Day 12 of the Voyage.
The noon sun baked the deck of the Drinker, making the tar in the seams sizzle and pop. Euron squatted at the bow, reading the clouds as Dagmer had taught him, when the lookout's caw dropped from the crow's nest:
"Sail! Thirty degrees to port!"
Euron snapped his head up. On the glittering horizon, the gilded figurehead of the Silver Swan flashed blindingly. He narrowed his mismatched eyes. Simultaneously, the abyss of his left eye and the storm-blue of his right caught the anomaly: the Braavosi merchant ship sat far too deep in the water, and the panic on her deck looked rehearsed.
"Prepare to board!" Balon's roar dripped with bloodlust. He ripped open his leather vest, baring a scarred chest, his longsword gleaming cold in the sun. Around him, Ironborn snatched up axes and harpoons, drumming a terrifying rhythm on the deck.
Suddenly, Euron's fingertips tingled. Adrenaline flooded his veins, and memories from the original story rushed back like a tide. He recognized the trap—a favorite of the Braavosi: a warship disguised as a fat trader.
"Wait!" Euron grabbed Balon's wrist. His five-year-old hand was small, but his grip was shockingly strong. "It's wrong! Braavosi merchants never..."
Before he could finish, the side panels of the "merchant ship" collapsed with a thunderous crash, revealing ten ballistae gleaming with menace. Time stretched in Euron's vision—he saw the crossbowmen trigger the mechanisms, saw the steel bolts catch the light, saw the fletching vibrate in the air.
"Cover!"
Dagmer's scream coincided with the thwack-thwack-thwack of the first volley. A three-foot steel bolt punched through the chest of the oarsman next to Euron, pinning him to the mainmast in a spray of gore. The man wasn't dead yet; he clawed futilely at the shaft, pink froth bubbling from his lips and spattering Euron's face.
Euron's mind went blank. Warm blood slid down his cheek, the metallic scent filling his nose. His legs shook uncontrollably, but a primal instinct hijacked his body. By the time the second volley rained down, he had already rolled behind a coil of thick hawser.
"Balon! Enemies to starboard!" Dagmer roared.
Through a gap in the ropes, Euron saw his brother leap onto the enemy ship like a rabid wolf. Balon's sword carved a deadly arc. A mercenary in a bronze mask raised a scimitar, only to have half his head sheared off. Brain matter traced a pale arc in the air, splashing onto the gilded gunwale and glistening eerily in the sunlight.
"Little Kraken! Left!"
Old Wick's shout spun Euron around. A captain with a silver nose ring was charging toward the ale barrels with a torch, a savage grin on his face. In Euron's vision, the dancing flame magnified infinitely; he could see the tongue of fire licking the air.
Time froze. Euron's heartbeat was deafening, the blood rushing in his veins sounding like a tsunami. His right hand moved on its own, drawing the dagger Dagmer had given him. The blade, longer than his forearm, felt weightless.
"Die, squid scum!" Silver Ring roared.
Euron's body moved faster than his thoughts. He ducked and rolled, dodging the flying torch, and thrust his dagger like a viper. The sharp blade sliced precisely into the gap of the man's knee tendons. Silver Ring's scream harmonized with the hiss of the torch hitting the sea.
"Ahhh! You little bastard..."
Euron didn't let him finish. Using the momentum of his roll, he sprang up, grabbed a harpoon from the deck with his left hand, and drove it into the man's throat with his entire body weight. The sound of the harpoon piercing the windpipe was dull and wet. Silver Ring's eyes bulged, blood gushing from the corner of his mouth.
This was Euron's first kill.
---
The smell of blood was suffocating. He looked down at his red-stained hands. Strangely, he felt no nausea—only a bizarre satisfaction. The blackness of his left eye seemed to deepen, as if drinking in the surrounding light.
"Behind you!"
Dagmer's warning spun Euron around again. A bald giant was charging with a flail, the spiked ball matted with brains and bone shards. Euron instinctively leaned back. The flail whooshed past his nose, the wind of it stinging his cheek.
Euron's vision locked onto the giant's stiff left leg. He grabbed a handful of spilled salt from the deck and threw it into the giant's face. In the split second the man blinked, Euron's dagger found the old wound in his left knee.
"Argh!" The giant crumpled, the flail flying from his hand.
Euron didn't hesitate. He stepped onto the man's back, gripped the dagger with both hands, and drove it down with all his weight. The blade punched through the leather armor and severed the spine. The giant's scream cut off instantly. He flopped like a beached fish for a moment, then went still.
The battle on deck had turned into a meat grinder. Balon and a red-bearded mercenary were wrestling in a pool of blood, weapons lost, biting each other like beasts. Dagmer was surrounded by three men, his axe chipped, but every time he swung, a limb went flying.
In the bloody chaos of boarding combat, the Ironborn displayed their unique art of war. Euron leaned against the shattered gunwale, gasping for air, observing the savage efficiency.
