Day twelve at sea.
The scorching midday sun baked the deck of the Silence, making tar in the plank seams sizzle underfoot.
Euron squatted at the bow, scanning the clouds with the method Dagmer had taught him, when the lookout crowed:
"Sail! Thirty degrees to port!"
Euron's heterochromatic eyes—picked out a gleaming anomaly: the gilded figurehead of the Sea Serpent reflected the sun, and the merchant ship's waterline sat unnaturally low, while its deck bustled with controlled chaos.
"Prepare for boarding!" Balon roared, tearing open his leather armor to bare his scarred chest. His longsword glinted ominously in the sunlight.
The Ironborn drew their weapons—axes and harpoons clanging against the deck in a pulse of anticipation.
A shiver ran through Euron's small frame. Memories surged—the Braavosi trick of disguising warships as merchant vessels.
"Wait!" he shouted, grabbing Balon's wrist. "This isn't right—the Braavosi would never…"
Before he could finish, the side planks of the "merchant ship" fell away, revealing ten crossbows gleaming coldly.
Time stretched. Euron saw the strings drawn, the shafts quivering, the sunlight dancing off steel bolts.
"Take cover!" Dagmer bellowed just as the first volley whistled through the air.
A three-foot bolt impaled a rower beside Euron, pinning him to the mast. Blood foamed at the man's lips, spraying across Euron's face. Instinct overrode fear; the boy rolled behind a coil of ropes, narrowly avoiding the second volley.
"Balon! Starboard!" Dagmer's roar split the chaos.
Balon leaped onto the enemy deck, a predatory arc of steel in his hand. A bronze-masked mercenary raised his scimitar—but half his head was gone before he could strike. Brain matter arced grotesquely, glinting in sunlight.
"Little kraken! To your left!" Oakwood's voice snapped.
A silver-nosed captain sprinted toward a barrel of wine with a torch. Euron's perception slowed. The flickering flame, its trajectory, even the tendrils of smoke, all seemed magnified.
He drew Dagmer's dagger instinctively, striking the man's knee tendon. The torch clattered into the sea. Before the mercenary could recover, Euron drove a harpoon into his throat. His first kill. The metallic, iron tang of blood filled his senses. Strangely, he felt no revulsion—only cold satisfaction.
Another threat: a bald giant swinging a chain flail. Euron flung handfuls of salt into his face, stabbing a dagger into an old wound on the knee. The giant crumpled. Euron pressed the dagger into the leather-clad spine, silencing him.
The Silence's deck had become a crucible of Ironborn combat—beasts, axes, blood, and terror. Balon and a red-bearded mercenary wrestled in a pool of blood; Dagmer, surrounded, chopped and hacked, each blow sending limbs flying.
Euron observed closely. The Ironborn fought with short weapons—axes, scimitars, harpoons—favoring speed and versatility over knightly technique. Longswords were a hindrance on a rolling deck.
Oakwood, missing two fingers, punched with iron-knuckled fists, targeting eyes, throat, groin. The wounded still lunged at enemies, teeth sinking into throats, axe swinging even as blood poured.
"Remember, boy," Dagmer rasped, bloodied, "the Ironborn do not fear death—the drowned god raises us! But make the enemy fear death."
With that, he gouged an eyeball from a screaming mercenary's skull, placing it in his mouth. The effect was immediate: surviving mercenaries flinched, while the Ironborn howled and surged with renewed fury.
Euron instinctively netted a fleeing mercenary, stabbing him repeatedly until still. The exhilaration of survival, of direct, ruthless action, burned in him. Elegant swordplay was meaningless at sea—only brutality, speed, and fearless will mattered.
Amid the chaos, Euron spotted the ship's hold. The glint of chains and shackles betrayed its secret. He pried open a chest and saw dozens of terrified eyes staring from the darkness.
"A slave ship!" he shouted, fury in his voice. "Over a dozen prisoners in the lower hold, hidden beneath rocks!"
The Ironborn surged with renewed bloodlust. By sunset, every mercenary was dead, yet the treasure they sought was absent—only trembling slaves remained.
Balon, dragging his injured leg, regarded Euron with newfound respect. "You saved my life."
Euron smirked and shook his head. The battle's outcome mattered little; the real prize lay ahead.
He studied the sea chart, his gaze sharp. "They resupplied three days ago. Thirty-odd armed men for a handful of slaves? No. There is a richer target ahead—gold, spices… and women."
Dagmer's single eye gleamed. "Keep a few alive. I'll interrogate them myself!"
[Pirate King System – Sea Battle Completed: +5% Progress. Current Activation: 85%]