This armor was no ordinary item!
The moment Euron's single eye saw the armor, a flash of brilliance flickered deep within his pupil.
It was the ultimate desire to possess an unknown treasure.
His gaze was fixed on the position of the visor slit.
Just then, the figure seemed to turn slightly due to their appearance, and a few strands of silver-white hair slipped out from the gap between the helmet's edge and the gorget, looking particularly striking.
Simultaneously, behind the visor slit, those violet eyes, like frozen flames, sharply swept across the scene.
Crow's Eye noticed the reveal of silver hair and violet eyes, and his blue-purple lips curled into an oily arc.
"Aha... look who we have here."
"Our lost little dragon king has not only found his way, but also changed into a... quite convincing set of tin skins."
His gaze swept over the flowing dark red luster, and an imperceptible scrutiny flashed in his single eye. "This material... is interesting."
"It seems," Crow's Eye began, his voice terrifyingly soft yet carrying the coarseness of an iron hook scraping a ship's hull, "our little dragon king has not only a nimble tongue but also quick hands and feet."
"This outfit... suits you well. However," his tone suddenly turned cold, his single eye locking onto Aegon, "I suggest you take it off. Now."
"Or shall I help you?" Crow's Eye sized Aegon up and down, as if evaluating a lost and found peerless treasure, and also as if looking at a bold thief who dared to touch his property.
"Although the process will be a bit rough, and it'll inevitably be stained with your blood, dirtying these beautiful plates... I don't care." The cloudiness in Euron's single eye vanished, leaving only an ultimate, boiling desire for possession.
Aegon's sword-like brows furrowed, and his voice came through the visor with a metallic resonance, yet it was exceptionally calm: "You can try."
"See whether I fall first, or your blade chips first."
His gaze quickly swept over the group of captives being shoved in by the Ironborn, and his heart sank—Henry's fat body was huddled in the back, his left arm hanging unnaturally, with a fresh gash on his face. Karl stood near the front; though disheveled, he had no serious injuries.
They were still alive, which allowed his tensed nerves to relax slightly.
"Heh..." Crow's Eye acted as if he had heard something amusing, a gurgling chuckle coming from his throat. He turned his head and waved casually toward the outside of the hall.
The Ironborn roughly shoved the captured mercenaries. Crow's Eye pointed his dagger at them, his tone nonchalant: "Look at these poor worms."
"They could have been like those previous useless ones, quietly acting as 'bait' and dying for a purpose. Unfortunately, they weren't very obedient and wasted a bit of my time."
He paced to a shivering young Mercenary and patted the man's pale face with the flat of his cold dagger. "Now, they have a new use." Crow's Eye turned back, his single eye fixing on Aegon again, flashing with undisguised cruelty.
"Every time you refuse, I'll slit someone's throat."
"Starting with the loudest one!"
The air froze.
Aegon's hand gripping the blade tightened, his brow furrowed under the visor.
He was silent for a few seconds, as if weighing his options.
Finally, he spoke again, his voice still steady: "I cannot give you the armor."
"But there," his empty left hand rose, pointing to an inconspicuous shadow crevice below the stone platform, "is another item that might be more to your taste."
Under the gazes of Crow's Eye and the Ironborn, which focused instantly, Aegon slowly walked to the edge of the stone platform, leaned over, and from the shadow crevice, took out the dragon horn wrapped in red-gold and dark black steel bands.
As soon as the horn appeared, the ancient magical fluctuations it contained seemed to be activated, and even the orange-red glow in the air seemed to tremble for it.
The Ironborn's breathing became heavy again, and even the captured mercenaries widened their eyes.
"The dragon horn." Aegon held it up, letting the torchlight and starlight illuminate the twisted runes on it. "It is said to bind the will of dragons. Its value is far more than a set of armor."
The moment Euron's single eye saw the horn, the light bursting from it almost burned through his eyepatch. It was the most primal greed for power, for control, and for legendary objects.
His action of licking his lips became hurried.
"Use this," Aegon's voice echoed clearly in the hall, "to exchange for all of them."
"The horn is yours, you release the people, and we each get what we need."
He knew the legend of this horn—'Dragons will obey the horn's master, but the blower will die with their internal organs burning.'
This hot potato was better off handed to Crow's Eye.
Crow's Eye did not answer immediately.
He stared fixedly at the dragon horn, the light in his single eye flashing crazily.
Time passed second by second, each second feeling like it was grinding over a taut steel wire.
Finally, the hideous expression on Crow's Eye's face receded like a tide, replaced by a strange, almost calm curve.
He slowly nodded: "A very fair trade, boy. Give me the horn," he waved his hand at the Ironborn, "release them."
The Ironborn began to cut the ropes on the mercenaries while grumbling.
The mercenaries slowly gathered toward Aegon, filled with uncertainty. Aegon seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, and his hand holding the horn lowered slightly, preparing to fulfill the exchange.
Just as the first released Mercenary stumbled past Euron, and the attention of most Ironborn was drawn to this process—
"Take him!" Crow's Eye's voice was bone-chilling, without a hint of hesitation.
The three Ironborn closest to Aegon had long been ready. Upon hearing the command, they pounced forward like hounds, roaring!
Battle-axes and scimitars, carrying the sound of wind, hacked toward that dark armor from three different directions!
Aegon's long-tensed nerves and muscles exploded at this moment!
He had seemed relaxed, but in reality, he had maintained the highest level of vigilance throughout.
Facing the sudden ambush, he slammed the dragon horn like a blunt weapon toward the enemy on the left, forcing him back, while simultaneously spinning his body to the right, his long blade precisely parrying another scimitar, sending sparks flying!
The third battle-axe grazed his breastplate, leaving only a shallow mark on the Valyrian Steel and producing a tooth-aching scraping sound.
"Heh..." Crow's Eye stood outside the circle of battle, his single eye coldly watching the melee before him, his lips curling into a cruel arc.
He waved his hand gently, and several more Ironborn joined the fray with howls, attempting to wear down Aegon's stamina with numbers. "Time and time again..." he whispered to himself, his voice like a snake's hiss, "Who do you think you're playing games with?!"
He, Euron Greyjoy, never knew what credit or trust was. He wanted everything—the treasure, and everyone's lives!
His patience had run out.
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