"Ironborn! Give them the Old Way!" Dagmer's voice was thunder. The old pirate fought in the classic style—a bearded axe with a back-spike in his left hand, a serrated dirk in his right. His attacks were relentless as the tide. No fancy fencing, just lethal chopping. When a Braavosi blocked with a shield, Dagmer's axe smashed it down, numbing the man's arm, while the dirk gutted him from below.
"Watch closely, boy!" Old Wick shouted, still teaching even in the melee. "Ironborn don't play by knights' rules!" He sidestepped a thrust and slammed his shoulder into a mercenary's chest. As they fell, Wick's headbutt crushed the man's nose, and then he bit the man's ear off, tearing away a chunk of flesh.
It was barbaric, shocking, and mesmerizing. Euron noticed the Ironborn favored short weapons—axes, cutlasses, harpoons. Longswords were clumsy in the tight confines of a ship.
"Longswords are useless on a deck!" Balon's voice rang out, proving Euron's observation. His brother was fighting with a cutlass now, shorter and thicker than Westerosi blades. Balon moved with the rhythm of the waves. When a mercenary thrust at him, Balon stepped into the blade instead of retreating, parrying with his cutlass while driving a skinning knife up under the man's chin.
Close-quarters butchery. Old Wick had dropped his weapons entirely and was beating a man with brass knuckles, aiming for eyes, throat, and groin. "No rules at sea! Only life and death!" he laughed, spitting out a broken tooth.
What shocked Euron most was their will. He saw an Ironborn sailor with a harpoon in his chest lunge forward to bite out an enemy's throat before dying. Another, his belly slashed open, fought on his knees until he bled out. They were like the reefs—unmoving, unyielding, breaking anyone who crashed against them.
"Remember, lad," Dagmer wheezed during a lull, "Ironborn don't fear death, because the Drowned God brings us back!" He spat a glob of blood. "But make the enemy fear it!" He grabbed a wounded mercenary, and amidst the man's screams, gouged out an eyeball and shoved it into the victim's mouth.
It was psychological warfare. The mercenaries began to flinch, while the Ironborn went into a frenzy, screeching like seagulls, swarming like piranhas. I don't have to live, but you must die!
When a mercenary turned to run, Euron instinctively threw a fishing net. As the man tangled, Euron pounced, stabbing repeatedly until the struggling stopped. When he stood up, he realized he was screaming the same high-pitched victory cry as the others.
The battle ended. Euron looked at his blood-soaked hands. He understood the Ironborn philosophy now. Graceful swordsmanship was meaningless here. Only the most savage, direct, and fearless survived. You were either the reef or the wave.
Euron noticed something odd near the hold. The "treasure chests" abandoned in the "panic" had chains peeking out of them. He pried one open and hissed—shackles. He heard heavy breathing from below. The blood on deck was dripping through the seams, and when he lifted a blood-stained rug and pulled a rusted iron ring, he saw dozens of terrified eyes in the darkness below, sitting on piles of black rock.
"Slave ship! It's a slaver disguised as a merchant!" Euron's shout cut through the celebration. His voice held disappointment and anger. "The hold is full of rocks and slaves!"
The news sent the blood-drunk Ironborn into a rage. They cursed the mercenaries with words that would make a whore blush, slaughtering the remaining surrenderers. By the time Balon snapped the last mercenary's neck, the sunset had turned the sea blood-red. Euron slumped on the deck, realizing his clothes were soaked in sweat and blood. He had a deep gash on his left arm, but strangely, felt no pain.
Balon dragged his injured left leg over, looking at his little brother with respect for the first time. "You saved my life." He grinned, his gap-toothed smile looking particularly savage in the red light.
Euron, exhausted, just waved his hand.
Dagmer was in the Silver Swan's cabin, smashing furniture in a fury. "Son of a bitch! Eight brothers dead for scrap metal!" The loot was a dozen shivering male slaves and zero gold. It was a failure. If they went back with a hold full of sand, "Cleftjaw" would be the laughingstock of the Iron Islands.
Euron wasn't surprised. He struggled to his feet and walked to the prow. The wind stung his wound. He looked at the horizon and smiled.
"Did you think about it?" Euron's voice was quiet, but it silenced the grumbling sailors. "Why send a heavily armed ship to patrol this area?" He pointed to the captured chart. "Look here. They resupplied three days ago. Thirty fully armed mercenaries just to escort a few slaves?"
Dagmer's single eye lit up. "Boy, are you saying..."
"There must be bigger prey ahead." Euron's mismatched eyes glittered in the twilight. "A merchant fleet loaded with gold, spices... and women."
"Leave a few alive!" Dagmer roared across the deck. "I want to question them personally!"
[Ding! First Naval Battle complete. Pirate King System activation increased by 5%. Current activation: 85%]